‘We had a long discussion about what women really want,’ Allegra went on, ignoring him, ‘and I started thinking: what if we could create a boyfriend who was everything women wanted?’
‘How on earth would you go about that?’ asked Max, not sure whether to laugh or groan in disbelief.
‘By teaching him what to do,’ said Allegra. ‘That’s what I pitched to Stella: a piece on whether it’s possible to take an ordinary bloke and transform him into the perfect man.’
There was a silence. Max’s sense of foreboding was screaming a warning now.
‘Please tell me this isn’t the point where you say, And this is where you come in,’ he said in a hollow voice.
‘And this is where you come in, Max,’ said Allegra.
Dear Reader
Incredible as it seems, MR (NOT QUITE) PERFECT is my 60th title. I’m not quite sure how that happened! I’ve fallen in love with every one of those sixty heroes, but I have to admit that Max is special—and not just because some of his quirks bear a resemblance to the civil engineer closest to my own heart!
Max is the ultimate Jessica Hart hero, I think: not incredibly handsome or incredibly rich, not suave or sophisticated, but a man with integrity who doesn’t try to be something he isn’t. In spite of Allegra’s efforts to transform him into ‘the perfect man’ Max remains resolutely himself, and it’s Allegra who learns that loving someone isn’t about wanting them to change, but about accepting them as they are—faults and all. Max isn’t any of the things she thinks she wants, but he turns out to be everything that she needs—and that means that he’s perfect after all.
So the next time I’m grumbling about a shirt being buttoned too high at the collar—I had no shortage of inspiration for this book!—I’m going to remember that!
Happy reading!
Jessica x
Mr (Not Quite) Perfect
Jessica Hart
JESSICA HART was born in west Africa, and has suffered from itchy feet ever since, travelling and working around the world in a wide variety of interesting but very lowly jobs—all of which have provided inspiration on which to draw when it comes to the settings and plots of her stories. Now she lives a rather more settled existence in York, where she has been able to pursue her interest in history—although she still yearns sometimes for wider horizons.
If you’d like to know more about Jessica visit her website: www.jessicahart.co.uk
This and other titles by Jessica Hart are available in eBook format from www.millsandboon.co.uk
For John, perfect for me, with love.
Contents
ONE
Making Mr Perfect by Allegra Fielding
You’ve met a new guy. You’re hot, hot, hot for each other. He’s everything you ever wanted. But have you noticed that the infatuation phase never lasts? ’Fess up, ladies. How long before you’re out with the girls and you find yourself saying, ‘He’d be perfect if only he talked about his feelings/cooked occasionally/arranged a surprise mini-break/unfriended his ex on Facebook/insert peeve of your choice? He’s still hot, you still love him to bits, but he’s not quite as perfect as he seemed at first.
Are we asking too much of men nowadays? In a fairy tale, Prince Charming’s task is clear. He has to hack his way through a thicket, slay a dragon and rescue the princess. Easy. In real life, we want our men to do a whole lot more to deserve us. Here at Glitz we’ve been conducting our own super-scientific survey over a few cocktails (pomegranate martinis, anyone?) and it seems that we want it all. The perfect boyfriend, it turns out, can fix our cars and dance without looking like a total dork. He looks good and he’ll get rid of that spider in the shower. He’ll sit through a romcom without complaining and be strong enough to literally sweep us off our feet when required.
But does such a man exist? And if he doesn’t, is it possible to create him? Glitz gives one lucky guy the chance of the ultimate makeover. Read on and see how one unreconstructed male rose to the challenge of becoming the perfect man. Meet—
Allegra lifted her fingers from the keyboard and flexed them. Meet who?
Good question. Funny how the world was full of unreconstructed males until you actually needed one. But as soon as she had started asking around, it turned out that nobody wanted to admit that their boyfriends were anywhere near imperfect enough to take part in her experiment.
With a sigh, Allegra closed the document and shut down her computer. Had she been too ambitious? But Stella had liked the idea. The editor in chief had inclined her head by an infinitesimal degree, which signified enthusiasm. Now Allegra had a big break at last—and it would all fall apart if she couldn’t find a man in need of a major makeover. One measly man, that was all she needed. He had to be out there somewhere...but where?
* * *
‘Ouf!’ Allegra threw herself extravagantly into the armchair and toed off her mock-croc stilettos with a grimace of pain. The needle-thin metal heels were to die for, but she had been on them for over twelve hours and while they might be long on style, they were extremely short on comfort.
Max didn’t even look away from the television. He was stretched out on the sofa, flicking through channels, looking oddly at home in her sitting room. He had been tidying again, Allegra registered with a roll of her eyes. You would never catch the magazines being neatly lined up on the coffee table when it was just her and Libby. The radiators would be festooned with bras and thongs and the surfaces comfortingly cluttered with useful stuff like nail polish remover, empty shoe boxes, expired vouchers, cosmetic samples and screwed up receipts. She and Libby knew to check down the back of the sofa for chargers. They knew where they were with the mess.
There was no point in trying to tell Max that, though. Libby’s brother was an engineer. They said cosy sitting room, he said tip.
She massaged her sore toes. ‘My feet are killing me!’
‘Why do you wear those ridiculous shoes?’ Max demanded. ‘It’s like you put yourself through torture every day. Why don’t you wear trainers or something more comfortable?’
‘Because, Max, I work for Glitz,’ said Allegra with exaggerated patience. ‘That’s a fashion magazine and, while I realise that as Mr Hasn’t-got-a-clue