Harte Strings: The Billionaire Matchmaker, Part Two (11 page)

Austin came in for his appointment as Lazer was leaving. In contrast to Lazer’s appointment, I was relaxed and confident.

“How did it go with Lazer? You started with the hardest one first,” Austin said as he took a seat. “To be honest, the rest of us think this is all a publicity stunt to get clients and promote the app.”

My heart nearly stopped. We were that transparent? Not even Lazer’s friends were in on the PR aspect of Lazer’s involvement. Only the two of us knew his true motives.

“You think so?” I said calmly.

Austin grinned. “It’s either that or he’s playing along to be part of the crowd. Lazer doesn’t like to be left out of things.”

That was new information.

“I hope you’re wrong,” I said. “If he’s not serious, he’ll fail. And that will be bad for my track record. But enough about Lazer—let’s talk about you.”

“There’s a topic I can warm up to!”

I explained the process to him. He was definitely game. I’d been thinking about each of the men as I’d observed them. And finding I liked this new way of getting to know new clients. I knew exactly how I wanted to fix Austin up.

“I read your book,” he said.

I wondered if they all had. It was a delight to have clients who came prepared. “Excellent.”

He stroked his scruffy, overgrown beard. He hadn’t shaved his neck or used any kind of beard trimmer that I could see.

“Unlike Lazer, I’ve never been a guy the women noticed or looked at twice. Except for my size. And that just scares most of them. When I walk down a dark street alone and come upon a lone woman or group of them, they cross the street to avoid me. I try to beat them to the punch when I can.”

“Women are cautious. It’s prudent to cross the street when you’re walking alone, no matter what a lone man you meet looks like,” I said, kindly.

“Maybe. But I look like a big red bear,” he said lightly.

It was an apt enough description.

“I know what you’re going to tell me—I have to trim this beast.” He he stroked the beard again.

I considered him a minute. “If you know what I’m going to tell you, why didn’t you act already?”

He made a face. “I was hoping I was wrong and wouldn’t have to. You know, that you could find a woman who’d love me for me.” He winked.

“You’re just pulling my leg now,” I said. “First, we have to attract their attention. Why do you think fishermen use shiny lures?”

I had a very specific look in mind for Austin. I’d stalked his Facebook profile and found old, pre-beard pictures of him. Enough of them to know there was a strong chin beneath all that hair.

“I have good news for you. You don’t have to trim your beard.”

His face lit up and he looked amazed. Like maybe he didn’t have such bad instincts about his personal grooming after all.

“You have to shave it off.” It was, perhaps, cruel of me to get his hopes up like that. “And grow your hair out. It’s short now. But in the old pictures of you when your hair was longer, it has a lot of curl.”

He frowned. “Too much. Unruly is what I’d call it. I like it short. No fuss.”

I nodded sympathetically. “But the women will
love
it longer. Trust me. And with the proper haircut, it won’t be a problem to style at all. I promise. When I’m done with you, you’ll look like a handsome Scots warrior. The women will go crazy.”

A
shley

As I lay in bed that night, thinking over the day, Ruck came back to haunt my thoughts. Was he my deal breaker? Would he break a deal with any man I might fall for?

All that was left of Ruck now were memories of him. Because his family was small and his mother and father were gone, too, I was the main bearer of them. I had a duty to keep them going. If I got involved with someone else, would those lovely memories fade to sepia? Did Ruck deserve that? If I had died first, I would have wanted Ruck to be happy and find someone else. At least, that was what the selfless part of me told myself. It was what I
should
want, right?

But forget me? Forget us? No, I wasn’t that selfless. Love another woman as much or more than me? The very question brought out a fierce surge of jealousy. So maybe I wasn’t as socially evolved and good as I should have been. I was, sadly, human.

And then there was simply me to think about, too. Either a really good marriage or a really bad marriage tends to make a person gun shy about trying marriage a second time. I’d seen this among my clients, too. The bad for obvious reasons. The good because you feel like an imposter who got lucky the first time. Now you fear failure on the second, as well as being disloyal to your late spouse. You feel fate has already handed you enough happiness. Why should you deserve more when some people haven’t had their first helping of true love? Maybe you’re simply tempting fate to try.

I send clients like me to therapy to help them overcome all these feelings before I begin sending them out on dates with matches I’ve picked for them. The first step any good matchmaker takes is evaluating their client’s dating and relationship history. As I’d explained to Lazer and the others, you need to look for any signs or patterns of behavior that will sabotage a relationship. Any baggage the client has—like still being in love with an ex—that will hinder them from finding a true mate.

When you made matches for a living like I did, the thought of finding someone new was even more daunting than for the average person. It was a simple case of knowing too much. I saw how hard and improbable finding a true soul mate was once, let alone twice. The task seemed almost insurmountable. Only the most dedicated need apply.

As for myself, I needed time and close contact to see whether Lazer was as good a match for me as Ruck had been. And whether I could really risk my heart again.

Restless, I got out of bed and went to the window, lifting the curtain to peer out. I needed fresh air. It helped me think. I had a view of the stars and the starlit pool. I was surprised to see a figure by the pool. It took me a second to realize it was Lazer.

I quietly opened the window and was hit by the cool night. Lazer stripped off his shirt. What was he thinking going for a swim all alone at night in the cold? I almost called out to him just as he shrugged out of his swim trunks and stood buck naked in the starlight.
Thank you, stars.

His backside was toward me. He had a nice ass; I’d give him that. But then, I already knew that. He took three steps and dove into the pool, sliding in without a splash.

I watched, breathless, until he resurfaced and began swimming laps with long, smooth strokes. There was a second when I felt like a Peeping Tom, a voyeur. And then I remembered Lazer’s comment about my room having the best view and realized he intended for me to see this.

Before I could move away from the window, he looked up. Instinctively, I let the curtain drop, heart pounding.
Caught
.

He’d seen me. If not me, exactly, the movement of the curtain. He knew I’d been watching him. I could just picture his smile.

L
azer

Ashley cornered me at breakfast. “Do you always swim naked?”

“Not always. Sometimes I wear all my clothes,” I said.

She smiled back at me. “I suppose that’s what you meant by my room having a nice view?”

“How arrogant do you think I am?” I laughed. “Don’t answer that. You should have joined me.”

“You should have been working on your homework.”

I frowned. “I’m not a fan of your homework. Too much introspection is bad for a man.”

“Sorry to hear that,” she said, and wandered off to join Lottie and Cam at a table.

I’d been serious. I didn’t like that homework.

A
shley

The morning meeting with the PR firm went well. I thought we conveyed to them that we wanted to push Lazer as our frontman, our celebrity spokesman, while maintaining an organic feel to our campaign.

The campaign itself would not focus on paid ads, but social media reach and interest we could gin up in the press. The PR firm had experts in each social media platform that would be posting and monitoring our success. The hope was that we could get enough interest to go viral. This approach had worked well for Lazer since his rise to billionairehood, and this particular project, with the reality TV show feel of watching Lazer go through the process of finding a wife, was particularly suited.

At this point in my career, I got most of my business through word of mouth and organic press. I was a well-known matchmaker in Manhattan. I thought Seattle would be a harder sell. But that remained to be seen.

After our meeting, I had my second session with Lazer. I couldn’t decide whether I was more nervous because his answers could very well eliminate me as any kind of contender for the role of his wife, or because they could contain deal breakers for me. Or because we might just be a perfect match. Except for the fact he didn’t want children and didn’t want to settle down and get married.

I told my clients that they should evaluate every date, every match, everyone they were even thinking of flirting with for deal breakers. Once they found one, they shouldn’t even bat their eyes at that person. Just walk away. If they didn’t, unhappiness and heartbreak were almost certainly on the horizon.

And yet here I was, wanting a man with two huge deal breakers. And rather than just walking away, I was looking for a way in and a way to change his mind.

We’d both dressed in business casual for our earlier meeting with the PR firm, even though Lazer had originally promised he wasn’t going to wear anything dressier than shorts while we were at the lodge. Neither of us had changed. Dressed in slacks and a dress shirt, he looked exactly like my version of physical perfection. Let’s face it. He looked like almost every woman’s version of male perfection. I wondered if Sanne now ever regretted refusing him. There was no coming back from such a cruel rejection of him.

He had his paperwork in hand as he sat on the sofa. “Deal breakers.” He shoved a pillow out of the way. “Wants kids. Is clingy. And wants to get married.”

“You can’t have ‘wants to get married’ as a deal breaker and you know it.” I opened my laptop and his file.

“This isn’t fair and
you
know it.” He leaned back on the sofa with his legs spread and his arms stretched out over the sofa back. “Why should you know exactly what I’m looking for, while your tastes remain secret from me?”

“Because I’m your matchmaker and you’re not mine.” I avoided looking at him.

“I could be,” he said. “I could match you up with one of my rich friends or acquaintances. If I run into one who’s available, knowing your tastes and deal breakers would help me to screen him for you. I might like being a matchmaker.”

“I doubt it,” I said. “And I’m not looking.” I threw him a bone. “Besides, I think you know pretty well what the physical attributes I like are.”

His eyes became round and dark. “Maybe I do.” He lowered his voice. “Why do you keep denying yourself? What do I have to do to get you back in bed?”

I met his gaze. “Want kids and be looking to get married in the next year.” I just blurted it out. “I’ve decided to go off one-night flings and hookups. One night with you and I decided I’m not that type of girl.”

He looked almost crestfallen. A hint of that geeky, insecure young guy cracked his polished façade.

“I didn’t mean it the way you think,” I said. “I realized I’m really
not
that kind of girl. I want something more than a night of fun. I want another romance. Another soul mate. Another husband, and children. The only way to get that is to follow my own advice and walk away from any man who doesn’t want those same things. No matter how funny, rich, intelligent, and hot he is.”

“I see.” He hesitated. “There really is no hope for us?”

“Not unless one of us changes our mind,” I said.

“You don’t feel even the slightest bit guilty that we’ll be sending me out there to pretend I’m exactly that guy who wants to get married?”

“No.” I shook my head, lying. “You’re not going to go on more than one date, two at the most, with any girl unless you decide you are ready or come clean with her about it. Then it’s on her if she continues to date you.”

He was silent.

He’d brought the worksheet I’d given him with him. It sat on the sofa next to him.

I held my hand out for it. “Let’s get started.”

He scooped it up and shook his head, a wry expression on his face as he stood. “What the hell do these matter? Why go through the pretense? Just match me with whoever gets us the most exposure and be done with it.”

Oh, I would. I definitely would. He could count on that.

F
ortunately
, my sessions with the other men went better. Much better. Why couldn’t I have had my romantic awakening and spotted one of them first? Why did I want the unobtainable?

Late in the afternoon, we had a team meeting for the guys to show us the latest on the app.

Cam presented. “After evaluating our business model, we’ve incorporated a salary calculator into the app. It wasn’t our original intention. But we decided that if, for some reason, we fail to get enough interest in the ‘find where the girls/boys are’ function, we hope that people will use the other functions.

“There are many apps that cater to the jobseeker. And, of course, many, many dating apps. But as far as we know, none that combine the two functions.” He brought up a presentation on his laptop and projected it for us all to see.

“For example, suppose you’re a female nurse looking for a college-educated male spouse and you’re living in a female-intensive area. You want to go where the men are and where you have the best chance of not only getting a job, but getting a good-paying job with a chance of career advancement. You plug all this into the app”—he demonstrated—“and it brings up a list of geographic locations that show you which cities you’d have the best chance of success achieving both objectives. And we’ve added a quality-of-life calculator as well. Now you can make an informed decision with all that information at your fingertips in one, easy, fast app.

“Once you have this information, you can visit the city of your choice and use the app function that shows you where the hotspots are for finding a large available pool of potential mates.”

The presentation was slick. We tried the app functions ourselves. I was impressed.

But I still had my concerns. “Walk through the singles-locating part of the app again? I’m still concerned about some of the features. Say I enable the app to show my location. I don’t want it to show me shopping at the grocery store. Or in the shower. Or walking down the street. Even if that’s all anonymous as to who’s in the shower. That’s creepy and dangerous. How do we protect against that?”

Austin answered. “Inside the app, you choose which locations you want to be identified as being in—as an anonymous single woman, of course. Suppose you’re a regular at Club A, and every time you go there, you want to be counted in the total of available women so that the men will come. Inside the app you identify that location as an ‘always show.’ From then until you disable that feature, you’ll always be part of the total. You can also enable ‘single occasion’ feature, which will show you in Club A until you leave. The next time you go to Club A, you’ll have to select it to be included.

“As a double protection, you can select some locations as a ‘never include’ spot. You might want to select your home, for example. Unless you’re having a party. Then you could disable that feature. The app is exceptionally powerful. Which is why it’s taking longer than we originally thought to get it up and running properly.”

Lottie raised her hand. “Couldn’t it be abused?”

Cam nodded. “It could. As with anything, it’s up to the individual user to use it responsibly.”

It was running late. We broke for dinner on the deck.

It was another clear, beautiful, warm evening. Dinner was a gourmet hamburger bar with a master chef grilling the burgers. Lazer grilled the first “ceremonial” burger and handed the job over to his chef.

Since our meeting, we’d been pleasant and cordial, but avoiding close contact. My nerves were raw and shot.

I found myself sitting at a table with Austin, looking off the edge of the cantilevered deck into the view of increasingly lighter mountains. It was like looking in a mirror and seeing mountains reflected forever.

“I’m enjoying your matchmaking process,” Austin told me.

“Are you?” I glanced at Lazer. “It seems to make some men uncomfortable.”

“Some ‘men’ have their head up their ass.” Austin laughed.

“Mmmmmm,” I said, embarrassed I’d been so obvious. “I have my work cut out for me.”

“That you do. Don’t beat yourself up. He signed up for this. The onus is on him. You’re only human.”

“Thanks. I think.” I ate a freshly made potato chip from the kitchen. “Lazer knows how to feed people.”

Austin nodded. “And yet he keeps his boyish figure.” He winked.

I laughed.

“What’s the next step? In the matchmaking process.”

I grinned slyly. “Makeovers!”

“Oh, jeez.” Austin muttered a few more choice words beneath his breath.

I was used to getting this reaction, especially from men. I shook my head playfully at his discomfort. “Tomorrow we’re taking a special jaunt into Seattle to turn all of you gentlemen into heartbreakers.”