Lazer Focused: A Jet City Billionaire Romance (The Billionaire Matchmaker Series Book 1) (2 page)

When she turned her gaze on me, her eyes were arresting and danced with amusement. Large. Deep brown. Interested. Her smile was an absolute delight, full of devilment. And there was just a hint of a spray of freckles across her nose that her makeup didn't quite hide.

At this close distance, the small flaws in her face were evident. She wasn't flawless after all. Just very good with makeup. A real artiste. Her imperfections made her more human and gave her face character. Who wanted a perfect woman?

"Just clumsy." Her voice was silken and smooth, with the slightest accent of a New Yorker.

Which explained the city sophistication.

"What kind of a fool to you think I am?" I grinned back at her. "Don't play coy with me. That was a call to action."

"Was it?" One corner of her mouth turned up. She was trying not to break out laughing.

"Too innocent," I said. "You've been calling me since I walked in."

She shrugged one shoulder. "I'll work on it." She paused and glanced around meaningfully at the crowded taproom, as if they amused her. "What does a girl have to do to get noticed around here?"

She pointed to the empty stool next to her. "It's like I have the plague or something. I didn't realize Seattle was such a cold city. Join me?"

"Oh, you're noticed," I whispered in her ear as I slid onto the barstool next to hers. "But you're intimidating."

She looked both startled and delighted by that. "Me? How so?"

"You're much too gorgeous." I grinned, enjoying myself.

"I didn't peg you as the kind of guy who fed a girl a line as soon as he meets her."

"A line?" I shook my head. "Is that what you call the honest truth these days?" I leaned closer to her and spoke in her ear over the din of the bar. "Your beauty makes you unapproachable, whether you believe it or not.

"Every guy in the taproom has his eye on you and would love to make a move. If he could just screw up his courage. But they know every other guy is watching you, too. That makes any move he makes public. No one wants to be shot down in front of all their peers and look like a fool. It's just too damn risky."

Her answering smile was radiant. "And you?
You're
not afraid."

I shrugged. "This isn't a move. I'm not hitting on you. Just being friendly. And hoping to have a nice chat with a woman who looks like an interesting person."

"You really do know what to say." She gave me an admiring look.

I held out my hand. "Lazer Grayson. Welcome to Seattle. New Yorker?"

She blew out a breath. "Manhattan. But I'm a transplant from the Midwest." She paused. "Don't tell me I've picked up an accent."

"It's very slight."

She studied my face in the most flattering way. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Seattle's Hottest Billionaire." She laughed again and slid her hand into mine as her bracelets jingled brightly on her wrist.

Her touch shouldn't have affected me as much as it did. She wasn't as beautiful as many of the women I'd dated. Or slept with. But there was something magnetic and fun about her.

"Ashley Harte." She gave my hand a firm shake and released it too soon.

Going so long without sex was catching up with me. Sex. Sex. Sex!

"So you've heard of me?" I joked, secretly pleased. People did recognize me. I was a local celebrity. I'd been featured in
Forbes, Money
, and
Inc
. But celebrity was a soul-crushing thing. One could never tell who would recognize you and who wouldn't. Even though my buddies teased me about my ego, I never assumed.

Ashley made a quick, dismissive gesture, almost modestly. "Your reputation precedes you." She paused, still studying me as if I was an exotic animal, and she a huntress.

I'd seen that look in the eyes of too many women. Sometimes it was a turn-on. Sometimes not, depending on the woman and my appetite at the time.

"To be fair, it's my business to know all about men like you," she said. "A billionaire in the wild is an exciting sighting. It could make my fortune."

"Now I'm intrigued. Buy you a drink?" I flagged the bartender without waiting for an answer. I turned to Ashley. "What are you drinking?"

"Apple craic on ice."

I hitched my thumb toward her. "One for the lady. And another whiskey for me." I turned back to her. "Apple craic?"

"The bartender told me it's a specialty of the distillery. They make it from Washington apples. When in Washington State…"

I nodded, impressed with her choice. Men like women who drink straightforward drinks. Like anything either neat or over ice. If this had been a brewery, or a regular bar, she would have gotten even more points for ordering a beer.

"I see," I said. "Apple everything. Playing tourist or here on business?"

"A little of both. This is my first time in Seattle." She hesitated.

The bartender set two drinks on the bar before us.

"This is where I ask what you do for a living." I grabbed my glass.

"That
is
the usual question." As she wrapped her long-fingered hand around her glass, I caught a whiff of her expensive perfume. Yeah, definitely packed with pheromones. "This is where it gets awkward."

She was lovely. Perfectly beautiful. Her hands were feminine and graceful. Her nails expensively manicured. And best of all, she was filled with almost childlike delight at our encounter, and doing a good job of holding it at bay. And yet she was anything but naïve.

"Awkward?"

She nodded. "Before I tell you, you have to promise you won't run for the hills."

"Are you a serial killer?" I said, amused. "Do you cut off men's balls for a living?"

She laughed again. "
Worse
. I'm a professional matchmaker."

It took a second for her words to register with me. I leaned away from her automatically. "Damn." I held my fingers up in a cross to ward her off.

She shook her head and laughed. "See! You just made my point.
Men
. They're such cowards when it comes to commitment and their own happiness."

I looked her directly in the eye. "Ad hominem attacks won't make your case. Why shouldn't we hide from you?"

"Denial won't make your case, either." She smiled so sweetly it took my breath away.

The buzz in the room was growing louder. The crowd on TV roared at something the Ms had done. She glanced at the TV overhead and whooped. "Go, Mariners!"

"You're a Mariners fan?" I gave her points for paying attention to the game.

"Usually I'm more of a Yankees fan. But when in Rome…"

Double points.

She yelled over the noise. "It's a proven, scientific fact that married men live longer than their single counterparts. You want to live a long time, don't you? Long enough to spend all your billions, anyway?"

"Babe, I couldn't spend all my billions in a dozen lifetimes."

I couldn't tell whether she was as aware as I was of the attention we were drawing. Every single guy in the place was listening and watching us. I had no desire to yell over the noise and broadcast our conversation to the masses.

I leaned close to her and whispered in her ear, catching the scent of her shampoo. She simply smelled delicious all the way around. "I'd love to continue our conversation someplace where we don't have to yell. I haven't eaten yet. Have you?"

Suddenly a cheeseburger was sounding pretty damn good.

She shook her head.

"Good. I'm starving." I grinned. "I know a quiet little place on Lake Union just a few blocks away. Fresh Dungeness crab cakes. Steaks. Clam chowder. My treat. Are you in?"

She grabbed her purse. "Lead the way."

As I closed out my tab for the evening, the game was still playing overhead. The Ms were up. Bottom of the fourth. Bases loaded. Two outs.

I took Ashley's elbow and guided her through the crowd as our batter took the box. As we stepped outside, the bar erupted in applause. The guys got to their feet in a standing O.

"The Ms must have scored," I said as I glanced back over my shoulder into the taproom.

Ashley laughed. "Don't be dense. They're applauding
you
. They think
you've
scored."

"No. No
way
. You're mistaken." I wasn't being falsely modest, either. I didn't believe her.

A gentle breeze was blowing off the lake. Ashley brushed a strand of hair out of her face and sighed in the most deeply satisfied manner I had ever seen. As if the satisfaction reached her very soul. "I love this town already! I think it might be the one."

A
shley

Oh, Lazer Grayson was so completely,
wonderfully
adorable and genuine. It was enough to make my jaded New Yorker heart burst with sunny, sappy clichés, and break out in song. And
almost
restore my faith in humanity in general. And men, specifically. For a man of the world, and a billionaire at that, he was so refreshingly naïve. He reminded me of…

Well, that wasn't fair. To any of us. I pushed those intruding thoughts away. But, try as I might, I couldn't shove the ripple of sexual awareness aside. This past year my sexual desire had been slowly returning. Inconvenient. Especially given my profession and situation. To be completely honest, I wasn't sure whether I was courting Mr. Grayson for my clientele. Or myself. The moment he sat down next to me at the bar, he'd taken my breath away. And I still hadn't completely recovered.

Living in New York City these last years, where straight, ambitious, college-educated men were at a premium, and seeing the dating climate through my clients' eyes, my ego and self-esteem had taken a savage beating. For years, my dead heart and lack of desire had been my solace. With my awakening heart, loneliness was creeping in. And damning hope. Maybe there
was
another soul mate out there for me somewhere. Though I didn't like to admit it to myself, maybe that hope was as much to blame for this trip as my desperation on behalf of my female clients.

I'd worked with enough clients to know the intricacies of human nature and spot a fake quickly. Lazer
really
believed his fellow Seattleites in the bar were cheering for their hometown baseball team, not their hometown stud. That was so…
so
modest of him. And hot.

I liked a man who wasn't so full of himself he couldn't see past his own ego. It had been a long time since I'd been in the presence of such an animal. I would have thought I had a unicorn on my hands. If not for those other delightful men at the distillery.

In New York, the other men sneer at a guy pairing off so early in the evening, not waiting to see if something better came along. If even
half
of Seattle men were anything like Lazer, and I sensed they were, the rumors and data about Seattle were true.

My pulse raced at the thought of getting out of this slump and taking Harte Mates to the next level. My Sweethartes, as I lovingly referred to my clients, could use some fresh choices. I'd taken such a public beating lately. It wasn't my fault desirable men were in short supply. I was having trouble in both arenas—attracting new male Sweethartes and finding desirable men for my database of possible matches for my female Sweethartes.

Inconveniently, in Lazer's presence, my pulse raced atrociously. As we were seated at the prime table with the best view in the house at what was obviously a pricey and exclusive restaurant, I could have died of happiness. In my wildest dreams, I would never have pictured being the dinner guest of a billionaire. Particularly
this
billionaire. He was like my fantasy quarry. If I could get him on my roster and make him a match…

Or into bed—

Wait!
What was I thinking? No. Either were too far out of the realm of possibility.
Just enjoy the moment
, I told myself. Showing up on the arm of Lazer Grayson, Seattle's hottest, most eligible bachelor? Dizzying.

In New York, it was fantasy enough to be one of the lucky few women picked to go home with a straight guy at the end of any given Friday evening. Period.

The waiter handed us menus.

"It smells delicious. What's the absolute best dish on the menu? What do you recommend?" I asked as I opened mine and pried my gaze away from him.

His chiseled good looks, combined with his personal charisma, made it impossible to focus on the menu and not sneak another peek at him. Looking at him was like eating potato chips—just one more, please.

You can tell a lot about a man by how he handles a social situation like dinner. Is he confident? Will he make a decision? Defer? Reflect the question back at his companion? Bully his date into his choice of selection?

"Everything." Lazer's grin was the perfect combination of hot and sweet. The sensual tone of his voice made my toes curl. It had just the right tenor and held the perfect amount of amusement and charm. Not to mention, it was deep and sexy without veering into radio announcer territory. "There's not a bad pick on the menu."

He had an attentive way of looking at me that made me feel like he was completely fascinated with me. Tuned into me in a way no other man had. I was sure it was a practiced art and he looked at every woman that way. When it suited him.

I tried not to make too much of it. My mind was already running with possible brides for him. Any of my ladies would be completely swept away by him. Despite the dire shortage of successful, college-educated men in New York, I was extremely selective about which men I set my female clients up with. But Lazer would have to tame his player's ways and want to settle down before I could make any matches for him. Still, I'd seen it happen many times. Once a man decided it was time for a wife, he could commit if he wanted to.

"We have a saying here in Seattle—what's for salmon tonight?" Lazer grinned. Even his grin was seductive. "They make it just about any way you want here. If you're not into salmon, or have had your fill, then the crab cakes, definitely."

The waiter had been waiting patiently while we chatted. "May I start you on some drinks?"

Lazer deferred to me. "How about a bottle of wine?"

I nodded. "That sounds lovely."

"Mind if I take the liberty?"

"Please do."

"Red or white?"

"Either," I said.

It was a test. Again. Ordering wine is an art. And again, shows true colors. Will a guy fake knowledge? Will he order confidently? Show off? Order the most expensive thing? Try to make the woman feel she owes him? Although, in New York, that's almost a moot point. Men know they have the advantage.

Lazer ordered a local wine, one of the house specialties, and handed the drink menu to the waiter, who hurried off to fill our order. It wasn't the most expensive wine. Clearly he wasn't showing off. Even though the cost of anything on the drink menu was chump change to him.

"A matchmaker," he said with one eyebrow raised. His gaze skimmed my left hand. "And yet no ring. You aren't married? Ever heard of practicing what you preach?"

He was teasing, obviously. He didn't mean to be cruel. People never did. And how could they know? I got this a lot from clients and well-meaning people. I hated to answer. I dreaded the look in their eyes when I told them. I tensed, bracing for the pity.

"I did my duty." I smiled as brightly as I could. "I saved one man from himself and made him very happy. Unfortunately, he didn't live long enough to enjoy the full benefits of a long married life together." I took a deep breath. "I'm a widow."

Lazer took my hand where it rested on the table and gave it a firm, reassuring squeeze that was practically as warm and comforting as a hug. It was a surprising, tender, caring, thoughtful gesture. Not something I expected from a man of his reputation.

"I'm sorry." His voice had a genuine ring of sympathy.

He certainly did know how to handle women.

"You couldn't know," I answered automatically, hoping we hadn't just killed the evening.

"Any children?"

I shook my head. "No."

He nodded, looking uncertain what to say as he released my hand. "How long?"

"Five years. But you never really get over it."

His eyes were sympathetic, but there was no pity that I could see. His smile deepened. "That's a long time for a gorgeous woman like you to remain single."

I laughed. "Do you
ever
stop flirting?"

He was incorrigible. I was thankful he didn't make too much of it or ask too many questions. It was awkward talking about another man at dinner when you were interested in the one you were with. Even if the other man was your late husband. I tell my clients never to talk about their exes on the first date or encounter.

He looked startled. "I wasn't aware that I was."

At that moment, I loved him for his sweetness. Nothing about his manner was slimy or disrespectful.

"So. Matchmaker?" He lifted an eyebrow, prompting me to continue. "There must be a story there somewhere. Are they offering degrees in matchmaking from the Ivy Leagues now? Or the Seven Sisters?"

"Haha. I went to a public university."

"Sorry. My mistake. Is your degree in matchmaking a BA or a BS?" There was a lot of double entendre implication in the way he said BS.

I rolled my eyes. "You're a regular card."

He waited for me to continue.

"FYI, I have a bachelor of arts in business with a finance emphasis. And a minor in psychology and family studies."

He didn't look particularly surprised, but I had his interest.

"I've always been good at setting people up on dates. Since junior high, at least. I set Kendra and Steve up for senior prom and they were married a year later." I nodded. "They're still together.

"My grandma was a matchmaker. She didn't charge for her services. But she could have. If you wanted a spouse, you went to Etta and she found you one. Simple as that. She used to brag that she had a one-hundred-percent success rate. She taught me everything she knew." I smiled at the memory of her.

"When I went to college, my talent became obvious. The six couples I fixed up my first semester dated all through college. Five of them got married."

I temporarily lost myself in the joyful memories of helping my friends find lasting love. "Out of college I worked at a big corporation in the finance department. But I was very social, always planning office get-togethers and parties. Always trying to match the office singles up. After my husband was killed in action…"

I rarely brought Ruck up to strangers. Talking about him made me too emotional.

I took a deep breath, veering back off that forbidden topic. "I got a nice settlement from the life insurance company. I hated my finance job. I was looking for something that gave my life meaning. And tired of crunching numbers. So I took a chance on myself, apprenticed at a big agency, and finally started my own business doing something that makes me happy.

"Finding people's soul mates"—I couldn't help smiling—"it's just…thrilling. To see two formerly lonely people happy and making a life together…"

I shook my head, snapping myself out of my blissful trance that thinking about the people I'd helped always put me in. "I'm good at it." I laughed softly. "Who am I kidding? I'm the best." I grinned. "Before I knew it, I had a thriving business."

"Your passion for what you do is obvious." He smiled at me with an approving look in his eyes.

Men, listen up—women love it when you smile at them! If I could convince my male clients to smile more, my job would only be half as hard.

I nodded and scrunched my mouth to the side as thoughts of my recent troubles intruded. "It's been a fantastic business. Until lately." I sighed. "Things have gotten simply out of hand. The gap between the number of available men and available women has become too great. It's pandemic nationwide. But in New York!" I threw my hands up. "There's a complete dearth of available, educated, straight men in New York City."

I tried not to let my frustrations get the best of me. I wanted to impress this man. Way more than I should have. And not just on professional terms. I had plenty of high-powered clients who didn't rattle me. But just being near Lazer was thrilling.

"And the few that there are aren't willing to commit. To just about anything. Even a second date. And why should they when inferior men can have almost any woman they want at the snap of their fingers? It's a matchmaker's nightmare."

I had his attention now.

"Really?"

Too interested? Was he
too
interested?

I nodded. "Too many women wanting husbands. Too few men, and fewer still that want to settle down."

The waiter appeared with our wine. After the ritual of opening it, the waiter handed the bottle to Lazer, who poured us each a glass and ordered appetizers before our server disappeared.

"That's surprising. We have a lot of men here." He frowned, puzzling it out. "Too many. As you saw in the bar. And not enough women." He paused and the light bulb went off. "
Wait
. That's why you're here? Looking for men for your clients?"

"Not exactly. Verifying the rumors," I said, flirtatiously. "And thinking of expanding my business and becoming bicoastal. The thought of a market with so many men is terribly enticing." I resisted the urge to sigh, and smiled more deeply instead.

"I've been trying to convince my more desperate female clients to move to where the men are. And I hate to correct you, but Seattle doesn't actually have
more
college-educated men than women. It actually has slightly fewer. It just has a
better
ratio—closer to parity than almost anyplace in the country."

"Try convincing my single buddies and guy employees of that!" He shook his head. "From a local guy's perspective, it sure doesn't feel like it. You saw the ratio at the taproom. You felt the desperation…"

As he studied me, he got a look of appreciation for my skill. "Damn. You really
are
good. You picked a perfect hunting ground."

"Mmmmmm." I nodded. "The disparity is worse in the city. If you figure in the suburbs, the ratio in the Greater Seattle Metro area is nearly fifty/fifty.

"It seems counterintuitive. You'd think the suburbs would be full of married people, retirees, and families. But that just isn't the case. Not here in Seattle where single college-educated men still out-earn single women because men dominate the high-paying high-tech jobs. Which are in the city. That drives up rents in the city and sends the available single women to the suburbs.

"You might try telling your friends that. If they want to find a woman, they should frequent the bars in the suburbs." I took a sip of my wine. It was very good. I was impressed, and not only with his wine-picking skills. I'd met with a lot of wealthy men. Lazer's relative humility was refreshing.