Page 60 of Come Fly With Me

“I wish.” She groaned. “I can’t find this guy a wife. Ishouldbe finding him a therapist.”

“That bad, huh?”

“I’ll show you.” She pushed away from the table and padded out of the room on bare feet with pink painted toenails.

He was in the middle of frying her potato scones when Mairi returned with her laptop. She flipped on the TV facing the dining table and sent a video through to the larger screen. As Keir assembled her sandwich, the image of a man appeared on the wall.

“Holy crap.” Keir waved a spatula at the guy. “It’s Clark Kent. A really pale, anemic-looking Clark Kent, who was probably dressed by his mother.” His clothes had been pressed to within an inch of their lives—he even had a crease down the center of his jeans—and his hair was parted to the side and combed flat against his skull.

Mairi cocked her head as she considered her latest client. She had the cutest little frown on her face. “I suppose there are some bare bones to work with,” she said begrudgingly. “His shoulders are broad, and his face is nice. He just looks so…doughy.”

Hiding his smile, Keir placed Mairi’s food in front of her and ran a hand down her back. “Are we just going to stare at him, or does he talk?”

“Oh, he talks.” She grabbed the sandwich with one hand as she hit the play button with the other. “He doesn’t stop talking.”

“My name is Ambrose Durst,” the guy said in a nasal American accent that screamed condescension. “I’m a self-employed software developer. I like to keep my options open. Plus, I see no need to leave home to work when I have everything I could want right here. It’s important in life to make smart decisions and not be swayed by society’s expectations. I pride myself in being able to do that.”

Mairi hit pause. “He goes on about how smart he is for about ten minutes. We can listen to it, or I can skip to the part where he tells me what he wants in a wife.”

“Yeah, skip ahead.” He’d already heard enough on that topic. “Let me get a smoothie first.”

Keir had met many incarnations of Ambrose over the years. They were the men who took one look at Keir’s muscles, tattoos, and Harley and decided there was nothing of value between his ears. It wasn’t how Ambrose looked that was offensive. It was the attitude. Berry smoothie in one hand, he pulled out a chair beside his gorgeous wife.

“Wanna bite?” She held out the sandwich.

“No, Rusty, it’s all yours.”

Her beaming smile warmed every cell in his body.

“Okay,” she said between mouthfuls. “I’ve skipped ahead.”

“What would I like in a woman?” Ambrose tapped his chin as though it were a question he was just then considering instead of one he’d probably obsessed over ever since discovering the opposite sex.

“Of course, she has to be attractive,” Ambrose said at last. “I’m more than able to provide a high standard of living for her, so I’d expect her to look the part.”

Keir swallowed the wrong way and started coughing furiously.

Mairi patted him on the back. “Oh, it gets much better than this,” she said as Keir’s eyes watered.

“I think some modeling experience would be useful,” Ambrose said. “That way, she’ll know how to dress to look her best and will pride herself on her appearance. I wouldn’t want her going to seed a couple of years after our wedding. Andsomeintelligence, of course, otherwise how will she understand anything I tell her?” He laughed with obviously false self-deprecation. “I socialize with some of the best minds in the business, and my wife has to be able to hold a conversation. I mean, she doesn’t need to have a degree in programming, but some education would be helpful. Perhaps from an Ivy League school. Yes, that would do nicely. Maybe an arts degree. Women like the arts. And it would give her some useful skills when it comes to decorating our home.”

“He’s something else,” Keir said with a shake of his head. Surely, this guy couldn’t be serious?

“She needs to be a good cook and know how to take care of our home. Since I’ll be earning the money, I expect her to take responsibility for all of the cooking, cleaning, shopping, and house management.”

“This guy doesn’t want a wife; he wants a housekeeper,” Keir muttered.

“Now, background.” Ambrose grew even more somber. “A nice respectable family is the minimum requirement. Upper middle class at least. Connections in the right circles would be good. She should be skilled at small talk. I don’t have time for that, so it would be beneficial to have a woman who could take that off my hands.”

“As well as everything else.” Keir shook his head again.

“As for sex,” Ambrose said, turning pink. “I assume we can have that written into the contract. I’d like sex every day and twice on Sundays.”

A bark of laughter erupted from Keir before he collapsed into hysteria. Mairi had to pause the video until he got himself under control.

“Twice on Sundays,” he managed between wheezes before cracking up again.

“Stop it.” Mairi play-slapped his chest. “Ambrose is serious.”