All That Jazz Read online

  All That Jazz

  Zaftig Dating Agency Book 1

  Jane Fox

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  Contents

  Introduction

  Zaftig Dating Agency Client Form

  1. Declan

  2. Kelly

  3. Declan

  4. Kelly

  Epilogue

  Zaftig Dating Agency Follow-Up

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  Also by Jane Fox

  About the Author

  Introduction

  Sometimes fate needs a little help.

  I run a dating agency. My clients don’t hire me directly; instead, their friends or family approach me and give me all the details I need to make a good match. Usually the men I work with either don’t know who they’re looking for or don’t have time to find her.

  That’s ok. I’m good at finding just the right woman and putting her in just the right spot. Think of me as a modern-day cupid.

  I don’t mean to brag, but I’m pretty successful with these connections. I have a long list of success stories. The best part is, if I do my job right, my clients don’t even know that I was involved.

  Welcome to the files of the Zaftig Dating Agency.

  Mona Zaftig

  Owner, Operator, and Matchmaker

  Zaftig Dating Agency Client Form

  Client Name: Declan Moritz

  Age: 41

  Occupation: owner, Moritz Contracting

  Referred by: brother Kenyon Moritz

  Notes: Brother identifies him as a workaholic. No serious relationships since college. Needs a smart woman with a backbone.

  Potential Match: Kelly Howard

  Age: 23

  Occupation: paralegal at Jones, Lewis, and Smith Law Firm

  Notes: She’s at least as driven as he is, so she might be understanding of the time he devotes to his job. That being said, she’s also a regular at the weekly amateur night at a local jazz club, so maybe she can pull him out of his shell.

  Meeting Location: Paradise Jazz Club. Brother will get him there.

  1

  Declan

  When I was a kid, my mother always told me that my kid brother Kenyon would annoy me less when we were older.

  I remind her of how wrong she was all the time.

  Don’t get me wrong, Kenyon and I are close. I definitely would have killed him otherwise—I mean, he does work for me at my contracting firm. And he does good work. But sometimes he’s a lot more irritating little brother than I’d tolerate from anyone else who worked for me.

  “Dec. Come on,” he says, a hint of the whine he used when he was four and I was ten creeping into his voice.

  “Absolutely not. I’ve got too much to do here. Maybe you haven’t noticed, Kenyon, but someone needs to do this paperwork if you’d like to get paid this week, and I won’t have time tomorrow.”

  We’re working on a restoration for the local historical society and no one knows the period details like I do. I’ve been on-site even more often than usual. I’m not going to have my reputation ruined because one of my guys messed up the hardware on a pocket door. Besides, if someone is paying for my expertise, they should get it.

  “Will you please just hire someone to do the billing?” Kenyon asks, exasperated.

  “Can we stop having this conversation?” I snap. It’s not that I can’t afford to hire someone—in fact, the business is so strong that I’m turning jobs down. I just don’t trust anyone else to handle it correctly. I mean, it is my name on the business. I can’t afford other people’s mistakes, and no one cares as much as I do.

  “I’ll cover for you at Becky’s baby shower,” he offers, and that does make me pay attention. Our brother James married a very self-centered woman named Becky, who commanded that we all attend the baby shower that she is throwing for herself, even though she isn’t due for another five months. I’d unsuccessfully tried to convince her that men traditionally didn’t attend baby showers. I need an excuse, and Kenyon can provide that for me—if he wants to.

  “Becky’s baby shower and the next time she throws one of those ridiculous dinner parties,” I counter.

  “Fine,” he says with a sigh. “Although it’s a little ridiculous that I have to do you a favor to get you to come out with me for one damn night.”

  “So is life, little bro,” I say, ruffling his hair in exactly the way that bothers him the most. “You got yourself a date.”

  Kenyon wanders off muttering something about “worst date ever” or “ugliest date ever.” I didn’t quite catch which one, but it clearly wasn’t flattering towards me. Which tells me I’ve negotiated myself a pretty decent deal.

  “And no goodnight kiss!” I yell after him for good measure.

  Which is how I find myself at a jazz club on Amateur Night. Some girl that Kenyon has his eye on has just finished her set, which was much less impressive vocally than the wonder of engineering that is the “dress” she’s wearing. I use that word loosely, because I’m pretty sure you can’t go around telling women that they’re dressed in what looks very much like random scraps of fabric.

  Kenyon seems on-board for how she’s dressed, though. In fact, he looks like he might start drooling any second.

  I check my watch; there are about a million things that I should be doing instead of spending time with Kenyon and his new friend Ashlee. He sees me checking the time and shoots me a pointed look.

  “Two Becky occasions, dude,” he said, and I sigh and order myself another scotch and soda.

  I don’t even manage a sip of it, though, before I’m distracted by movement on the stage. I turn around and take in the angel who just walked up to the mic.

  She looks like a secretary from the 1940s, and I mean that in the best way. She’s wearing a pencil skirt that molds itself to her voluptuous curves, and a blouse with a bow at the neck that somehow makes her look hotter than Ashlee ever could in her “look at me” outfit. She’s even wearing cat-eye glasses, which can’t even begin to hide how startlingly green her eyes are. Her hair is in long, blond ringlets.

  “Ugh, Kelly,” Ashlee says, rolling her eyes. “She takes the whole jazz thing a little too seriously, if you ask me.”

  I hadn’t asked her, but I refrain from pointing that out.

  But as gorgeous as Kelly is, it’s her voice that really blows me away.

  She opens her mouth and sings in a way that’s both soulful and vulnerable, with little flourishes of humor accompanied by brief smiles that she doesn’t seem to be able to refrain from. She closes her eyes as she holds a note, then scats a line so effortlessly that it takes my breath away. She’s clearly in her element, and she owns it.

  “Earth to Declan,” Kenyon says, waving his hand in front of my eyes. I realize he must have been trying to get my attention for a while.

  “We’re going to take off,” he says, wrapping his arm around Ashlee’s waist. She drapes herself on him and giggles. “You can get yourself home, right?” The last statement is perfunctory. Kenyon knows perfectly well that I’d be delighted for an excuse to go home.

  “Byeeeee,” Ashlee says, wiggling her fingers at me as Kenyon pulls her out the door. I really hope that he’s not serious about this one, because I’m not sure how much more I can stand.

  But there’s no reason to waste time thinking about Ashlee when Kelly’s still on the stage. She’s finished her first song, and it’s clear that I’m not the only one who�
��s impressed with her. Several audience members call for her to sing another one.

  “Sorry, guys, that’s all the time I have for tonight,” she says sweetly, her cheeks pink from the energy she’d just poured into her song.

  I can see another girl on the edge of the stage, staring hard at Kelly, and I realize that she must mean that her time slot is done. The crowd grumbles a bit in a way that makes the other girl glare even harder at Kelly.

  Well, clearly Kelly is a hard act to follow. There’s no cause for the nasty look, though.

  I watch the stage for a minute or two, wondering if Kelly will come out to the front of the house. I mean, wondering in a curious sort of way. I’m not overly interested or anything.

  “Can I have a water with two slices of lemon, Phil?” says a familiar voice down the bar, and my attempt to play it cool fails miserably as my head swivels to look at her.

  She’s even more beautiful up close. Her lips have a perfect cupid’s bow, and she has a dimple in her left cheek when she smiles deep, like she’s doing right now.

  “Killed it out there tonight, girl,” the bartender says as he hands her the glass. “Next week you better sign up for two slots, or the crowd is going to riot.”

  She glances down at the bar, and the blush on her cheeks this time isn’t from exertion. “It’s just stress relief, is all,” she says.

  “I bet,” the bartender responds. “After spending all day dealing with people who hate each other.”

  She smiles again and takes a seat at the bar. When the bartender moves to the other end, I take the opening.

  “You spend all day with people who hate each other?” I said.

  She looks at me and grins. “Well, I do, but I’m not sure that’s so unusual,” she says. “Aren’t a lot of workplaces like that?”

  “Mine’s not,” I say. “Helps to be in good with the boss, though.”

  That adorable dimple deepens. “You’re the boss, aren’t you?”

  “Is it that obvious?” I say, returning her smile.

  “You just don’t look like the kind of guy who’s good with other people telling him what to do.”

  “Insightful.”

  “Yeah, that’s another benefit of the day job.”

  “So are you going to tell me, or do I have to guess?”

  “I’m a paralegal,” she says, pushing her glasses up her nose in a move that may be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. “My firm mostly handles divorces. Fun, right?”

  “Doesn’t seem like it,” I say. “I’m Declan.”

  “Kelly,” she says. “So, Declan the boss, what do you do?”

  “General construction with an emphasis on restoration,” I say.

  Her eyes light up in a way that’s impossible to fake. “Like, you restore old houses?”

  “I do. I specialize in art deco restos.”

  “That’s so cool!” she says, and it’s only at that second that I realize how very young she is. In her mid-20s at the oldest. Definitely too young for an old man like me. “How did you learn about it?” she asks, and I turn my focus back to her again. Just because I can’t have her in the way that I want doesn’t mean I can’t talk to her.

  “I have a degree in architecture,” I tell her, “but I wanted to work with my hands. I can’t imagine being in an office all day.”

  “Yeah, that’s why I have to do this,” she says, gesturing at the stage. “I need an outlet.”

  We chat as we finish our drinks and I make my way home. Later that night, I dream about a blonde-haired, green-eyed beauty with the voice of a goddess. There’s nothing wrong with dreaming, right?

  Ashlee’s still around a week later, and it doesn’t take nearly so much work for Kenyon to talk me into going to Amateur Night again.

  What can I say? I think I’m developing a real appreciation for jazz.

  Kelly’s on before Ashlee, a fact that Ashlee bemoans.

  “It’s not fair,” she says for at least the fourth time. “Everyone loves her, and she’s not even that good.”

  I bite my tongue, hard, to keep from pointing out that Kelly is a superior woman in every way to Ashlee. There’s no need to be unkind.

  “I think they’re just nice to her because they feel sorry for her because she’s so, you know, fat.” She stage-whispers the last word and tries to look sympathetic, but winds up looking exactly as bitchy as she’s being, and suddenly I care a lot less about being nice.

  I snort. “Ashlee, you need to have your eyes checked,” I say. “That woman is beyond gorgeous, and she doesn’t need skimpy clothes to prove it.”

  Ashlee glances down at what she’s wearing, then back at me, rage in her eyes. “Kenyon, are you going to let your brother talk to me like that?” she asks.

  He shrugs. “He wasn’t talking about you,” he says.

  “He most certainly was!” Ashlee says. “And if you’re not going to stand up for me, maybe I should just find someone else to go home with tonight.”

  “Whatever makes you happy, babe,” Kenyon says easily. I avoid staring right at him, mostly because I don’t want to start laughing, but I’m watching him out of the corner of my eye.

  Ashlee stomps off and within minutes we see her draping herself over some other poor guy across the room.

  “I was talking about her,” I say, still not making eye contact with Kenyon because I’m not sure I can control myself.

  “I know,” he says, and I can hear the grin in his voice. “I was getting a little tired of her, though. And if I keep her around for too much longer, I might have to introduce her to Becky, and think of the trouble the two of them would get into.”

  I can’t hold back anymore, and I guffaw into my beer. “I swear, I’m the only one of us that has any taste in women.” My eyes are drawn to Kelly as she walks up to the bar and orders a water.

  “Can’t argue there,” Kenyon says, and before I even realize what he’s doing, he’s flagged the bartender down and sent a drink down to Kelly. He winks at me and walks down to the end of the bar. They talk for a few minutes, and then I see Kelly hesitate. She glances my way for a moment, and then scribbles something on a slip of paper and hands it to Kenyon, who pockets it.

  I know he’s my brother, but as he flashes his seductive smile at her, all I can think about is how much I want to punch him in the face.

  2

  Kelly

  I notice Declan the moment I take the stage. He’s kind of hard to miss—commanding presence, close-cropped beard, and sleeves rolled up over muscled forearms. If I had a type, it’s him, 100%.

  Too bad I’m never the type that my type is looking for.

  Still, I’d enjoyed talking to Declan the previous week, and I had my fingers crossed that I might get another chance. It was his second week in a row; maybe he’d become a regular on Amateur Night.

  Singing is like second nature to me, and that’s fortunate, because I couldn’t have managed to think about Declan and concentrate on my song at the same time. But my voice knows the words perfectly, leaving my mind free for a little harmless wandering.

  I see Skinny Ashlee talking to Declan, and my stomach clenches. She’s the kind of woman for a guy like him. Frankly, she’s the kind of woman for most guys. I’m not sure why she dislikes me as much as she does. We’ve barely ever spoken two words to one another. But she’s shooting daggers at me with her eyes, like I’m actively wronging her.

  Suddenly her wrath shifts from me to Declan. She’s gesturing at him, and to another man sitting next to them. I keep singing, but my eyes are glued to the drama going on at the bar. By the time I leave the stage and make my way over for a drink, Ashlee is gone. Declan is grinning at the other man, so he must not be too upset. After a moment, Declan’s friend glances at me and calls the bartender.

  Charlie, the bartender, sets a glass filled with amber liquid in front of me. I pick it up and give it a whiff. “Laphroaig?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

  “I told him it’s all that you drink,” Charlie r
eplies with a grin. I bite my lip to keep from chuckling at the fact that Charlie just convinced this guy to buy me a very expensive glass of scotch.

  The man himself is making his way down the bar.

  “Thanks for the drink,” I say with a smile, “although my tastes aren’t nearly as fancy as my friend behind the bar would have you believe.”

  “Oh, don’t you like it?” he asks, frowning.

  “I do,” I say quickly. “I just don’t expect it from random men in bars.”

  “I’m Kenyon,” he says.

  “Kelly,” I respond. “Are you a friend of Declan’s?”

  “You’ve met him already,” Kenyon says with a crooked grin. “Quite a guy, isn’t he? He’s my brother.”

  Now that he mentions it, I can see the resemblance. Kenyon is younger than Declan and lacks his commanding demeanor, but they have the same eyes.

  “We met last week,” I say.

  “And he didn’t even mention it,” Kenyon says quietly, as if to himself.

  Well, of course he didn’t. Why would he bother to mention me?

  “So, this is a bit of a weird request,” Kenyon says. “Despite appearances, Declan’s a little shy sometimes. Could I get your number for him?”

  I pause and glance down the bar at Declan. Our eyes lock for just a moment and then he looks down at his drink. If he really wanted my number, wouldn’t he have asked for it himself?

  “Trust me,” Kenyon says with a grin, and, even though I just met him, I really do. I pull a receipt out of my purse and scribble my number on it, handing it over.