Lazer Focused: A Jet City Billionaire Romance (The Billionaire Matchmaker Series Book 1) (3 page)

"I'll pass it along."

I smiled, dreamily. I was making a good impression on him. Clearly, the way to his heart was to show off my business skills and knowledge. He was interested in what I was saying, and that was key. Women loved men who were interested in them and listened.

I looked into his eyes and said what was on my mind. "You Seattle men are so handsome! It's been a feast for the eyes since I arrived. In New York, the men are…they don't care how they look."

Lazer puffed his chest out, exaggeratedly peacocking for effect. "Why thank you!" he said in a deep, funny voice, and laughed. "And may I return the compliment. You New York women are gorgeous. If only we had more of you!"

I bit my tongue. I was on the verge of blurting out how adorable he was.

His eyes danced with amusement. His tone was teasing. "I hate to point this out, but you were in the taproom. You saw the guys. Do you need your eyes checked?" He cocked his head. "They're not exactly Hemsworth brothers."

"Compared to New York men, they most certainly
are
!" I was surprised at my own vehemence. "The men at the distillery were real guys. Sweetly insecure, masculine men, for all their geekiness. Did you see them in their skinny jeans and tailored shirts? With their hip beards neatly trimmed?"

I sighed and went all matchmaker dreamy at the thought of delicious Seattle men. The most delectable of them sitting across from me.

"Hipster is big here. It's just conformity. Fitting in." He looked confused by my obvious enthusiasm.

"Their flat guts," I said, ignoring his interruption and skepticism. "Their toned biceps." I shivered with pleasure. "They're working out at the gym!"

"Probably more like biking or hiking. Maybe jogging. We like our outdoor sports—"

"The point is—they're fixing up!" I was enraptured by thoughts of all the happy marriages I could facilitate. "Geeks and gamers. Nerds or princes. One and all. It's a direct consequence of the imbalance.

"When women are in short supply, men have to stay in shape and make an effort to attract the opposite sex. Their employers love it. Men actually work harder to get ahead when women are scarce. There are studies that prove it. But did you notice the women?"

He rolled his eyes and shuddered, mocking horror. "Did I! I live here, remember?"

I laughed at his horrified expression. "Exactly. Seattle women are like New York men. They weren't even trying. No makeup. Or very little, at best. And the way they were dressed!"

"Their cold attitude," he added. "Don't forget that. Seattle girls have a reputation for being cold as ice. They're always waiting for someone good to come on to them. They'll shoot you down in a heartbeat if they think they can get someone better. And they usually do think that. If the guys here are insecure, can you blame them?"

"Those poor, lovely, lonely men. I sympathize with them. I really do. I love men! I can make them happy—"

"You mean you can find them wives. I'm not sure that's the same thing." His eyes sparkled. They were beautiful, big, and dark. Sexily hooded. With long lashes. Why did men always get the good lashes?

"Shut up." I laughed. "Women here can afford to be cold and selective. As long as they're in demand, they can toss aside anyone who doesn't immediately appeal to them because there are plenty more to choose from. There's no rush.

"New York men have that attitude in spades. They outnumber the women by so much that it's ridiculous.

"You could see what I'm talking about play out at the bar, which was a microcosm of the city as a whole. The women who were attached were definitely dating above their attractiveness grade. Not that looks are everything…"

"But they help," he said.

"And they're generally the commodity women trade in. Even successful women. Men trade on their wealth and earning power." I looked him in the eye as I spoke. Flattering him, was I? Or just telling the truth? I was getting lost in the fun of flirting.

"Fascinating. In New York, the women are all like you?" Something in his tone of voice was totally flattering.

I laughed. "In New York, I'm very average."

I thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head.

"No. I'll never believe that." His voice and gaze were full of warmth and sincerity.

Do you know how long it had been since a man had sincerely complimented me? It was a simple thing, but so effective. So heart stopping and beautiful, partly because it wasn't a come-on. And partly because I believed it could be. I blinked back tears.

"Thank you." I paused, momentarily choked up and at a loss for words as I studied him.

His answering smile was beautiful. He knew how to give a woman his full attention, which I found intoxicating. It was so different from New Yorkers, who simply flit their gaze over you and discarded you as not a supermodel.

"How long are you here?" he said, breaking the silence.

"This is the last stop in my West Coast tour and fishing expedition." I was suddenly nervous. "I fly home tomorrow. Now if only I could convince some of my most vocal, disgruntled would-be clients to relocate here, I'd be in heaven. I'm turning women clients away at an alarming rate. I just can't find them matches in New York."

I couldn't tell whether he was disappointed or excited by the fact I wouldn't be hanging around. He had a reputation for one-night stands. And I was beginning to think he was the perfect man to break my celibacy streak with.

"Where else have you been?" he said casually. "Who's our competition when you give your recommendation to go west, young woman? Or decide to open a West Coast office."

"I flew here from Man Jose two days ago," I said. "Based on all the stats and info I'd read, they were my first choice—"

"Man Jose?" He laughed at the nickname.

I nodded and met his smile with one of my own. "It's one of the few cities in the country that actually has a
surplus
of successful, employed, educated, high-earning men."

"High-tech." He nodded. "Makes sense."

I set my wine glass down.

His interest was piqued. He studied me thoughtfully. "You said there's a shortage nationwide?"

I nodded. "Actually, worldwide. Even in China, where the male birthrate far surpassed the female rate for decades."

His eyes went wide with surprise. "What happened to all the college-educated guys? Where have they gone?"

I laughed. "That sounds like a song or a poem—where have all the good men gone?" I sighed, thinking it was too true.

"They haven't
gone
anywhere. Men just aren't going to college in the same numbers as women. In fact, the ratio of women to men who graduate from college with a bachelor's degree is fifty-seven to forty-three. That's the statistic bureaucrats like to use. Because it doesn't sound nearly as bad as when you put it into percentages.

"Percentagewise, approximately one-third more women graduate from college than men nationwide. And the gap continues to grow. As it has since 1983, the first year graduating women outnumbered graduating men."

He seemed to take that in. "But there are plenty of men in general. At least if my investments in video games are any indication. At birth, there are slightly more men. If more women are going to college than men, that means that blue-collar guys are in the same situation—there aren't enough blue-collar women for them, since so many of them have gone off to college."

I nodded, impressed. He was paying attention to what I was saying. Really listening. And he was interested.

"Very astute. Fortunately, blue-collar men aren't my problem. There are plenty of blue-collar men in New York. If I could convince some of my female clients to accept them as potential mates, I would. There are some lovely men going wanting. And some wonderful women going lonely because they won't 'lower their standards.'"

I sighed. I'd been down this road too many times before. Tried to convince women that wonderful marriages could be made if they would broaden their requirements.

"My female clients have worked hard and have big aspirations. They want a man that has the same. The mixed-collar marriage, as some experts are calling it, is the new forbidden marriage."

When I spoke, it was as if he was hanging on my words. To say it was flattering would be an understatement.

I liked him. I
really
liked him. He was handsome and hot. And he listened. He caught on quickly. I'd always loved intelligent men. For all my brave words, I wasn't into a mixed-collar marriage, either. Which was part of my problem. In New York, at twenty-nine I was aging out of my own female client age range. Even
I
wouldn't accept
me
as a client. I was getting too old to be a Sweetharte.

Not that I was thinking of settling down. Where had that even come from? I wasn't ready for a commitment, but my pulse hadn't raced like this in years. Not since…

Maybe all the male attention during the last few weeks had gone to my head. Maybe I was giddy with it. Maybe I
was
impressed with his money and it was coloring my feelings toward him. All I knew was that I found him
very
attractive. My pulse quickened and my sexual desire roared. Good thing I had a vibrator back at the hotel.

Here I was hoping to make him a client. And at the same time wanting to sleep with him in the worst way possible. Wanting to reach out and stroke his firm jaw. Hold his strong hand. Unbutton his shirt and discover the body beneath…

"It sounds like I'll have to move to New York if I ever change my mind and decide I want to find a wife."

Why was even his stubborn resistance to what was good for him so sexy?

"Now you're just teasing," I said. "As a billionaire, you know good and well you won't have
any
trouble finding a wife." I leaned forward. "The bigger question is whether you'll find the
right
wife. For a man like you, with a fortune on the line, that's the important thing.

"I can help you with that. I can find you a soul mate. You should sign up as one of my clients. My rates are very reasonable."

He lifted a brow and I laughed.

"I'm the best matchmaker in Manhattan, if not the country."

"And humble." He laughed. "I was wondering when you were going to give me the sales pitch."

Our appetizers arrived.

He waited until I served myself before helping himself. "Well? You're not going to convince me to engage your services based on price. I can afford anything I want." His gaze held mine. "If you want me for a client, you're going to have to convince me I need a wife."

"You do." I nodded, completely serious.

My heart beat like a rabbit's, fast and shallow. I couldn't decide what was more important—hooking him for a client or getting him into bed. Of all the men in Seattle, I had to want the one who was as much in demand as a straight, single man in Manhattan. And yes, I was struck by the irony of that name every day. Man-hattan indeed. Man-
less
-hattan.

To date, I hadn't been into the hookup culture in New York. I wasn't that kind of girl. In fact, I hadn't dated at all since my widowhood. Mostly from lack of desire. But also, why bother in such a saturated market? But this man, this beautiful man, had awakened something wild and crazy in me.

Crazy for me, anyway. The thought of a hookup was all over my mind. Just one night. Some hot sex. No commitment. No prying eyes. No gossip. Then home to Manhattan, where I'd never see him again. No guilt that I was falling out of love with my late husband. Just sex. Sleeping with a billionaire—wouldn't that be a perfectly delicious experience to have?

"You really do need a wife. For your health and safety." I shifted my position and "accidentally" brushed his foot with mine. When he pressed his closer to mine in a definite show of interest, my pulse roared into action. I knew the rules of dating all too well.

This may have been Seattle, where women had the advantage over men. But the rules didn't apply to a billionaire like him. He may not have been aware, but while we dined, he was attracting the attention of several attractive single women around the restaurant and the nearby bar. If I wanted to secure a night with him, I would have to make it obvious that he'd have a better time with me. Or I'd end up alone in my hotel room sleeping with the television on.

But first, I had to pitch my matchmaking services to him one last time or I'd never forgive myself. "Number one—as I was saying in the taproom, happily married men live longer than single men. Singles are five times more likely to die of infectious disease and almost forty percent more likely to die of heart disease. They're even twice as likely to die accidentally. Some studies suggest the mortality is as much as two hundred and fifty percent higher among single men than it is among married men."

"Now I'm a thrill-seeker?" His foot caressed mine. "I like living dangerously. You know your statistics."

"Sorry! I'm a bit of a statistics geek." I shrugged. "I have a good memory for facts and figures. It comes in handy in the job."

"I believe the keyword here is the word 'happily,'" he said, returning to the original topic of conversation. "How much shorter are unhappily married men's life spans than their single counterparts?" He rested his hand on the table.

I placed my hand on the table next to his. "That's where I come in. I'll find you the
right
wife."

He shook his head. "Maybe I'm not concerned about living a long time, just living well. What else have you got?"

"Being married increases your earning power." I touched my knee to his beneath the table.

He laughed. "You think I need
more
billions? I beg to differ with your assertion. The wrong wife could take me for a pile of money. If things end badly."

"We're not talking about the wrong wife. I have sound methods of determining compatibility. But I take your point. In your case, you probably don't
need
more earning power."

"Probably?"

I arched one eyebrow. "This one should interest you—marriage preserves your bloodline."

"Now you're talking children?" He made a point of shuddering. "You're joking. I don't need to be married to have a kid. I don't even need a girlfriend. I have plenty of money. I can always hire a surrogate. I'm not like my friend Riggins, the Duke of Witham, who has to have a legitimate heir."