Make Me A Match (The Matchmaker)

Make Me a Match

By Lori Brighton

www.LoriBrighton.com

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Editing by Pam
Berehulke of Bulletproof Editing

Cover art and
design by Ronnell D. Porter

Make Me a Match

Lori Brighton

For Alison, who knows me best of all.

Michigan,
USA

Emma

“Come on. Make your move, you jerk.”

Three freaking weeks. For three freaking weeks I’d been
watching him. Three freaking weeks I’d been forced to shadow his every dull
move…spying on some pathetic loser’s life in order to get that one photo
opportunity that would pay next month’s rent.

It had never bothered me before. Why,
now,
did I feel so frustrated?

I sighed and lowered the camera. Spying was way less fun
than it was portrayed on television, especially when it revolved around
watching from the shrubbery while middle-aged perverts tried to pick up women
half their age. No cloaks and daggers for me. No running for my life through
narrow European alleys. Certainly no mysterious hot men coming to my rescue.

“Emma! Emma! I have the telephoto lens.” Lizzie’s voice
carried easily across the parking lot, no doubt drawing the attention of the
numerous patrons who were enjoying the outside deck…including the man we were
spying on.

Glaring over my shoulder, I pressed my finger to my lips.
“What part of incognito don’t you understand?”

My sister frowned, tottering as she climbed over the curb
and stepped into the pea gravel that surrounded the lilacs and azaleas. She
handed me the lens. “Sorry. Sheesh, you’re in a mood.”

I ignored her comment, having more important things to worry
about than her overly sensitive thin skin. A deck with tables took advantage of
the lake view while Bob Marley played on outdoor speakers. Our target was
currently reclining in a bamboo-framed chair, bobbing his head in time to the
music, but his gaze, oh yes, his gaze remained focused on the bar.

“Did anyone see me?” Lizzie asked, smoothing down her white
pencil skirt and kneeling carefully beside me.

I’d been hiding in front of the pub for a good thirty
minutes now, waiting for our target to make his move, and Lizzie had almost
blown my cover in the mere two minutes since she’d arrived. “I don’t know, but
just in case, you need to hide.”

Lizzie dropped to her knees, grimacing when the gravel bit
into her tender flesh. “He looks pretty normal for a cheater.”

“Don’t they all,” I mumbled, wondering what my sister had
been thinking by wearing a skirt and heels to a stakeout.

But Lizzie was a novice. Beyond a novice. She’d never make
it as a spy. She was too naive, too innocent. Heck, she read romance novels,
for God’s sake. The first thing this business taught a person was that the idea
of true love was a ridiculous myth that housewives clung to in order to give
meaning to their mundane lives. Yep, they clung to the idea until I arrived,
camera in hand, to show them just how in love their husbands were…with the maid,
the neighbor, the wife’s best friend, or the woman twenty years younger they’d
met at a bar.

The target looked our way. “Get down!”

Lizzie dropped to her belly with a grunt, half falling into
the lilac bush we were hiding behind. The purple blooms rattled in protest,
sending their overwhelming perfume through the warm evening air. She might as
well have waved a white flag, proclaiming to all our location. I closed my eyes
and sighed. Counting to twenty helped…sometimes.

Still, it was a family business, which is why I didn’t fire
her, and although it was hard juggling the PI firm and school, it was something
I wasn’t ready to give up. Lizzie, on the other hand, would have given up years
ago. I might have inherited our grandfather’s sleuthing ways, but not Lizzie.
One thing was certain, she would never be a private investigator. Not like me.
She was too positive, too bubbly, while I was made to crush the hopes and
dreams of couples in love. And yeah, I might have even taken a perverse
pleasure in proving to women that men were nothing but jerks. Attractive jerks,
jerks I occasionally wanted to kiss, but jerks all the same. It was the one
thing, the only thing, I was sure of.

“Stay still,” I whispered.

Lizzie nodded, her auburn ponytail waving back and forth.

When I was younger, I’d envied my sister’s ease at
conversation and making friends. While she’d been liked by all, I’d always been
the quiet good girl everyone overlooked. The girl who’d had too much
responsibility taking care of her little sister and a depressed mother to
attend basketball games and pep rallies. And now, heck, I was seventeen and had
only been on a handful of lame dates.

But the past was the past. There was no use in dwelling.
Pushing aside my dark thoughts, I looked through the lens of my camera,
watching Kelly make her move. It didn’t take much; with a rack like hers, the
gorgeous blonde had only to give a small smile and they’d come running like
dogs in heat. I’d found the girl working in a strip club, and Kelly had been
only too eager to leave the smoky joint.

The former stripper gave a little toss of her head, her long
blonde locks shimmering under the setting sun. I was pretty sure Kelly loved
taking down the same sort of slimeballs she’d been forced to endure for the
five years of her adult life in that club.

“The man in the blue button-down,” I said into the tiny
microphone pinned to the lapel of my jacket. “Looking your way now.”

Kelly gave a discreet nod and glanced over her shoulder
toward our target. There it was…
the
smile. The poor sap didn’t have a chance. He surged from his chair, his
eagerness almost tangible. With an arrogance that belied his thinning hair and
middle-age paunch, he sauntered toward Kelly.

The man had money. That was obvious by the clothing he wore and
the Jag he drove, and people with money thought they were gods. He leaned
against the bar, his string of drool practically sliding down Kelly’s cleavage.

“You come here often?” came through my earpiece.

I snorted and stretched out upon my belly to get a better
angle. Seriously? The man had made millions in the stock market and that was
the best line he could come up with? I almost felt sorry for him…
almost
. Thankful for the leather jacket
I wore, I settled my elbows into the gravel.

I needed that money shot, the photo his wife could use to
take him for everything he owned, and with Kelly’s good looks and his
neediness, it wouldn’t take long. Once I got that shot I could go home, soak in
a tub, and forget for a short while the heartache I witnessed every day. It
was, undoubtedly, the worst part of the job, handing that picture to the wife,
proof that her husband wasn’t the man she thought she’d married. But better to
know now than later. Right? I shook aside the thought. Besides, the check she’d
write afterward made up for my unease. At least, that’s what I told myself.

A soft breeze blew in from Lake Michigan, sending small
purple blooms raining through the air. Perhaps I’d go to the beach for a bit.
When I was lying in the sand, my eyes half-closed, I could pretend I was on the
Mediterranean.

Kelly giggled at something the target said, but I barely
paid attention. I’d get it all on tape and go over it later. I was good at my
job. The best. Grandpa would be proud, although I doubted he’d appreciate our
newest clientele…cheating men. But you had to make money any way you could, and
we definitely needed the money.

Still, lately I’d found my mind drifting, my attention
wavering. Although the family business was as busy as ever, life
seemed…lacking. I needed a vacation. A little time to recoup. Heck, I needed an
actual life. I might not be able to afford the Mediterranean, but maybe I could
talk Lizzie into driving to Florida for spring break. Nothing like string
bikinis, illegal beer, and drunk frat guys to make a girl feel special.

Our target leaned closer, resting a possessive hand on
Kelly’s thigh. I smiled and clicked. “Perfect. Now give me just a little more.
Mama needs vacation money.”

“Is he going to kiss her?” Lizzie said a little too loudly,
peering through the branches.

“Shhhh,” I hissed.

He leaned in, whispering nauseating nothings into Kelly’s
ear.
Click
. I tried not to gag. How
Kelly could allow these men to paw her, I hadn’t the slightest idea. Then
again, I’d broken the guy’s finger who had dared to grab my butt at a bar last
week. What could I say? I liked my personal space.

“You know,” Lizzie whispered. “You should totally be the
decoy. A little makeup, put some gel in your hair…”

I resisted the urge to sigh. “Lizzie, please, like I want those
guys pawing me.” As if to prove my point, the man leaned toward Kelly, his hand
cupping the side of her face.
Click.
Click
. “Yes, there we go. Kiss her, you sick freak.”

“It worries me how thrilled you are when you take these men
down.”

I frowned. “Why shouldn’t I be? These men lie to their
wives, their families—they should be destroyed. They’re arrogant jerks who
think they can get away with anything.”

“Yeah, but it’s totally clouding your aura.”

I slid her a glance. At times I wasn’t sure if my sister was
being serious or not. Surely no one could truly be that optimistic and clueless.
For her sake, I hoped she was joking.

I shook my head and refocused on Kelly. The target was
leaning in close. So close. Here came the money shot. The thrill of victory
coursed bittersweet through my veins as I knew deep down that my win was
someone else’s loss. He leaned closer, and I held my breath.

“Excuse me,” a refined British voice called out from behind
us.

I froze.
Crap.
Perhaps if I ignored him, he’d go away. Frantically, I continued to push that
button,
click, click, click
,
attempting to get the money shot before this man, whoever he was, ruined
everything. “The owner knows me. I have permission to be on his property.”

Which was true, sort of. I’d had permission last year,
before someone had complained.

I pushed the button again.
Click
. Mentally, I urged the target to move closer to Kelly.
Come on, come on
. Why wasn’t he kissing
her? She was totally kissable!

“Uh, no,” the guy insisted. “You’ve misunderstood.”

Lizzie nudged me in the arm, pushing me off-balance and
making me drop the camera a few inches. I sighed and glanced over my shoulder,
intending to give the man a piece of my mind. But his polished dress shoes
momentarily surprised me into silence. My gaze moved from his feet to his
pressed slate-gray trousers, up to his jacket and vest, complete with pristine
white shirt underneath.

Lounge and beachwear were the norm here. Even the
millionaires who visited from Chicago wore their Hawaiian shirts, attempting
their best imitation of Jimmy Buffett. What Ivy League college had this guy
crawled from, and why the heck was he here in Podunk, Michigan?

“I’m busy.”

He cleared his throat, shifting the briefcase from his right
hand to his left. “It’s important.”

Nineteen or twenty, he couldn’t have been much older. But he
carried a briefcase? Weird. Maybe he was older than I first guessed. He was
tall, with broad shoulders and strong hands. A workman’s hands that belied his
businessman attire. Curious, I couldn’t help but lift my gaze to his face.
Square, smooth jaw. Firm lips. Sunlight glinted off dark hair, trimmed neatly
and parted perfectly to the side. Wire-rimmed glasses covered his green eyes.
My gaze jumped back to his. No, not just green. Intensely green. My heart
squeezed slightly in surprise. If he ditched the glasses and suit, he’d have
women eating out of his hands.

He was a total hot nerd. Like Clark Kent. I’d always had a
thing for superheroes. I rolled back to my belly, intent on ignoring the man, and
more importantly intent on ignoring the heat of attraction swirling in my gut.

Had Louie gotten a new manager? He was certainly taking his
position rather seriously, if his suit were any indication. The former
manager’s idea of dress clothing was an unstained wife-beater and jeans.

“Emma!” Lizzie cried out. “He’s kissing her!”

“Shoot!” I lifted the camera and started clicking before I’d
even focused on the target. Sure enough, the man was pressing his mouth along
Kelly’s delicate jaw. I should have been paying attention. I could have missed
the shot and the paycheck, all because of a guy with brilliant green eyes. I
definitely needed a vacation.

“You
are
Ms. Emma
Watts?” the Englishman behind me persisted.

I didn’t dare look back or stop pushing that camera button,
afraid I’d lose my opportunity. “Maybe.”

“I have something for you. Papers and…such.”

Papers. A man wearing
a suit.

Realization hit like a punch to the stomach. I should have
known. A freaking lawyer. I jerked around, looking up at him. Grandpa had been
sued more than once. “You’ve got the wrong person—”

“Your aunt has died,” he said, ignoring my protest.

Relief was sweet. Not getting sued. Thank God. Although
Grandpa always won the cases, it had taken time and money, neither of which I had.
As the relief gave way, curiosity settled in. Aunt? As far as I knew, I didn’t
have an aunt. “Like I said, wrong person. So either leave, or get down. You’re
blowing my cover.”

He frowned, looking more than annoyed, but finally knelt
beside me. The warm scent of spice and male swirled through the air,
momentarily interrupting my concentration. Visiting bars and seedy motels, I’d
spent more time than I cared to around men who barely bathed. I’d forgotten
what a clean guy smelled like. He smelled good…really, really good.

“As I said, your aunt Clarice has died.”

Lord, his eyes were even more intense up close. A brilliant
green, like moss after a spring rain. I shook my head. Pretty soon I’d be
spouting poetry. I never should have sneaked a peak at Lizzie’s latest romance
novel.

“We don’t have an Aunt Clarice,” Lizzie replied for me,
giving the man a brilliant smile. A smile that had sent plenty of males panting
to their knees. Sure enough, the man gave her a hesitant smile back…ensnared.