Mr. Perfect Read online

  Jaine poured herself a much-needed cup of coffee. “What’s up?” she asked.

  “A special edition of the newsletter,” one of the women, Dominica Flores, answered. Her eyes were wet from laughing. “This one is going down in history.”

  “I don’t see what’s so funny,” said the guy, scowling.

  “You wouldn’t,” a woman said, snickering. She held out the newsletter to Jaine. “Take a look.”

  The company newsletter wasn’t officially sanctioned, not by any stretch of the imagination. It originated from the first two floors; give that many imaginations access to desktop publishing, and it was bound to happen. The newsletter appeared at irregular intervals, and there was usually something in it that had management trying to round up all the copies.

  Jaine took another sip of coffee as she took the newsletter. The guys actually did a pretty professional job of it, though with the equipment and software at their disposal, it would have been a disgrace if they hadn’t. The newsletter was named The Hammerhead and a nasty-looking shark was the logo. It wasn’t a hammerhead shark, but that didn’t matter. The articles were set in columns, there were good graphics, and a fairly witty cartoonist who signed his work “Mako” usually poked fun at some aspect of corporate life.

  Today the headline was set in huge boldface letters: DO YOU MEASURE UP? Below it read, “What Women Really Want,” with a tape measure coiled like a cobra ready to strike.

  “Forget about it, guys,” the article began. “Most of us are nonstarters. For years we’ve been told it’s not what we’ve got, it’s how we use it, but now we know the truth. Our expert panel of four women, friends who work here at Hammerstead, have come up with a list of their requirements for the perfect man.”

  Uh-oh. Jaine almost groaned, but managed to bite back the sound and show nothing but interest in her expression. Damn it, what had Marci done with that list she had written down? They would all be teased unmercifully, and this was the kind of thing that stuck forever. She could just see tape measures by the dozen turning up on her desk every morning.

  Hastily she skimmed down the article. Thank God; none of their names were mentioned. They were listed as A, B, C, and D. She was still going to wring Marci’s neck, but now she wouldn’t have to fold, spindle, and mutilate her.

  The entire list was there, starting with “faithful” in the number one spot. The list wasn’t bad until it hit number eight, “great in bed,” but after that it deteriorated rapidly. Number nine was Marci’s ten inch requirement, complete with all their accompanying comments, including her own about the last two inches being leftovers.

  Number ten had to do with how long Mr. Perfect should be able to last in bed. “Definitely longer than a television commercial,” had been T.J.’s—Ms. D’s—rather scathing indictment. They had settled on half an hour as the optimum length of lovemaking, not counting foreplay.

  “Why not?” Ms. C—that was Jaine—was quoted as saying. “This is a fantasy, right? And a fantasy is supposed to be exactly what you want it to be. My Mr. Perfect could give me thirty minutes of thrusting time—unless you’re having a quickie, in which case thirty minutes would kind of defeat the purpose.”

  The women were all howling with laughter, so Jaine figured some expression must be on her face. She just hoped it looked like astonishment rather than horror. The guy—she thought his name was Cary or Craig, something like that—was turning redder by the minute.

  “You wouldn’t think it was so funny if a bunch of men said that their ideal woman had to have big boobs,” he snapped, getting to his feet.

  “Oh, come off it,” Dominica said, still grinning. “Like men haven’t gone for big boobs since their knuckles still dragged the ground. It’s nice to see a little payback.”

  Oh, great. A battle between the sexes. Jaine could just imagine the conversations going on around the building. She forced a smile as she handed back the newsletter. “I guess we’re going to hear about this for a while.”

  “Are you kidding?” Dominica asked, grinning. “I’m going to frame my copy and hang it where my husband sees it first thing in the morning when he wakes up and last thing at night when he goes to bed!”

  As soon as Jaine got back to her office, she dialed Marci’s extension. “Guess what I just saw in the newsletter,” she growled, keeping her voice low.

  “Oh, damn.” Marci groaned aloud. “How bad is it? I haven’t seen a copy yet.”

  “From what I read, it’s pretty much verbatim. Damn it, Marci, how could you?”

  “That’s a quarter,” Marci said automatically. “And it was an accident. I don’t want to say too much here in the office, but if you can meet me for lunch, I’ll tell you what happened.”

  “Okay Railroad Pizza at twelve. I’ll call T.J. and Luna; they’ll probably want to be there, too.”

  “This sounds like a lynch party,” Marci said mournfully.

  “Could be,” Jaine said, and hung up.

  Railroad Pizza was about half a mile from Hammerstead, which made it a popular place with the employees. They did a booming take-out business, but they also had half a dozen booths and about that many tables. Jaine got the back booth, where they would have the most privacy. Within minutes, the other three arrived and slid into the booth, T.J. next to Jaine, Marci and Luna across from them.

  “God, I’m sorry,” Marci said. She looked miserable.

  “I can’t believe you showed the list to someone!” T.J. was horrified. “If Galan ever finds out—”

  “I don’t see why you’re so upset,” Luna said, puzzled. “I mean, yeah, it’d be a little embarrassing if people found out we’re the ones who made the list, but it’s really kind of funny.”

  “Would you still think it’s funny six months from now when guys are still coming up to you offering to show you that they measure up?” Jaine asked.

  “Galan wouldn’t think it’s funny at all,” T.J. said, shaking her head. “He’d kill me.”

  “Yeah,” Marci said glumly. “Brick isn’t what you’d call sensitive, but he’d get pissed that I said I wanted ten inches.” She gave a weak smile. “Guess you can say he’d come up short.”

  “How did it happen?” T.J. asked, burying her face in her hands.

  “I went shopping Saturday, and I ran into Dawna what’s-her-name, you know, that Elvira look-alike on the first floor,” Marci said. “We got to talking, went for a late lunch, had a couple of beers. I showed her the list, we had a good laugh, and she asked for a copy. I didn’t see why not. After a few beers, I don’t see why not about a lot of things. She asked a few questions, and somehow I wound up writing down everything we’d said.”

  Marci had an almost photographic memory. Unfortunately, a few beers didn’t seem to affect her memory, just her judgment.

  “At least you didn’t give her our names,” T.J. said.

  “She knows who we are,” Jaine pointed out. “Marci had the list, so any idiot can figure out she’s one of the four friends. Take it from there.”

  T.J. covered her face with her hands again. “I’m dead. Or divorced.”

  “I don’t think anything will come of it,” Luna said soothingly. “If Dawna was going to spill the beans on us, she would already have told her pals on the first floor. We’re safe. Galan will never know.”

  five

  Jaine was on edge the rest of the day, waiting for the other shoe to drop. She couldn’t imagine how nervous T.J. must have felt, because if this ever got out and Galan found out about it, he’d deal T.J. misery for the rest of her life. When it came down to the bottom line, T.J. was the one who had the most to lose. Marci was in a relationship, but at least she wasn’t married to Brick. The thing Luna had going with Shamal King was on-again, off-again at best, without commitment.

  Of the four, Jaine was the one who would have the least difficulty if their identities became known. She wasn’t in a relationship, having given up on men, and she answered to no one but herself. She’d have to endure the teasing, but th