Page 17 of The Mr. Right Checklist

“And I’m going to figure out how old you are.” I study him, taking in the tic in his jaw and his narrowing eyes. He clearly doesn’t like to be scrutinized. Is that why he seems weirdly oblivious to the women who check him out? I’ve noticed a few eyeing him since we arrived, but his attention hasn’t left me for a minute. I wonder if attention makes him uncomfortable. But he’s a teacher, so it can’t be that. He said he’d been married and divorced. Did that sour him toward women? Those thoughts won’t help me figure out how old he is. “You don’t have crow’s-feet, so you’re probably younger than forty.”

“Forty?”

“I said younger than forty. I’m still figuring you out. You’ve got wise eyes, but they’re way too guarded for you to be younger than thirty. My guess is that you’re thirty-five or thirty-six.”

“You’re better at guessing than at due diligence. Can we focus now, please?”

“I got it right? Go me!” I wiggle my shoulders.

He doesn’t even crack a smile. “Back to business. If you’re going to succeed, you can’t be bringing the wrong notebooks into client meetings or losing them and not having backups. I’ll bring you up to speed on documents and spreadsheets and whatever else you need, and we’ll organize them with shortcuts so each one is always at your fingertips.”

“That would be amazing. I like the idea of keeping records on my laptop, but having a screen between me and a client would feel impersonal. I promise to triple-check my notebooks before each meeting and record all my notes on my laptop, but I think I’ll stick to my notebooks for in-person meetings.”

“Okay.” He pulls out his phone and starts thumbing something out on it. “I’m going to keep a list of what we need to accomplish, and then we’ll prioritize and work our way through it.” Those light blue eyes find mine. “I assume you have liability insurance.”

I wince.

“Are you kidding?” he asks incredulously.

I press my lips together and look around us, up at the ceiling, down at the floor. Anywhere to avoid the look of disbelief in his eyes.

“Destiny, this is serious. Protecting yourself has to be your number one priority, so you don’t lose everything you own. If I were anyone else, you could have gotten sued over what happened yesterday. I’ve got a buddy who sells insurance. I’ll hook you up.” He thumbs out another note on his phone.

I pull another notebook out of my bag and write Get insurance! in it.

He glances at the three notebooks in front of him. “What’s wrong with the other notebooks?”

“This one is for our meeting.” I show him the front of it, on which I’ve written Suggestions from Grumpy Gus.

The muscles in his jaw twitch again.

Over the next hour, Fletch asks me dozens of questions, and he’s all business. He really knows his stuff, and he’s incredibly patient as I take detailed notes. I’m starting to see where Ruby was coming from about Fletch being more guarded than grumpy. He definitely has some hang-ups, but he’s kind of cute when he takes charge. No wonder his student fell for him. I wonder if he’s take-charge in the bedroom, too. That toe-curling kiss comes back to me in delicious detail. If he can make me weak-kneed with an unexpected kiss, I can only imagine what he could do to me if he’s intent on pleasure. My mind tiptoes in that direction, and I picture him shirtless, as he was on the basketball court, all those hard muscles and lickable abs on display. I imagine taking off his shorts—

Nonono. We are not having naked thoughts!

I try hard to push those naughty thoughts away, but the image of him wearing only those shorts lingers.

“Destiny,” he says sharply.

“Huh? What? Sorry. I was . . .” Thinking of you almost naked. “Thinking about what you said about prospective clients.”

“Which thing?”

Shoot. “It doesn’t matter. I figured it out. Go ahead. Carry on. I’m listening.”

“I was just saying that you need rock-solid proof of relationships before you sign any contracts.”

I scribble Get a contract! in my notebook, thankful for the distraction.

He glances at my note with concern. “You don’t have a contract?”

“Not really. It’s more of a handshake deal.”

“Remember what I said about protecting yourself? Did you set up a business entity? An LLC?”

“I didn’t think I needed to.”

He curses and messes with his phone again. “What’s your phone number?”