By Magic Alone (8 page)

There it was. The perfectly sane and reasonable explanation I wanted to hear. So why didn’t I believe her? “I see. Well, that’s good. That they’re doing the trick, I mean.”

She cleared her throat. “You’ve been so sweet to stay here with me, but I’m feeling so much better now.”

Yay! Escape. “Oh, it was nothing.” I pushed away from the table. “Glad to help.”

She gestured for me to follow and then scurried out of the
break room. She moved fast. When I caught up with her, she was already dragging documents out of the file cabinet in the lobby.

“As an apology for delaying you for so long, and to make up for your . . . um . . . inability to leave, I’m offering you a free membership to my services,” she said, continuing to stack papers at an alarming rate. “I’m very good at what I do. We’ll find you your soul mate, mark my words.”

“No! That is so not necessary,” my voice rang out—too loudly, so I lowered it. “I’m fine, and—no offense—but I consider soul mates to be nothing more than a fairy tale. I don’t believe in either, so really—”

She waved away my arguments. “It doesn’t matter what you believe. Besides, we’ll cover all of this later, after you’ve filled everything out.”

“Um, excuse me? It does so matter what I believe.”

Verda’s shoulders quaked in silent laughter. Tilting her chin up, she looked directly at me. “But don’t you see? You came to me. I didn’t come to you. That’s reason enough for me to help you.” Whisking the many papers together, she shoved them in a manila envelope, along with a book of some sort. “You are a special girl, Julia. You deserve a special partner. Let me use my abilities and Magical Matchups to find that partner for you. What do you say?”

I hesitated. This was difficult to pass up. Here she was, offering me everything that had led me here to begin with. But after spending the morning with her, that inner moral voice of mine screamed louder than ever. Finally, I shrugged. “I—I don’t know.”

Razor-sharp eyes bored into me. “I don’t take ‘no’ easily. All of this will be much easier on you if nod your head and agree.”

And this was the point I should have walked—no, run—
away. But in her hands was the information that might help me save my company. I
had
been stuck here for hours and scared out of my wits. Right? Besides which, I had the sinking feeling that no matter what I said, she’d find a way to convince me otherwise. Or maybe I was using that as an excuse. Regardless, I found myself nodding in agreement. “If you insist.”

“Oh, I do!” She passed me the thick envelope and then patted my cheek. “I know you’re late for work, dear. So why don’t we plan on getting together after you have time to go through all of this?”

Was it my imagination, or was she making this really, really easy? “Yeah. That would be terrific.”

Verda beamed. Her smile virtually sparkled. “Do you think you’ll be ready by tomorrow evening? I’d like to get moving as soon as we can, but the paperwork is quite extensive, so if you need a bit more time, then I suppose next week will have to do.”

I swallowed. Chances were high that I wouldn’t be returning, but she didn’t have to know that quite yet. I’d call her tomorrow, tell her I’d changed my mind, and that would be that.

“Absolutely,” I said, matching Verda’s enthusiasm with my own, albeit fake, version. “Tomorrow evening is ideal.”

Two mad-dash drives later—one to my apartment for a quickie shower and a fresh change of clothes, and the other from my place to work—found me at my desk slightly before eleven o’clock. Not so bad, if I did say so myself.

I’d purposely left Verda’s envelope at home, so I wouldn’t be tempted to go through her client paperwork immediately. Right now, I needed to focus on my one and only appointment for the day. Normally, my prep time extended well beyond an hour. I was very careful in putting together my recommendations, and that began with understanding as much as possible about
the client, or prospective client, before we ever met face-to-face.

Not only did I read their responses from their profile questionnaire, but I read between the lines to develop a fuller picture of their needs versus their wants. This was easier with women. Partially because I understood women more, but also because women tended to give complete, detailed responses.

Men, on the other hand, at least the men I’d come across at Introductions, were very spare in detail. Though they had one thing going for them: honesty. They rarely tried to cover anything up. Maybe it was because they were generally more confident than women, or maybe they didn’t view their weaknesses as weaknesses, or perhaps it simply didn’t occur to them to care. Or, you know, that whole “Man is King” attitude.

These one-on-one interviews were essential in digging out the rest of the picture. I had a lot of faith in my compatibility program, which was based on a series of yes/no and true/false questions, but relying on it completely would be foolhardy.

Today’s appointment was with a man who’d electronically sent his profile information in the day before and had immediately set an appointment. That gave me hope he was serious. But I only had about fifteen minutes to get everything together.

I hurriedly clicked on the link my assistant Diane had embedded in my e-calendar and waited for his profile to open on my screen. Diane had worked as a temporary employee off and on my first year. I’d hired her permanently the second year as a part-time employee. My hope had been to make her full-time this year, but unless things picked up, I’d have to let her go. I
hated that
thought. I needed this appointment to go well.

I ran the man’s compatibility numbers and printed off the
profiles of the three highest probable matches. All were in the mid-60 percent range. Not great. Not by a long shot. But I didn’t have time to go over them in depth, so I tucked them into a folder and moved on. Next, I skimmed through the questions he’d answered, searching for anything that might jump out as unique, especially interesting, or flat-out weird. Interesting was good. Weird was not.

I’d barely started my perusal when Diane knocked on the door and stuck her head in. “Your eleven fifteen is here, Julia.” She pursed her lips in a silent whistle. “I might be willing to date this one. He’s a doll.”

“That’s good to know, though your husband might not be so pleased,” I joked.

“I’m allowed to look. So, are you ready for him?”

“Not even close, but send him in anyway.” I’d have to wing it. I drank some water to moisten my mouth before putting on my most professional smile.

A man in his midthirties entered my office. He looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him. Probably, he just had one of those faces. His top-of-the-line charcoal suit fit him in a way that bespoke a professional tailor. Which meant money. He stood average height, around five foot ten, and his dark hair had the tiniest amount of salt dotting his temples. His chin was more soft than hard, but not enough to detract from his appeal, and he had the greenest eyes I’d ever seen. So green, my guess was on colored contacts.

That, and the fact he wore a matching green tie to show off those emerald peepers, told me he put a lot of stock in appearances. Diane was right, though.
Doll
described him well.

I held out my hand and he shook it with a firm grip. I liked that. Glancing at my monitor, I said, “Nice to meet you Mr. Johnson. I’m Julia Collins, the owner of Introductions.”
I nodded toward the twin chairs in front of my desk. “Please take a seat.”

“Thanks. I’m happy to be here.” Settling himself, he tossed me a grin that turned him from doll to debonair. Wow.

“May I get you some coffee, water, tea?” I asked, slipping into flight-attendant mode.

“Nope. I’d rather get right to it.” He had this slow, lazy way of talking that oozed charm. I wondered how many hours he’d spent practicing to get the perfect cadence. My guess was most of his twenties. “I’m rather anxious to get started.”

Just what I wanted to hear. “Why don’t we start informally? In your own words, what brought you to Introductions?”

“I’m tired of the dating scene. It gets old, especially when you’re as busy as I am.” He steepled long, tapered fingers under his chin. “Saw one of your ads, I don’t recall where at the moment, but figured, why not? Created an account, filled everything out, and here I am.”

A quick decision maker. Something else I liked. I filed that away for future reference. “I was hoping we could go through your profile together. That way, I can ask questions as we go along to deepen my understanding of the type of woman you’re looking for.”

“So you don’t prescreen before meetings?”

Of course he’d ask that. “Normally, I do. But your profile just came in yesterday and I was running late today. I’m sure we can get through everything relatively quickly.”

I expected him to be annoyed. This wasn’t the most professional way to run a first-time meeting, and this guy hadn’t fallen off the turnip truck. Instead, though, a pleased expression darted over him. He rubbed his hands together. “Perfect. Let’s get started.”

I gotta say that I was feeling really positive about this guy. If the rest of the appointment went well, I’d have a check in my
hand and a match for him in no time. Turning my attention to the computer screen, I read, “You’re thirty-five, have lived in Chicago your entire life, you’re a . . . monster-truck driver?” Okay, I’d never met one of those before. I sifted this new information in with what I’d already gathered. “Is that your only line of work?”

“Oh, no. It’s not even my most exciting line of work, but it gets my adrenaline going. Really more of a pastime.” Leaning forward, he squared his elbows on my desk. “I think . . . yes, go down a few more questions.”

My gaze traveled down. “Oh. You . . . recycle cans and bottles to earn money? And . . . make ‘special’ videos?” My voice squeaked. Seriously? “What kind of videos, Mr. Johnson?”

“All types of videos. You wouldn’t believe the market for a camera guy who will shoot just about anything.”

“Weddings? Graduations? Things like that?” Oh, God, let him say yes. “Birthdays and anniversaries?”

“Um. Sure. Those, too.”

I swiveled in my seat, facing him. “What else, Mr. Johnson?”

“Bar Mitzvahs. Bat Mitzvahs.” Waggling his eyebrows, he said, “All-girl slumber parties. Pillow fights. You know, almost anything.”

“Uh-huh.” I forced a swallow past the lump in my throat. Typically, my instincts about other people were solid. Typically, my first impressions about someone stuck. “Let’s move on.”

“It might be best if we skip to the end. Those are the important questions.” Humor slid into his voice. “You know, the ones about the type of women I’d like you to find for me?”

“Yes. Of course.” I needed new clients, a new infusion of cash, so I was willing to give this guy the benefit of the doubt. For now, anyway. Clicking through the next group of pages, I found the questions he wanted.

Clearing my throat, I said, “You’d like to find someone who is adventurous and isn’t afraid to try new things.” A little redundant, but I didn’t point that out. “And someone who is talented in—” I stared at the words so long that my eyes began to water. Blinking, I read them again. And then again. “Talented in . . . Are you serious, Mr. Johnson?”

“Very. Basically, I’m hoping for a vacuum,” he supplied. “And the next question? The one about my goals matching my prospective mate’s goals? Those are a deal breaker. Just so you’re aware of my feelings about that up front.”

Distaste churned in my gut as I continued to read, “Household objects . . . without fear of injury? Foursomes? Oh. Really?” I shook my head and closed my eyes, not able to read anymore. I’m not a prude, but this went beyond having a little fun in the bedroom. “I believe you are mistaken about the services I offer. Introductions is not a brothel. My clients are not interested in”—I glanced again at the screen and nearly choked—“playing ‘fun and innovative games with farm animals.’”

“Do you know that for sure?” he asked. “Have you ever actually asked anyone? People can surprise you. Especially fine and upstanding men like myself. We’re not always what we appear to be.”

“I’m sure,” I said coolly. “And I am not a madam, and I do not cater to the clientele you are apparently seeking.” I almost wanted to send him to Magical Matchups and turn Verda loose on him. She’d set him straight. Of course, I wouldn’t do that, even if I figured she’d be able to handle this jerk better than I could.

“Again, I have to ask. Are you sure?” Now, rather than charm, I heard slimy smugness.

“Oh yes, Mr. Johnson, I am one hundred percent sure.” Yes, I needed clients. But not this badly. Hell, there wasn’t a woman alive I’d set this piece of work up with. At least not a
woman I’d yet met. I aimed my gaze toward the door. “This meeting is over.”

“Oh, calm down. Surely you’ve seen worse.” Smoothing his hair back at the temples, he continued, “So I have a few fantasies. Most men do.”

My seething emotions didn’t allow a response.

“I’m also interested in having a true partner. Maybe a gal who could help me run my film business. Go out and collect cans and bottles when I’m busy with other things.”

“Please leave, Mr. Johnson.”
I
will remain calm,
I chanted to myself.
I. Will. Remain. Calm.
I cared about my clients. Their well-being was important to me. And this . . . this creep thought I’d set him and his household appliances up with one of my girls?

Screw calm.

I turned on him, fire in my blood, ready to lash out with every ill thought I had. But his chest quivered in quiet laughter. Instead of catching this, my rage grew. “You think this is funny, Mr. Johnson?”

“Hilarious. Please call me by my first name, though. Harold.” He paused, his lips quirked, and the muscles in his cheeks flinched. “Or, rather, Harry.”

“Fine. Harry, your profile tells me that you’re a sick—” I stopped. I breathed. I added everything up and then I slumped in my chair. Wow. I was losing my touch. How had I not seen this earlier? I mentally went through everything again, and when I was sure, said, “I don’t appreciate these types of jokes. You might think this is funny, but I do not.”