It was too late now to change things. All I could do was hope that the women were serious about finding husbands that suited them. Happiness in marriage was more than a matter of wealth. As prince-like as Lazer was, he wasn't suited to all of the millions of single women on the planet, no matter what they thought.
I wasn't necessarily a believer that there was only one soul mate for a person. If that were the case, Ruck had been mine and I was doomed to be alone for the rest of my life.
I believed there were probably as many as five hundred or more "perfect" matches for a person. Meaning they matched all of the key personality factors. And thousands more that matched most of the personality factors. Maybe tens of thousands that a person could be happy with if they put the effort into the relationship.
If this weren't the case, my job would be impossible. How could I guarantee that my clients' matches were anywhere near the geographic area of my clients? People met and married people near them almost all of the time.
But here was a dirty little secret—I knew what Lazer wanted in a match. I had all of his questionnaires. I also had the results from all of the compatibility factor tests I'd had the men, including Lazer, take before I went back to Manhattan after our retreat. And, of course, what kind of a matchmaker would I be if I hadn't taken the test myself?
Of course I took it. When I first opened up shop. And many times since. Even when I wasn't looking for a new mate. I retook it periodically, as a matter of scientific study and personal curiosity. To see if these points changed for individuals over time as life experiences and maturity changed them, as the developers claimed.
Mine had remained consistent since the very first time. In essentials, my core personality traits and compatibility requirements were unchanged by circumstance and maturity. Which gave me confidence that the matches I made could be successful long-term, over a lifetime. As long as the people involved made a point of valuing and nurturing their marriages.
I knew exactly what my compatibility points were. Over the years I'd run them against the men in my dating and client pools as a matter of idle curiosity. And, more importantly, to prove to myself that having a heart locked in the ice of winter wasn't a bad thing at all. That I was Ruck's forever. That he might not end up being my only match, but he would always be my best one. If I was ever ready to love again, no man would match up to him, no pun intended.
In all the years of periodically running my compatibility to check for a match, I'd never found a man in the pool who was a close enough match to tempt me. Even had my heart been whole. Not among all of the eligible, hot, funny, handsome men I knew.
Which made my job easy. No temptation to poach.
But now?
I never should have run my test against my new group of men. What had I been thinking?
Oh, I know very well what I'd been thinking. It's just that denial is a powerful thing.
I wanted to get Lazer out of my head and heart. I wanted to negate the strong sexual pull between us with rational, unbiased science. A large part of me had wanted to prove that I'd been right to walk out on him. That there was no future for us anyway. We weren't compatible. We couldn't be. Not with his commitment issues. The rational mind of science would back me up in this and comfort me.
Damn science! Damn it to the fieriest recesses of hell.
Of all the billions of people on the planet, the odds of two matching on all points were extremely small. That was how I came up with the idea of there being maybe five hundred "perfect" matches in the whole world for any given person. The odds that two of those people would ever meet were infinitesimal. And accounted for those few sublime, totally happy marriages of over fifty years. For those cases where one spouse died and the other died within hours of heartbreak. Because they couldn't face the world without their soul mate.
In all of my years of matchmaking, I had never seen a perfect match. Only one of my matchmaking friends had. One time I had a couple miss on only one point.
Imagine how I felt when I went over the results. Austin and I were quite compatible. We'd make lifelong friends. And maybe, given the right circumstances, a happy match.
But I matched one man exactly. On all of the dozens of compatibility points. Each and every one, damn him.
Yes. Lazer. Despite his total lack of desire to settle down, he and I were perfect matches to each other. How could that be?
He scored so high on loyalty that he was off the charts. When he committed, he totally committed! It was getting him to do it that was our problem. If he ever came around…
I sighed. If. And if I wasn't married to someone else or completely disillusioned by that time. If hell hadn't frozen over…
He and I matched better than Ruck and I had. Which was a hard thing to admit. The first time I'd seen the results, I felt lightheaded, nauseated, completely sick about them. One love, my non-perfect match had given me so much love, loyalty, and commitment. Had treated me like his princess. My perfect match could have given me the world, had resources at his fingers that Ruck couldn't have imagined. But he ignored the thing I wanted most—his heart.
In my years of matchmaking, I had never seen a compatibility test match another person's in my database one hundred percent, and yet had many hundreds of happy matches. Why, then, were Lazer and I so far apart?
This development added a new dimension to matchmaking that I'd never given much thought to before—timing.
Yes, I'd known timing and being ready for marriage were key. I mean, of course I did. I saw that back in college when I tried to pair people up and one or the other blew it off. I'd seen people say they'd never marry until they got older and suddenly realized they were ready.
But not in my professional capacity. Not in years. Everyone who came to me as a client or put themselves in my dating pool was ready. Until now. Until Lazer.
Knowing what I knew about how compatible we supposedly were put me in another ethical bind—did I ever tell him? Would I let it affect the matches I made for him?
I sighed as I let myself into my new apartment. Home, sweet home!
You can lead a horse to water… I thought. But you can't make him mate.
Chapter 4
Ashley
I was now something I'd never really wanted to be—bicoastal. A business, an office, and an apartment in Manhattan. One foot in Seattle. The day after arriving, wearing yoga pants and a T-shirt, I unpacked into my new Seattle apartment with my mind elsewhere. My hair was twisted into a loose, messy bun. I wore the faintest trace of makeup. So little that the light spray of freckles across my nose showed.
Tomorrow the rush and the push began in earnest. The women would be introduced to the men and the app. More official announcements would be made to the press. The beta testing would begin.
I would be carefully watching the men and women to see how they reacted to each other, trying to determine if my hunches and scientific backup about who belonged with whom had been right. I needed to get a larger client base and match pool, and I needed it quick! The larger the pool, the better the odds of finding the right matches for everyone. This was always the beginning matchmaker's greatest challenge. When I first put up my shingle, I'd enlisted all my single friends into the pool. And encouraged them to get their friends interested. I put on singles events to get new dating pool people and clients. I made a note to speak to Lazer about sponsoring an event. He was still paying me to match his friends, and I was determined not to let any of those sweet men down.
I'd given the women and myself a day to get settled in to our new apartments. I wanted everyone up and running, their minds fully engaged on the tasks ahead. Peter was also champing at the bit, eager to start finding jobs for the women. But that would have to wait until they decided whether they wanted to stay. That decision was down the road. First I had to get them interested in a man.
My mind raced with possibilities. I already had the first matches made for Lazer's friends. Of course, barring something I saw tomorrow that thr
ew a wrench into the works. Like an immediate distaste between two people who I thought would be good for each other. It was rare, but it happened that sometimes two people got off on the wrong foot with each other.
There was so much promise in each possible match. So much hope for love and happy futures. The end of loneliness. Stress and doubts aside, I felt the familiar excitement at making a love match.
The only hitch in the plans was Lazer. Among all of the matches I'd brought with him in mind, not one matched all of the compatibility points with him the way I did. Would that backfire on me? Or would it prove that the theory of matching on compatibility points was useless science?
A couple of the women were what I usually considered very compatible matches. Yes, I knew I was quite possibly throwing my perfect match away. But I couldn't set my personal matchmaking ethics aside. If I could, what kind of person would I be?
I smiled to myself. Still, there were points of compatibility that were more important than others. Better indicators of relationships progressing toward lifetime commitments. Could I help it if some of these matches for Lazer were lacking in a couple of these fine points? Especially when they matched his "ideal" woman, as stated by him in our interviews, in so many other ways?
I was simply following that old adage about giving a man enough rope to hang himself. Nothing unethical or underhanded about that. Besides, he wasn't really looking for a wife. And I was making a point.
Like many matchmakers I knew, I used every tool at my disposal to make my matches. My intuition was the key one. I didn't weight science and computer too heavily. But still—
I heard a fluttering of female voices in the hall. Laughter. I was reminded of my college days in the dorm. It was that kind of camaraderie and flirtation combination. I paused to listen. It was the kind of commotion a hot guy usually caused.
A knock on the door startled me. I raced to answer it without thinking. I was expecting another delivery. Given the reaction of the women, it was probably from a hot deliveryman. I crossed my fingers, hoping for someone I could sign up for my services. Yes, deliverymen were generally considered blue collar. But given the way the women reacted to him, maybe they'd make an exception to their objections.
Besides, many a degreed man chucked it all for the freedom of making deliveries.
"Coming!" I brushed back a stray lock of hair, and threw the door open to find Lazer smiling at me.
Curses. Of course it was him. My delightful daydreams of a deliveryman in shorts with nice legs and a killer smile evaporated.
"Caught you off guard this time." Lazer held a bottle of champagne and two beautiful crystal flutes in one hand, and a brown paper bag of carryout in the other.
I lifted my chin high, thinking of myself as the haughty version of Ashley. The one who wouldn't be cowed by not looking her best. Lazer had seen me in the woods with a sheen of sweat, embarrassingly out of shape, and carried me up the hill. Was this any worse than that?
I tried not to blush at the memory of him pushing me up against the rough bark of a tree. I tried not to regret not letting him take me against that tree the way I'd wanted him to.
He pulled me into a loose hug.
"You smell good," I said, echoing what he'd said to me when I surprised him at his hotel room in Manhattan to accept his offer of this damning partnership. And arrived with a bag of breakfast bagels in hand to tempt him.
He'd only been half dressed after showering. I pushed that thought away, too. At least I was fully, if sloppily, dressed.
"You must mean this." He rattled the bag he held. "I come bearing delicious food." He still had his arms around me.
"Is there any other kind? I would be highly disappointed if you arrived with tasteless, or worse, disgusting food." I tried not to read anything into his visit as I stepped out of his embrace. "And I meant you. You always smell delicious. I love Arrogance."
"If only that were true."
I laughed. He knew I was referring to his cologne.
"I'm thinking of recommending Arrogance to all my male clients," I teased.
"My signature scent? You would betray my secret?" He laughed and released me. "Go right ahead, Judas. But don't be disappointed when all it does is stink them up. Arrogance is perfectly suited to my body chemistry."
"And yours only?" I shook my head at him. "And that's why they call it Arrogance."
We smiled into each other's eyes a little too deeply. I always enjoyed sparring with him.
"Sorry I didn't call," he said, not sounding sorry in the slightest. "At the last minute I had a few minutes. I decided to drop by, welcome you to the city, and see how you're settling in." He looked pointedly into the apartment as if begging for an invitation.
He was making a spectacle of himself out there. Many of the women were ogling him as he stood in my doorway. They watched us with keen interest. And probably envy. Which gave me no choice.
"You're drawing attention lingering in my doorway. You'd better come inside before one of the ladies throws her panties at you." I stepped aside.
His eyes danced with amusement. "You're tempting me to stay out here, you know that? I've always thought panty-throwing would make a good Olympic sport."
"Like lingerie football?" I said, grabbing his arm and pulling him inside. "Suggest it to the Olympic Committee."
He grinned. "I think I will."
"Get in here." I shut the door behind us. "I'm settling slowly. As you can see."
"As long as you're making progress." His gaze bounced around the apartment. "You could hire someone to unpack for you, you know."
I stared at him and laughed. "I could. But then how would I know where things are?"
"Who needs to know where things are?" he teased.
I shook my head. "I suppose you don't when you have a million servants to attend to your every need."
He arched a brow. "Half a million. Don't exaggerate." He paused, continuing his perusal of the room.
"I'm going to love this place, I think. Once I'm unpacked." I was telling the truth. With views on two sides and the privacy and peace of being the corner unit, I was sold on it.
"Good. I brought something to toast it with." Lazer lifted the champagne and bag he held. "I hope you're hungry."
"I'm starved."
"Good. I brought you sandwiches. Hearty fall sandwiches."
"Sandwiches?" I laughed.
"What? Don't like sandwiches? I assumed you must love them. You brought me breakfast sandwiches. I brought you the more traditional lunch sandwiches." He nodded toward the balcony. "It's beautiful out. Let's eat on the balcony. You look like you could use some fresh air."
I led him to the balcony. "It's a mess out here, too." I opened the glass door and motioned him out. He had his hands full.
He set the bag and champagne down on a tiny bit of empty space on one of my outdoor end tables. He emptied two patio chairs of their boxes and pulled them on the same side of the table so we could both admire the view. He set our food down. "Ladies first," he said, indicating the chairs.
I picked the one nearest the door.
He sat in the other, unfolded the top of the brown bag, and pulled out two sandwiches wrapped in brown paper and sealed with a gold sticker. "This delicious spread is from the Blackberry Bakery."
"Of duchess fame?" I said, feeling pleasantly off balance and intoxicated by his presence, as always. I should, maybe, have been upset. But there was a certain beauty to unrequited love, I supposed. A poetry to it. And if it was all I was going to feel, at least I was feeling again. See what an optimist I could be?
"Vegetarian or carnivore sandwich for you?" he asked.
"What's on the vegetarian?"
"Roasted pear, cheese, grilled yams—"
"I'll take it."
He handed it to me and poured us each a glass of champagne, and we toasted the new venture then ate in uncomfortable silence.
"This sandwich is very good," I said, realizing that talking about food wasn't the mos
t scintillating conversation on the planet. Wanting to say so much more, but carefully weighing my options.
That he'd come to call on me so soon after I arrived was a good sign. A very good sign. In this game of cat and mouse we were playing, he'd just shown vulnerability. Eagerness.
Was I playing hard to get like I advised my clients? Maybe. Yes, maybe. Maybe only by accident. He'd hurt me by not returning my declaration of love. I'd hurt my cause by blurting it out. But maybe I'd saved myself by going cool right after. Maybe I hadn't made a fat mistake. Maybe I could recover.
I studied him, both marveling that I actually could possibly have found a perfect match, another soul mate, and walking carefully, trying not to rail at the unfortunate timing and inherent unfairness of the situation.
Life has a way of flip-flopping bad situations to good and vice versa. So what was this? A flip to the good? Or a very bad development to keep my heart on the line?
I felt myself coming back. My matchmaker mind roared into action, playing the game several steps ahead, like a chess master would. I would have to step carefully. Proceed with caution. I was still warring with myself, but I wasn't stupid or careless. If he was my perfect match, if there was still a chance for us, I wasn't going to blow it heedlessly.
I set the remains of my sandwich down. "Lazer—"
"Ashley—"
"Sorry. You first." I smiled and waited for him to speak. Waiting to see what my beautiful playboy would say and do. Watching him closely for signs of advance or retreat. Was he the man I hoped he was? Was he as suave as he was reputed to be? As he thought he was?
"Last time we were together, it was mind-blowing." He paused.
If he was waiting for me to fill in the gap, he would be waiting a long time. I smiled at him, encouraging him to continue.
He leaned close to me, as if someone was eavesdropping from the floor below, and whispered, "The sex."
Dating Lazer: The Billionaire Matchmaker, Part Four Page 4
