Excerpt of The Matchmaking Machine by Judith McWilliams

She was going to teach John Worthington a long-overdue lesson in humility if it was the last thing she ever did, Maggie Romer told herself as she nervously tightened her grip on the thick manila envelope she was carrying. Taking a deep breath, she punched in the security code she'd been given to get into Worthington's apartment building. The oversized glass doors obediently slid open.

Maggie stepped into the spacious lobby and looked around, trying to ignore her feeling of inferiority in the face of such opulent luxury. She was no longer an unwanted foster kid on the outside looking in, she reminded herself. These days, she was a well-paid, highly trained computer professional.

She was also a woman on a mission. Her soft pink lips tightened as an image of Sam Moore's haggard features popped into her mind. According to his wife, he was so depressed that he just sat around all day, staring at the wall.

Sam might be powerless, but she wasn't, and she was determined to get revenge for him. No, not revenge. Justice.

Justice was everyone's right. Worthington might be the company's new owner, but that didn't give him the right to summarily fire Sam and then refuse to give him a reference. What Worthington had done was unconscionable. Sam was great at what he did. Not only that, but he was super to work for. She didn't know a single person in the entire company who had a bad word to say about him — man or woman. Yet Worthington had dismissed him without even so much as a reference. And without a reference and an explanation for the firing, potential employers would assume that Sam was incompetent and had only held his job as president because he was the old owner's son-in-law. The entire office was in agreement that Worthington deserved to be called to account for his actions.

In fact, Emily, Sam's former secretary, hated John Worthington so much she hadn't even been willing to deliver an important report to his empty apartment, despite the fact that he wasn't due to arrive from California until later tonight.

When Maggie had heard Emily vilifying Worthington in the lunchroom, she immediately volunteered to drop the document off for her. As far as Maggie was concerned, getting access to his apartment was a heaven-sent opportunity to check the place out for clues about his personal likes and dislikes.

Trying to act as if she belonged in this kind of setting, Maggie walked across the lobby toward the sour-faced guard sitting behind a desk near the elevators. He straightened slightly as she approached, and the furtive gleam of sexual desire that lightened his eyes sent a chill of revulsion down her spine. She bit the inside of her lip as she fought her instinctive urge to hunch her shoulders in an attempt to hide her breasts.

"I'm Maggie Romer delivering a package for John Worthington. Emily Adams from Computer Solutions should have already called to tell you I'd be coming," she told the guard.

"She did. And I told her that I was the only one on and couldn't leave the desk to go up with you. She said you didn't need an escort." He shrugged. "That's fine by me, but tell her I said if there's a problem not to come to me about it."

Maggie nodded and walked into one of the open elevators. Taking out the plastic card Emily had given her that provided access to the penthouse level, Maggie inserted it into the slot in the control panel.

Nothing will go wrong, she told herself, trying to ignore the feeling of impending doom that engulfed her as the elevator doors snapped shut. She'd leave the envelope on his desk in the study as Emily had instructed and then take a quick look around for any information about his personal habits that she could enter into the program she had written about John Worthington.

A sense of satisfaction filled her at the thought of the novel computer application she had come up with in her quest to teach Worthington a lesson. She'd been listening to a couple of her friends talk about their experiences with Internet dating when she suddenly realized that it should be possible to create a program that would tell her exactly what kind of woman John Worthington found attractive. After all, those Internet dating sites found potentially compatible mates all the time. And if she could do that, there was the possibility — even if it was a slim one — that she could turn herself into something close to his idea of perfection and get him to fall for her. Then, once he'd committed himself, she could laugh in his face and walk out, letting him find out what it felt like to be rejected. To be treated as if he were a thing of absolutely no value. Job, be darned.

Even though Maggie had created the program, she knew her plan was a long shot. Still, there were several points in her favor.

For one, Worthington's electronics empire was headquartered in San Francisco, and, now that his father was semiretired, he spent most of his time there with occasional trips to the company's offices in the far east. His presence in New York was so rare that there had been speculation in the financial press that his allocation of six whole weeks to oversee the integration of their software company into the parent company meant that Worthington was positioning himself to move into the applications side of computers.

Maggie reasoned that since Worthington was a stranger in town, he wouldn't know anyone, and since he wasn't planning on staying, he probably wouldn't bother with the local social scene. That would drastically limit the number of women competing with her for his attention.

Second, as a key member of his staff, she would see him at the office on a regular basis. The opportunity was definitely there if she could take advantage of it. She'd considered the possibility that he might not be willing to date an employee, but she quickly pushed that aside. Interoffice dating was more common than companies liked to admit, and when he saw that she was the woman of his dreams, how could be resist?

Once her program had spelled out what his ideal woman looked like, Maggie had completely revamped her image to conform to it as closely as possible. Her plain brown hair now sported reddish highlights and fell to her shoulders in a sexy tumble of loose curls, and her pleasing, if unspectacular, features were enhanced by the best makeup money could buy. As for her clothes...

She winced slightly as she caught sight of herself in the mirrors that lined three of the four elevator walls. She'd started wearing her new wardrobe two weeks ago so that all the surprised comments from colleagues about her wearing something other than her usual nondescript suits and comfortable sweaters would be over before Worthington arrived in town.

Unfortunately, she'd discovered that two weeks wasn't long enough for her to feel comfortable with her new image. She shifted uncomfortably as she studied the way her black slacks clung to her slender hips before faithfully outlining her long, slim legs. A lifetime might not be enough, she conceded.

The elevator came to a smooth stop on the top floor and the doors opened onto a discreetly lighted foyer carpeted in a soft dove-gray. There was a real floral arrangement sitting on a gilt table beside the door to the penthouse apartment.

Maggie straightened her shoulders, trying to ignore the way her action tightened her black silk shirt over her small, high breasts. She was determined to teach Worthington a lesson, and if dressing sexier was what it took, then that's what she'd do.

With anticipation, Maggie took out the key to Worthington's apartment Emily had given her. Unlocking the door, she slipped inside.

A soundless whistle escaped her as she took in the wall of glass in the living room that gave her a panoramic view of Central Park twenty stories below. Money might not buy happiness, but it sure could buy beautiful surroundings, she thought. The room looked like something out of a decorating book for the seriously rich.

John Worthington certainly believed in pampering himself, although...

Maggie frowned slightly as she took in the chintz prints on the sofas and overstuffed chairs. From the extensive research she'd already done on him, she would have guessed that his taste in furniture leaned more toward priceless antiques. This room seemed out of character with the image of him on her program. Maybe the taste reflected here wasn't Worthington's.

She knew from what Emily had said that Worthington hated living in hotels and one of the first things his advanceman, Daniel Romanos, had done when he'd arrived in town last week had been to lease his boss this apartment. Maybe Romanos had leased it furnished?

Hmm... What now? Did she enter a liking for chintz and English country into her program or put in that Worthington was adaptable enough to live with decor not to his taste? She didn't know which was more accurate, but of one thing she was certain: the program was becoming a lot more complicated than she'd originally anticipated. The variables seemed both endless and endlessly fascinating.

Maggie walked farther into the room, wondering if any of Worthington's personal effects had arrived yet. According to Emily, his flight wasn't due to arrive until after midnight, but he could have shipped some of his stuff along with Daniel Romanos.

She reached down to open the drawer in the end table beside one of the sofas when she heard a loud clanging sound coming from down the hallway to her left. A shiver ran down her spine and she automatically took a step back toward the front door before common sense told her that it couldn't be a burglar. For one thing, it was too hard to get into the building. For another, one of the first requirements of burglarizing would be quietness. And whomever it was had made no attempt to be quiet.

Maybe Worthington had sent his housekeeper from San Francisco ahead to get the place ready for him, she thought in a sudden burst of excitement. A housekeeper who might be able to give her personal facts about him firsthand. So far, all her information about Worthington had been gleaned secondhand from magazine and newspaper articles.

Eagerly, Maggie headed toward the sound. At the very least, she could ask whomever it was where the study was so she could drop off the envelope and do some snooping in his desk drawers.

Maggie quickly located where the noise was coming from. Sticking her head around the half-open door, she peered inside. Her eyes widened when she saw the bottom half of a man sticking out from beneath the bathroom vanity. Her mouth dried and she slowly ran the tip of her tongue over her lower lip as her eyes measured the impressive breadth of his chest before wandering down over his flat stomach to linger on the long, lean length of his denim-clad thighs.

I wonder what the rest of him looks like? she thought, suppressing an urge to look under the cabinet and find out. Why had she never found a plumber built like that? Her apartment building was serviced by a surly, middle- aged man with a beer belly who wouldn't raise a lustful thought in a nymphomaniac, while this guy...

She took a deep, steadying breath as her gaze returned of its own volition to his tight jeans.

"Excuse me," she began then instinctively jerked back when the man's body suddenly jackknifed. There was a hollow ringing sound as what she assumed was his head hit something hard under the cabinet.

Maggie barely registered the curse that rolled out from beneath the cabinet. She was far more interested in the deep, dark, velvety tone of his voice. It lapped enticingly against her skin, nudging each and every nerve ending she owned to eager, expectant life. Her breath caught in her lungs in anticipation as the man wiggled out from under the cabinet. A powerful surge of awareness engulfed her as she got her first clear look at him.