Lazer Focused: A Jet City Billionaire Romance (The Billionaire Matchmaker Series Book 1) (8 page)

"In my case, that shouldn't be a problem. I'm not looking for a wife, as you know." He held my gaze.

Was he still flirting with me?

"You want to be the modern-day Asa Mercer? Get a street named after you. Maybe an island. Let the city throw a parade for you by bringing fifteen potential brides to Seattle in modern day? That's not a drop. That's a microscopic speck."

He was so cute with his little plan. If I had been a more egotistical woman, I would have thought this was a lame excuse to get closer to me.

"Yes. Like old Asa, I want to solve Seattle's gender imbalance. But with a modern solution. I need the women to be beta testers." He pulled his phone from his pocket and put it on the desk between us. "This is why you signed the non-disclosure. My team has been developing this app."

As I took the phone from him, he slid his chair closer to mine until our arms practically brushed. He leaned close and walked me through the app as he explained its functions. How it was a way for singles to find current pools of available members of the opposite sex at any given time. How they could go directly to where desirable people were hanging out and avoid the dead spots.

Thinking of going to XYZ club? Bring it up on your app. You're a guy looking for a girl. Oops. No good. Only twenty eligible girls and sixty guys in the place. But over at ABC Bar there are two eligible girls for every guy. Better to head there.

The app was impressive and slick. Totally top rate and classy. If I hadn't been distracted by the sensual smell of Lazer and the heat radiating off him, I might even have salivated a little. Was there a way I could use an app like this in my business?

Over the last half-century, matchmakers had incorporated online dating and adapted their services because of it. Technology was going to keep evolving. And businesses, even those in the business of love, like mine, were going to have to keep adapting or die.

Although I loved the app and the idea behind it, I was skeptical. "The app is beautiful. But…I don't see how I fit into your plans for it. I'm all for helping my Sweethartes—"

"Your sweethearts?"

"Sorry." I laughed a little nervously. I usually didn't use the term with anyone outside the office. It was too easy to forget myself with him.

"That's what I privately call my clients." I spelled it out for him. "Anyway, I'm all for helping my Sweethartes meet their future spouses any way they can. I encourage them even to try online dating if they want. I offer coaching sessions and dating profile consultations to help them build the best profiles they can.

"But I don't see how I fit into the app launch. I mean, I can certainly offer certain services. Getting clients past their broken relationships and bad dating habits, what I call Dating Declutter. I can make them over so they present their best-looking selves. Coach clients about how to make themselves approachable once they find a target-rich environment. Which is where I might fit in."

He smiled at my terminology.

"And give them relationship advice. But my main forte is doing all that screening for clients. My clients are very busy, successful people. They don't want to waste time finding dates on their own. They don't have time to fool around with unsuitable matches. People pretending to be other than what they are. Gold diggers. That kind of thing.

"They want me using my expertise and connections to do the hard legwork for them. I'm sort of the dating game equivalent of a real estate agent.

"The clients want me to act as their go-between. Set up dates when they don't have the time or are too shy or insecure or afraid of rejection. Shield them from rejection. Coach them on how to date better. They don't want to do it on their own. They want me to be their relationship therapist. Confessor. Personal event planner.
That's
why they hire me." I paused for a breath. "I'm not sure an app fits into my business model."

He heard me out without interrupting. Once again, I felt that I had his complete and rapt attention. Who doesn't love to be listened to? It's totally sexy. And his expression? Completely flattering, as if he was impressed with everything I said.

He nodded. "I've done my homework. I know what you do. I've even read your book."

"Oh, that." I blushed.
Dating Game, Set, Match
had come out two years ago and skimmed the bottom of the
New York Times
list for a few weeks before slowly sliding into relative obscurity. I was immensely proud of it. And a little embarrassed by it. I'd gained a lot more matchmaking experience since then. It was probably time for a second edition. "So you know all my tricks? Or you think you do." I raised an eyebrow.

"Never publish your trade secrets."

I shrugged. "Who says I did?"

He laughed. "Your record is impressive. Two hundred and fifty marriages in five years of business?"

I nodded, flattered, again, that he'd taken the time to find the most up-to-date stats. Impressed he realized the magnitude of my accomplishment. The business of love is a tricky business.

"You're an expert. I wanted to hear your opinion on our app."

I hesitated and wondered who "our" referred to.

"There's another thing," I said. "Your app sounds marvelous. In theory. Once it's caught on, it would be a huge success. But that's the catch. How do you get it to catch on?

"You need a lot of people using it for it to be effective. Otherwise, if no one is using it, or very few people, what's the point? No man is going to want to cruise around Seattle looking for the one girl who has her app turned on. Or erroneously rejecting bar after bar as having no available women simply because nobody else is using the app. You have to somehow launch with a big pool of users."

He lifted one eyebrow. His eyes were bright with excitement.

"You've thought of that," I said, realizing just how sharp he was.

"And now you know why I want to be the modern-day Asa Mercer. We need a publicity stunt. A big splash. A beautiful New York matchmaker breezes into town with a cache of gorgeous, eager-to-settle-down New York women and connections to more.

"The girls have the app. My Seattle guys have the motivation. You have the relationship savvy. We show how well the app works by having success right out of the box. Lots of happy relationships formed."

"If we get lucky," I said, "that's still leaving a lot to chance. Even if I coach the men and women, there's still too much trial and error in dating to guarantee quick early success."

He smiled into my eyes again. "Exactly. Which is why we have to rig things in our favor. Those fifteen or so women I want you to bring? I have four close, lonely college buds who are suddenly looking to settle down. I want the women you bring to be good candidates for them."

I stared at him. "Are you trying to hire me to play matchmaker for your friends?"

He nodded. "I am. And I'm willing to pay your regular fees for each of the four. And a bonus for each that ends in marriage."

I whistled. "You are certainly something."

"I am, indeed." He made even a boast sexy.

"How much of a bonus?" Look, I might be infatuated with Lazer, but I hadn't completely abandoned my business side. I'd learned early on that potential clients, particularly men, often offered bonuses as a way of getting even better, more personal, higher-priority service. They offered the bonuses out of the blue. As a matter of pride. And to show off their wealth and power. To impress me. And almost always at amounts in excess of anything I'd think of asking or charging. It was always better to let them lead with the amount.

"Fifty thousand."

We locked gazes.

I hesitated, using a classic negotiating technique. If he was as shrew as I believed he was, he'd lowballed me on the first offer. He could go higher. I might lust for him, but there was no way he was getting the better of me in business. We were on my turf now. He may have been a billionaire, but I ran a multimillion-a-year business. If the answering look of challenge in his eyes was any indication, he expected me to negotiate. As I said, I'm good at reading people. Transacting business turned Lazer on. He admired people, women, who met his challenge.

"Taking on four clients at once is a major amount of upfront work. And blind, without meeting them…I'll have to take your word that they're suitable for my clientele. That they're actually marriageable and not some kind of sociopaths."

He didn't blink. "Sixty thousand and not a penny more."

I narrowed my eyes. From the look on his face, it looked like it was time to fold and take the deal.

I shrugged. "You're sure your friends are ready to settle down?"

No matter how much money he offered, I wasn't going to set myself up for immediate failure. I had a reputation and success rate to uphold. Clients didn't flock to matchmakers who didn't have a good track record of making great matches.

He made a rueful expression and nodded. "It appears so. Two of my best billionaire buddies took the plunge in the last year. I never would have expected it of Riggins." His frown was delightfully comical.

"Now my college buds want to follow suit. Unfortunately. They're always ribbing me about money and what it can and can't buy. They don't believe money can buy them love. I'm out to prove them wrong." He laughed devilishly. "It's about time again for me to play best man for someone."

I loved the way he laughed at himself. But I probed further. There had to be more to the story. Experience had taught me that men didn't usually suddenly decide to settle down for no reason.

"Why now? Was there a precipitating event? There usually is when a man suddenly decides he's ready to get serious with someone. Someone you know die suddenly? Everyone else is getting married?"

"The oldest of us just turned thirty. And his grandma, who was more like a mother to him than his mom, just passed away a few months ago. Before he'd produced a great-grandchild for her." Lazer paused, looking as impressed and spooked as if I was a mind reader. "And, yeah, just a few weeks ago a couple of our college classmates died. Hiking accident. They died when an ice cave collapsed. They weren't part of my gang, specifically. But…" He tossed his hands up. "It makes you think. How did you know?"

I shrugged and murmured my sympathy, weighing the pros and cons of his proposal. "I'm tempted," I said, slowly.

I really was. I liked challenges. Challenges that could be met head-on and I had some kind of control in meeting them, however slight. "But what will my women do in Seattle? They're talented women with successful careers. They won't quit, pack up and move without a better, or at least equal, opportunity in hand. And why should they?"

"No one expects them to. Part of your new agency will be a headhunting branch that uses my connections to find them career advancement opportunities. If they decide to stay.

"Initially, I'll put them up in condos downtown for a few weeks or months while they decide whether Seattle is going to work for them or not."

My mind was racing. His plan was just audacious enough to be tantalizing.

"My app and your matchmaking services work in tandem. Success for both of us. We could make beautiful business together, you and I."

Why was he so damn seductive?

"Come on. You want to expand. I know you're tempted. Let me take you to dinner and we can discuss details."

I
was
tempted. In so many ways. Too many ways. But if I went out to dinner with him, I'd end up in his bed. I had no doubt of that. And while that was incredibly tempting, it would definitely cloud my better business judgment. And besides, I had a rule: never be too available for a man.

"What a lovely offer. I wish I could. But I'm busy tonight." I rested my hand on his arm.

He nodded, any disappointment masked. He might even have been impressed. "I fly home tomorrow at one. Take the night to think over my offer. I'll need your answer before I leave." He slid a folder in front of me. "The details and contracts are in here."

He was good at the business game, too. A limited-time offer put just the right amount of pressure on. Never leave an open-ended timeframe. Sometimes, I even recommend that my clients give their matches a timeline for committing. You don't want to go into a partnership, business or otherwise, with a person who can't make up their mind that they want you in a decent amount of time.

"You have my number," he said in that cool, hot, seductive voice. He grabbed a scrap of paper, jotted something down, and slid it over to me. "Here's where I'm staying. In case you want to deliver your answer in person."

L
azer

Playing the dating/mating/whatever game this was with a professional matchmaker was more challenging and fun than I'd imagined. I'd read the rest of her book on the plane on the way to New York.

Rule number 55—Never be too available when a man asks you out. Especially at the last minute. No matter how eager or tempted you are to see him, make him wait. Make him work for it. You're a busy woman with many social engagements. Even if one of them is simply staying home with a bowl of ice cream and Netflix.
—
Dating Game, Set, Match

So what are you doing tonight, Ashley? Washing your hair?

Apparently booty calls were out, too. I was frustrated as hell. She'd been all I could think of this past week and a half since we'd met. Why do you think I flew all the way to New York to see her in person? I could have called or Skyped.

Why had I decided to involve her in matchmaking my college buds? As she'd pointed out, we had matchmakers in Seattle. There were certainly plenty of others in New York I could have gone to with my scheme. But this intrigued me more.
She
intrigued me more.

As far as matchmaking, call me either a skeptic or a romantic, but in the distant future, when I finally decided to settle down, I wanted the whole romantic comedy meet cute. Not a setup. Not date and relationship coaching at every turn.

I was one of those guys who thought he would eventually just stumble into Miss Right. Walk into a bar and see her sitting there surrounded by heavenly light, looking like an angel while Cupid's arrow pierced my heart.

My buds, however, were less romantic, more logical, and practical. And they were getting desperate. It had taken no arguing at all to convince them to let me hire a matchmaker for them and stack the dating deck in their favor.

They were even excited that I was bringing in a renowned dating and relationship expert matchmaker to set them up and coach them on how to catch the girl.

I couldn't get Ashley out of my mind. If she were my matchmaker, what kind of a woman would she choose for me? The thought amused me. Would she find a woman with as much sexual chemistry as we had together? As much in common? Could she put that all aside to make me a match?

It was an interesting question. And not one I was likely to find the answer to. I had no intention of testing it. The thought of working with her and being close to her got a rise out of me and made my heart race. I liked her competitive spirit and business sense. I had been serious when I'd said we could do good business together.

Times Square was always hopping, night and day. My hotel was in the center of it. I could have gone out on the town. Found myself another girl for the night. I didn't have any trouble picking up women. Manhattan, according to Ashley, was one of the hookup capitals of the country. If a guy wanted sex and didn't care about getting a woman's hopes up…

I was too high profile and the pickings here too easy. Strangely, I wasn't in the mood for easy game. I'd had enough mental stimulation sparring with Ashley. According to her, Manhattan was crawling with intelligent, witty women. Which should have been exciting and enticing. But if they were all looking for a husband…

I wasn't that guy. It seemed cruel to take advantage and get their hopes up.

I thought back to my meeting with Ashley, trying to guess what she'd decide. My money was on her coming on board with me. I'd seen the hunger for a new business venture shining in her eyes. The excitement of a new challenge.

By the way, if she'd pushed a little harder, I would have gone higher with that marriage bonus. There were things I could teach her about business. If I got the chance.

I sighed. I had work to do. There was always work to be done.

A
shley

I spent the night eating chocolate hazelnut ice cream and going through my database of clients and potential matches. It was madness, but I was seriously considering Lazer's offer. The power of lust. I was lusting after quite a few things he could offer, and they didn't all have to do with business.

Lazer had called it right. I
was
itching for a new challenge. I wanted that West Coast branch so badly I could almost taste the sweet thought of it. I'd been dreaming of expanding for over a year now.

As for logistics, I'd been subtly building toward branching out for months now. I had two very capable matchmakers working for me. I'd personally picked them for their innate talent and trained them myself. I had full confidence they could handle the Manhattan office while I went to Seattle to set things up. In addition, Lottie was training a second assistant who was proving to be very competent, efficient, and good with the clients.

I could take Lottie with me and still feel the office was in good, capable, well-trained hands.

I read and reread Lazer's terms—a fifty/fifty split in the Seattle matchmaking branch in exchange for startup capital. A small royalty from app sales in exchange for providing betas and promo. My usual fees to match his friends. A nice bonus, as we discussed in my office, if one of them married one of my matches. And a trial period in Seattle, all expenses paid, while we tried to establish an office.

It seemed I couldn't go wrong. I wondered what was in it for Lazer. Besides a bunch of potential best-man gigs. And happy friends.

I took another bite of ice cream and returned to scanning my list of clients and matches, looking for women who were good candidates to move to Seattle. I had to be analytical about this. I wouldn't jump into certain failure. If I didn't feel I could produce enough women, I wouldn't bite. Not everyone in my database was a dyed-in-the-wool New Yorker. There were many transplants here who might be willing to uproot and head to Seattle.

So many women came to the city thinking that there had to be more potential mates for them here than in the small towns they came from. Seattle was booming. Lots of career opportunities there if a woman was in the right fields. Okay, so they didn't have Wall Street or Broadway. But Seattle had banks and law firms. Hospitals and universities. Plays and musicals. Lots of tech companies. A major airframe manufacturer. The world's biggest online store and several competitors. And an amazing array of outdoor activities just minutes outside the city. A little something for everyone.

It was also fast outpacing New York in terms of being the heart of the publishing industry. Which gave me a devious idea—if I took Lazer's offer, would Danika King put her money where her mouth was and come to Seattle with me? That would be interesting to watch.

The idea of starting a new business was exciting. Of being in on the ground floor of something that could revolutionize the industry I loved. The only drawback was Lazer and my dizzying attraction to him. Under different circumstances, that would be an enticement. In this one I was in danger of the female equivalent of thinking with my dick. The way he made my pulse race…

Was it wise to go into business with someone you'd slept with only hours after meeting? Could I keep my heart and my hands to myself? Was it ever wise to mix business with pleasure in quite that way?

My late grandmother's advice came to mind. I could almost hear her saying it: "If you don't jump at new opportunities, you'll never know what you missed. Maybe you missed something bad. But maybe you missed the opportunity of a lifetime. You can always learn from bad. But you can't recapture a missed chance.

"Grab for the brass ring, Ashley. Always lean way out for it so you don't miss it."

All night long, all night long I mulled over the pros and cons, barely sleeping. In the morning, I knew my mind. I got up early, showered, and dressed with a purpose. I knew exactly what I was grabbing for.

L
azer

I shouldn't have been up so early. Six a.m. in Manhattan was three a.m. in Seattle. Nevertheless, I rolled out of bed, eager as a kid on Christmas morning, and strolled into the shower. The hot steam woke me up and gave me clarity. I placed a bet with myself that Ashley was going to take me up on my offer. I had to look good when she arrived.

Why wouldn't she jump at the chance? A sweet deal like this only came along once in a lifetime. I was like Midas, offering her my unlimited gold and moneymaking touch.

Yeah, I had the touch. My grandpa used to say that some people had the knack for making money while other equally intelligent, hardworking people would never get ahead. Grandpa was a character. But right about many things. My college buds had much more technical IQ than I could ever hope to have. When they talked shop, I didn't understand half of what they said. They knew their stuff. Their combined net worth? An infinitesimal fraction of mine.

Making money was a talent like any other and a skill that must be practiced. Some people made music. Some made money. Grandpa always told me not to let my talent go to my head. You had to be a risk taker and overconfident to succeed as an entrepreneur. I'd been that way since birth.

Sooner or later I'd trip up and bet on the wrong thing making it big and lose my shirt. Probably several times. He was willing to lay money on it. If I learned from my mistakes, he'd said, I'd be even better off in the end.

That hadn't happened yet and wasn't likely to. These days I protected a large chunk of my capital. But I had enough to play and have fun with. Practice makes perfect. I was constantly practicing the game of making money. Grandpa had been the one that taught me not to think that talent didn't also need hard work to flourish.

The fun I was having with the new app wasn't enough for me to invest heavily in it with both my time and dollars. I was betting this app and matchmaking business would be big enough to earn me a decent return on investment. It wasn't going to be as big as some of my other investments. But the risk was much less. The capital investment small compared to other ventures I'd started. And it intrigued me. But only if Ashley would play. She was my catnip in this experiment.

I toweled off and began getting dressed. I zipped my pants and was buttoning my shirt when there was a knock on the door of my suite. I ran my fingers through my hair and smiled to myself. Ashley? My heart raced with anticipation. "Coming!"

I tucked my shirt in and opened the door in my stocking feet.

Ashley stood in the doorway. A woman doesn't usually show up to turn down an offer. Rejection is much easier to do from a distance. The sense of victory alone would have made her look good to me. I was going to get my matchmaker. I cleared my face of a gloat and a damn happy smile that kept threatening to pop up.

But more than that, she looked perfectly beautiful in a refreshingly stylish way that made my heart race. Very few women had the effect she had on me. She was not too beauty-queen perfect. Hair loose and flowing over her shoulders. Her makeup was fresh and natural. Her smile mysterious and playful.

She wore a three-quarter-sleeve ballet-style wrap dress in a white and black gingham print with enough spandex to hug her body like a leotard.

Her dress was so damn hot I would have dressed in a leotard myself if it meant I got to dance with her.

The dress tied at the waist with a black belt and had a luscious, deep V-neck that showed just enough cleavage to be seductive. The skirt of the dress was the same material, but sheer, tantalizing the eye by making you think you'd get a glimpse of something.

She wore a pair of black and white high-heeled sandals that wrapped around her ankles. A purse shaped like an enormous bumblebee was slung over her shoulder. It gave the outfit an air of whimsy. I had to love a woman with a sense of fantasy and fun.

She carried a plain paper bag, a drink carrier with two steaming to-go cups, and the folder I'd given her yesterday.

Her gaze travelled down my body. She smiled slowly, as if she approved of what she saw. The way she did it was positively tantalizing. And sexily flirty.

"I was going to say I hope I didn't wake you," she said in sultry voice filled with amusement. "Clearly I didn't. No jetlag? Shouldn't it feel like the dead of night to you?"

I laughed. "Cruel woman. Rule of the road—once I leave my home time zone, I forget what time it is back there. Come in." I stood aside to let her in. "What are you doing out and about so early? Didn't you have big plans last night?"

A
shley

A night away from him resisting temptation hadn't dampened the chemistry and attraction that crackled between us. Or the fun with verbally sparring. He didn't disappoint. My pulse felt like it beat just for him. Wildly, at that. If an ounce of sanity had prevailed, I would have backed out the door and run.

Instead all I could think was,
Touché! You bad boy.
How gutsy of you to ungallantly bring that up in a way that made me feel I should be flattered he'd remembered.

He wore a wry, flirty smirk, as if he was catching me out in a lie and enjoying it. He didn't know whom he was dealing with.

The reason I was out so early was purely strategic and selfish. But wasn't business always selfish? I wanted to catch him off guard. I was hoping to wake him and negotiate for what I wanted before he had time to grab a cup of coffee and wake up fully. Didn't all Seattleites drink coffee by the gallon? I was counting on the element of surprise.

"Oh!
That
. Just a client," I said mysteriously. "They keep me up and out at all hours. I'm used to it." I shrugged and held his gaze steadily, which was the key for selling lie and tiny fib alike. "One thing you'll learn about me is that I'm
always
available for my clients." I paused to let that sink in. "And their dating emergencies. I run on very little sleep.

"But to be honest, your proposal kept me up last night. I couldn't stop thinking about it." Or him.

"Did it? Good. That was my intention." He looked pleased with himself. And amused. He leaned into me and whispered in my ear, "You smell delicious."

Damn I wanted to run my fingers through his damp hair. Worse, I wanted to get to know him better. See if there were any more deal breakers about him. As if a total lack of commitment wasn't deal breaker enough to send me running. "I smell like bacon."