Connie looked shrewdly from Dylan to Fia, and stated, “I’ve never met a man who I can’t match, Dylan. I welcome the challenge to find you the perfect woman. I won’t stop until you’re happy.” She had a small, quizzical smile on her face, and she cocked her head to the side.
“And it gets better! Perfection and happiness. A woman who will stop at nothing! Viewers, you can find all of the information on these two dating services at our website,” Chelsea continued. “Thanks for tuning in today, and keep watching for updates on Dylan’s love connection!”
The camera lights blinked off and Chelsea pulled off her mike. “Whew! That went even better than I expected. Good job, ladies. Dylan. The audience was eating it up. Hang out until my peeps get with you about all the details, ‘kay? We have contracts prepared for you both, and then we’ll do planning. Lots and lots of planning!”
She darted off the set, disappearing behind equipment, and Fia looked around uncertainly until an assistant un-miked her and led her back to the ‘beige’ room to start on the paperwork.
“Oh, Fia, that went well!” Grace exclaimed, hugging her shaky friend. “I watched on the monitor. Luckily Chelsea wasn’t in Super Shark Mode. You were cool and professional. Except, ah, when you talked to Dylan. Then you sort of seemed, how do I say it?”
“Predatory?” cut in Connie with a raised eyebrow.
“Yes, exactly!” exclaimed Grace. “Like you were hunting him. And he was hunting you right back.”
“That’s ridiculous,” scoffed Fia, sinking into a beige couch. “I was trying frantically to think of what to say. That just—came out. But I’m so psyched that she pitched us both to the audience. We’ll both get business from this, I’m sure of it.”
“And so when will you meet with Dylan?” Grace was pure eagerness.
“I don’t know. I still don’t even know for sure if this is going to happen. I mean, she just said it out there for the first time. He doesn’t even want to do it. I bet he doesn’t even follow through.”
“Oh, it’s real. And I never back out on a promise,” said a rough voice behind them, and Fia started as Dylan entered the beige room, followed closely by Chelsea.
“No, when I commit to something, I stick with it,” he continued, pinning Fia with his dark eyes. “I hope you can say the same.”
“Of course I can,” said Fia, sticking up her chin. “So, since both of us are promise-keepers and valiant truth-tellers who never break an oath, then I’ll expect you at seven o’clock tomorrow morning to begin the interview process and the surveys.”
Dylan chuckled. “That’s fine. I guess we’ll be working together… closely.”
“Working together closely to find you a girlfriend,” said Fia firmly, feeling a tinge of dislike at those words.
So he was hot, what did that matter? She worked with hot, handsome guys every day without giving them a second thought, except to find them the perfect match. Why did the thought of hooking this arrogant, condescending jerk up with another girl suddenly have her all twisted up?
Chelsea cleared her throat. “So he’ll meet with you first, Fia, that’s fine, I’m okay with that. My assistant will set up all the details. And Connie, you’ll be later in the week. And we’ll have a camera-man follow him around on the dates. I want footage for the viewers! Dylan, I’m counting on you to help everyone understand what it’s like to enter one of these exclusive dating services. So give it your best shot!” She punched him lightly on the arm.
Dylan grimaced. “I never give anything but, Chels.”
Chelsea rolled her eyes. “Yeah, sure. This is going to be fun.”
“Sure, for you,” said Dylan. “You love torturing me on air.”
“Just because the viewers love to see me torture you on air!” shot back Chelsea.
Fia liked the jokey bickering. It was part of what made their show so fun to watch—that, and the handsomeness that was Dylan, she had to admit.
And what she didn’t want to admit was that she was looking forward to working with Dylan one-on-one. And by “one-on-one,” what her devious mind seemed to want was something far more personal than interviews and questionnaires.
The next morning, Fia’s stomach was in knots. She’d dressed in a top that was a touch lower cut than usual, and skirt that rode higher on her thighs. Her makeup was impeccable, and she had on her favorite silver heels.
Grace whistled. “Wow, Fia. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that you’re hoping to match yourself up with our new client Dylan.”
Fia argued. “No, Grace. I just want to look good because that gives me confidence. Really, I need him to fall for one of our clients, not Connie’s, so I can win ‘Who Does It Better’ and show everyone that my matchmaking business is the best one in L.A.”
“Well, technically,” Grace pointed out, “since you work for yourself, it would count if you dated him. Just sayin.” She smiled. “Or you could at least try him out, to make sure he’s a good fuck for the other girls.”
“Grace!” Fia almost spit out her coffee. But she couldn’t resist. “You do have a point.” She cleared her throat and pretended to talk to a female client. “Marcelline.” She put her hand on Grace’s arm and gave her an earnest, helpful gaze. “I just know you’re going to love your next date. His name is Dylan. He gives oral like a pro, and his dick is ten inches long! Just remind him to stop after the third orgasm to give you a water break.” She didn’t mention that these were things that may have popped up in her fantasies about him.
“Yes!” Grace clapped her hands once. “Let me try.” She blinked, then added, “Marcelline, he’s a little dirty, and he’ll tie you up if you ask—”
“Stop! He’s coming. Oh, God.” Fia pointed through the plate-glass window. “Quick. We’re professionals. We’re on point. We’re not thinking about his penis.” She put her coffee down on her desk and tossed her brown hair over her shoulders.
“Right. No penis. Absolutely. Eyes up here.” Grace pointed to her eyes, then Fia’s eyes, with two fingers.
And suddenly there he was, tall and dark, striding through the glass doors, right up to her. Fia smelled his cologne and his masculine scent, and held back the urge to draw one finger up his chiseled cheekbones and onto his sexy, strong lips.
“Good morning, Dylan,” she said, smoothing her tight skirt down her thighs, flushing as his eyes followed her hands.
He smirked. “I’m here right on time, Fia. Points for promptness, I hope? Get me a better date?” He gave her a leisurely grin and propped himself against the desk. “At least I’m here…against my better judgment. But only because my boss insisted.” He raised his eyebrows.
Fia scowled. “It’s not a points system, Dylan. It’s about matching you up with the woman who has the right qualities for your personality.”
A man with a video-camera entered, an assistant by his side carrying a bag of equipment. “Hi! I’m Pete Ryan. I’ll be the photographer following Dylan around on all of his dates with your service, and also with Connie’s service. I need footage of him meeting you and some shots of your office. Will that work?”
“Pete, that’s fine.” Fia smiled. “I was just about to tell Dylan that I hope he had a good breakfast because we have several hours of interviews and surveys ahead of us.”
Dylan shot her a wicked grin. “Oh, I have plenty of energy, Fia. I promise I can keep up with whatever you bring my way.”
His intonation made the words sound dirty and wicked, and Fia tried not to act like she wanted to bring a lot his way. She’d been only joking with Grace before about testing him out. However, having him in front of her again made it clear: She was attracted to him, no question about it.
She touched her cheek, feeling butterflies the second Pete lifted his camera and she saw the light flash. “So you’re good with quips. Let’s see if you’re as good with honesty. I need you to be as truthful as possible on all of my questions, because otherwise the matching system won’t work accurately.”
Dyl
an straightened up. “Do clients typically lie, Fia?”
Fia gathered up an armful of papers and her client intake laptop, motioning to Dylan to follow her to a small conference room with a round table. “Pete, this part is private, okay?”
Pete didn’t seem to mind. “I just needed some footage of him entering and getting started,” he agreed. “Then I’ll talk to Grace and ask a few questions.”
“Absolutely!” Grace stepped closer and smiled up at Pete. “Ask me anything you want.”
Once she and Dylan were alone in the conference room, which was already set up with water bottles and snacks on a side console, Fia answered his earlier question. “No,” she responded, putting her things down, “people don’t lie…not exactly. But it’s common for people to answer a question in the way they think they should. It’s important not to do that. Just be yourself.”
She took a seat at the table, opened the laptop and launched the first personality survey. “Please start with these, Dylan. It will take about an hour. Just select the closest response for each question and follow all of the instructions. It’s really easy. When you’re done, we’ll move onto the next segment.”
Dylan sat down next to her and read the sample question aloud as if she hadn’t spoken.
‘To what extent do you agree or disagree with the following statement:”
I always think people are judging me negatively.
Strongly Disagree
Disagree
Neutral
Agree
Strongly Agree
He leaned back with a snort. “I’m going to have to fill out this kind of stuff for an entire hour?” He didn’t look happy.
Fia tried to stay calm. “Dylan. Please. This is for the baseline personality.”
He shook his head. “I feel like I’m in a psychiatrist’s office. Or maybe back at a big box company where they make you fill out these surveys to judge how well you play with others, and then proceed to do exactly nothing with any of the results.”
Fia bit her lip. “I’m sorry if this is uncomfortable. But if you’d just do the surveys, we can get to the more interesting part of the system. The part where you actually meet your dates. Don’t you want to get there?” She made her voice cajoling, as if trying to coax a squirrel closer with a nut.
Dylan sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “Fia. I’m sorry I’m not more amenable to this. I just honestly have no interest in finding love through a survey system. I told you that I’m not a fan of L.A. dating services. It’s rich guys, mostly millionaires, meeting beautiful young women. It’s not wrong. But it’s not exactly right, either.” His eyes were focused on her, intent.
Fia looked right back at him. “That’s not how it is,” she stated. “Women who enroll here are not bimbos looking for a sugar daddy. I represent doctors, lawyers, writers, accountants—women who have powerful jobs and don’t need a man for money. They’re beautiful too, and smart, and most of them are pretty nice. They’re the whole package.”
“But you don’t set them up with unemployed artists, do you?” His eyes were sharp. He leaned forward, as if her response was important.
“Well, no.” She blinked. “But—”
“You see!” He nodded. “And there you have it. You can talk all you want about soulmates, but a big part of your business is the money.”
“No!” Frustrated, she tried to explain. “I don’t want men because of their money, per se. It’s because of their drive, their ambition, their intellect. All of that has helped them become successful—and yes, in most cases, rich.”
“You just made my point.” He leaned back, but he looked disappointed, and for some reason, his disapproval really hurt. They’d just met—why did she even care?
But she found herself leaning forward, almost pleading, as she recited the words she’d memorized, words she nearly—almost one hundred percent believed. “Women here don’t want a man for his money. They want to meet a man whose ambition and dreams match their own, whose intellectual abilities are put into action by his unrelenting drive. The money itself isn’t the goal. The money is merely an indication that this man has made himself successful, has pulled himself up by his own bootstraps, if you will. And the women are successful in their own right—they want to find someone who fits them.”
He shook his head and blew out a breath of air. “So you have it all decided, that rich equals successful. I imagine you’re missing out on a huge amount of amazing men, just because they don’t look right on paper.”
She started to get annoyed. “I screen my women just as carefully as the men, Dylan. I promise you, I don’t have users in here who just want a handout. I’m going to get it right for you.”
Dylan was watching her. “I doubt you have the first idea of how to get it right for me.” His face was somber, but something in his voice held a note of something dark and dangerous, and her stomach shot to life with a swirl of adrenaline. An image came into her mind of Dylan taking her into his arms and kissing her, passionately and forcefully. Teach me what you want. How can I make it right for you?
She flushed. “This job means a lot to me, to be able to help people find love. It might sound trite to you, but I really do get tears of joy when a relationship works out. All the weddings I’ve been to, Dylan? They made me feel really good.”
Dylan ran his hands through his hair. “I wish Chelsea hadn’t signed me on for this. I’m not looking for a relationship, Fia. And I’m suspicious about people who seem to want something from me right out of the gate.”
Fia shrugged, feeling helpless. “But, Dylan, everyone in life is going to want something from you right out of the gate. Whether it’s a smile, friendship, love, or sure, money. Any relationship is going to be a give and take. The thing is to find the one where it’s a good, symbiotic mutually satisfactory level of give and take.”
“Aren’t the men expected to take the women out on fancy dates? Helicopter rides and diamond necklaces? And the women aren’t interested if the juice doesn’t flow?”
Fia’s temper cracked. “Well, fine!” she snapped, pushing the laptop lid shut. “I take this seriously, Dylan. I sign a confidentiality agreement myself to keep your personal data personal. I mean it when I say that I want to match people up for life. But if you think it’s about squeezing money out of you, then you need to just go. And you can, whatever, eat Ramen noodles out of a dumpster on your usual dates.”
Fuck! Now Dylan was going to leave, and her awful failure would become a total joke on the show. “Perfect Profiles fails before the very first date! Never go there, people.” She’d be out of business in a week, and Connie’s matchmaking service would explode into an even bigger powerhouse.
Dylan laughed and leaned forward and put his hand on top of hers, and Fia drew in her breath at his touch.
“Listen,” he told her, “I’m going to give it a try, but just know that I’m dubious at best. And I’m not going to go on a second date just to make your service look good for TV. If I don’t like anyone, I’m calling it like I see it. That’s for your service and Connie’s both. Are we clear?”
Fia glared at him and he smiled winningly. “And for the record, I’m not a fan of eating noodles next to dumpsters. I know how to make a date romantic and sexy, you know.” He raised an eyebrow and Fia suddenly wanted very much to know.
She drew her hand away, heart beating rapidly. “Then you need to be professional,” she warned him. She stood up and looked at him, trying to act powerful and firm.
He smiled suddenly, standing himself. “I’m sorry.”
Fia rolled her eyes. “You certainly are not, I’m sure of it, but control your smart mouth if you want to stick around.” She gave him a look.
She grabbed a bottle of water from the side table and took a sip, her throat suddenly dry as she thought about how it would feel if he walked out the door right now. Why did she even care? Well, because she needed to match him up—that was all. For her business.
He looked at
her earnestly. “I’ll behave, I promise. No more tirades about men made of high-fructose corn syrup and the girls who want to shuck their cobs.”
Fia snorted and sucked in her water, and started coughing. Dylan was at her side like lightning. He grabbed the water bottle and slapped her on the back.
Surprised at the feel of his warm hand, she stumbled forward into his chest, and his arms automatically surrounded her, making her squeak in surprise.
“Fia! Are you all right?” He thumped her back again. He looked into her face with genuine concern, and she felt a pang of tenderness at how protective he seemed.
Her eyes watered from the coughing. “Yes!” she said, feeling her face burn. “Just swallowed wrong. You don’t need to pop out my lung. And it’s your fault for making me laugh!” She poked his chest in a half-joking, half-accusing kind of way.
He grabbed her hand in his, then his firm grip relaxed into something tender, his strong fingers wrapped around her small ones, and electric sparks shot through her body to her pelvis. They were so close that she could feel his warm breath, could see individual lashes. His eyes were clear and gorgeous, his lips full and tempting.
Without meaning to, she parted her lips and darted out her tongue to lick the lower one, and sucked in her breath as a muscle clenched in his jaw and something flashed in his eyes.
His other arm, the one still wrapped around her, tightened, and she felt his fingers splay out across her back, and he pulled her tighter. She sucked in her breath, her eyes locked onto his. The warmth of his skin sent soft wafts of his cologne toward her, and she leaned in without thinking.
She felt his heart beat through his crisp shirt, and could tell how hard and muscled he was underneath it. And suddenly she felt utter embarrassment to be standing here in his arms, leaning against his body, when a second ago she’d been sputtering out water like a dyspeptic hydrant and arguing with him about whether or not she was a kind of modern-day Pimperella.
She pulled back and took a deep breath to slow her pulse. “Well! Now that we know the emergency shower works, I’ll just let you get back to your forms.”
Perfect Match Page 3
