The Perfect Christmas Read Free Page B

and leave. She might have, only she decided tosee how many other ways he could find to insult her. It was becoming a game to her.
    “Sit,” he said.
    “Please?” Someone needed to teach this man some manners.
    “Sit,” he repeated, more loudly this time.
    “Sit, please, ” she returned pointedly.
    A flicker of a smile showed in his dark brown eyes. “All right, sit, please. ”
    “Don’t mind if I do,” she said pleasantly, taking the chair across from his desk.
    After a moment he said, “I’ve read your application.” He sat down across from her, reached for the papers and leafed through them. “Tell me about your father.”
    “Why are you asking about him?”
    He lifted his shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. “It’s my experience that most women want to marry a man just like their father.”
    “Not me. Pete’s a poor excuse for a father. I want as little to do with him as possible.”
    Simon immediately made a lengthy notation on a pad in front of him.
    Cassie moved to the edge of the cushion. “What did you write?”
    Simon looked up, a frown darkening his face. Clearly she’d offended him. She could only suppose he wasn’t accustomed to anyone questioning his actions. “What did you say?” he said frostily.
    “I asked if you’d tell me what you wrote down.” She pointed at his notepad. “It was about me and my non-relationship with my father, wasn’t it?”
    He flattened his hands on the desk. “These are my notes. I don’t share them with clients.”
    The urge to stand and simply walk out the door was nearly overwhelming. Gritting her teeth, she said, “Has anyone ever told you you’re rude?”
    He grinned as if the comment pleased him. “As a matter of fact, yes. Several people have taken delight in revealing their opinions.” He shook his head. “It has more to do with them and their hurt feelings than with me.”
    “What others think doesn’t bother you?”
    He gave a bored sigh. “Not particularly. Why should it? Now listen, Ms…?.” He glanced down at the application in an apparent effort to locate her name.
    “Beaumont,” she supplied.
    “Ms. Beaumont,” he said impatiently. “This is my office and I ask the questions here. Kindly refrain from interrupting me.”
    She leaned back in the chair. “By all means, ask away.” She waved in his direction as though granting him permission to continue.
    He narrowed his eyes. “In as few words as possible, explain to me why you aren’t married.”
    That was easy enough to answer. She thought of what Angie had said a few days earlier. “I’ve been told my standards are too high.”
    He raised his eyes from the page, his expression startled.
    “I guess you could say I’m choosy,” she amended. “I’m looking for a perfect match. Someone who’s just right—for me. The perfect man, the perfect marriage…and,” she added, almost in a whisper, “the perfect Christmas.”
    He didn’t respond. “You’re how old?” he asked, instead. He ran his finger down the application.
    “Thirty-four. How old are you?”
    He exhaled. “As I requested earlier, kindly refrain from asking questions. My age is not your concern.”
    “Answer me one question, and then I promise not to ask anything else.”
    He glared at her.
    “Just one,” she cajoled. “You can’t imagine how uncomfortable it is to sit here and have you scrutinize me. It’s only fair that I should know something about you.”
    Sighing, he set the application aside, but before he could speak, she blurted out, “Are you married?”
    His eyebrows arched. “ That’s your one question?”
    “Yes, and it’s important.”
    “Why is that?”
    “Well, first, if you haven’t been able to find yourself a wife, what qualifies you to find me a husband?”
    “All I will say is that a doctor doesn’t need to have a disease in order to cure it. I’m good at what I do. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be willing to offer a refund if I’m unsuccessful in locating a husband