by Jane Graves
Looking back, he realized now that his grandmother had known what was going on in his head. She’d known just how much he had to work out, and not once had she ever interrupted him when he was in this room. She’d been the only stable influence he’d ever known, the one person who’d given him half a chance to be a normal kid.
“I’m keeping the table,” he said, hitting the two ball into a side pocket. “But for the rest of the stuff, I called out a company that specializes in estate sales. They told me I could get only a few thousand for the furniture because of its condition, but that won’t get me where I need to go.”
“Did you check under the mattresses?”
“Give it up, Tom.”
“But did you check?”
“No, and I also didn’t rip up the floorboards or look for hidden closets. Trust me. There’s nothing here.”
“So you’re going to be a matchmaker.” Tom shook his head slowly. “Words I thought I’d never say.”
Brandon couldn’t have imagined it, either. But he’d also never been one to ignore opportunity when it was staring him right in the face. Once he dug through his grandmother’s records and saw the high price she charged her clients, he realized all he had to do was play matchmaker himself, increase the number of clients, and in six months he’d have all the money he needed. And because he had this house to stay in, he’d have no living expenses to speak of. He knew people would question a man as a matchmaker, but he’d hustled enough real estate deals to know how to shoot from the hip and pour on the charm. He had no doubt he could convince just about anyone—man or woman—that he could introduce them to their perfect match.
And where his grandmother was concerned, he couldn’t imagine that she’d intended him to become a professional matchmaker when she willed him her business. She merely expected him to liquidate it, pocket the money, and move on. So if he could make a little bit more from the business before he left town, was there anything wrong with that?
“When you close up shop in six months,” Tom said, “what do you intend to do with the clients you have on the hook?”
“Give them prorated refunds. If I haven’t given them five introductions yet, I’ll refund for those they haven’t received. It’s all figured into the operational budget.”
“Looks like you have this all worked out,” Tom said.
“I never step foot into any situation without a plan.”
“What about the clients your grandmother was already working with?”
“Two asked for refunds. I think the others figured they might as well stay on and see how I did.”
“So how’d you convince this woman?” Tom asked. “Reading those women’s magazines must have helped.”
“Oh, yeah. You want to get inside the head of a woman, read a couple of those. That’ll do it.”
Especially the article on women who were obsessed with men, most of whom were also obsessed with getting married. It had given him some pretty good talking points about that particular state of mind. The Modern Bride thing had been an educated guess, but judging from the look on Alison’s face when he mentioned it, he’d hit pay dirt.
“I also took a call from another client I’d successfully matched up. That helped convince her.”
“But you haven’t worked with any other clients yet.”
“She doesn’t know that.”
Tom blinked. “You faked a phone call?”
“Just because it hasn’t happened yet doesn’t mean it’s not going to. Think of it as a dramatization of a future conversation I’m sure to have.”
Tom looked at him dumbly. “You make my eyes cross sometimes, you know that?”
“Yeah. I know. That’s why you’ve never been able to beat me at pool.”
“Hey, don’t get cocky. I’ve beaten you a time or two.”
“Once in Miami when I’d had eight beers and no sleep, and once in Phoenix when that bartender’s breasts fell out of her tube top.”
“See, you get distracted, too.”
“That woman must have been a thirty-eight F. A man would have to be dead and buried not to get distracted.”
“So what’s the woman like who just hired you?” Tom asked. “Maybe you should put her aside for yourself.” He raised an eyebrow. “Or maybe for a trusted friend such as myself?”
“Conflict of interest,” Brandon said.
“Oh. Pardon me. I didn’t know there were matchmaker ethics.”
“I’m making them up as I go along.” Brandon swung his cue, sending the six ball to hover for a moment in the jaws of the corner pocket before finally dropping in. “As for the woman, she had ‘nice girl’ written all over her.”
“Then never mind what I said about keeping her for yourself. You don’t like nice girls.”
True enough. He preferred women who liked to drink hard, play pool, and have the kind of sex that made continents collide, then hop on their Harleys and head on down the road.
“She just hasn’t met the right guy yet,” Brandon said, “and she’s gotten cynical. It shows. Toss in a little desperation, and pretty soon she’s man repellent. Guys can smell it. Didn’t start out that way, but now she can’t break the cycle.”
“So you’re going to break it for her?”
“I’ll give it a shot. Set her up with a guy who seems decent and see what happens. No guarantees, but I’m betting I can make her happy. After all, my intuition is as good as anyone else’s, isn’t it?” Brandon called the corner pocket and dropped the eight ball into it, then stood up and leaned on his cue. “Sorry, buddy. That’s one more in the win column for me.”
Tom sighed. “Where’s a bartender’s boobs when you really need them?”
“Feel free to stick around here until we can get the Houston deal off the ground. Big house. Plenty of room.”
“I may take you up on that.” Tom frowned. “It sucks these days that every penny counts, and God knows I don’t have any other deals in the works.”
Brandon felt equally frustrated, but he hadn’t worked his ass off all these years to give up now. He’d started on a construction crew right out of high school when real estate was booming, because it was the one industry where jobs were plentiful. But, God, how he’d hated it. Baking in the Texas sun, sweating like crazy, going home every night with every muscle aching. It hadn’t taken him long to see that the guy who owned the deal and made the big bucks was the guy who didn’t sweat. That was the guy Brandon wanted to be.
He’d read everything he could get his hands on about investing in real estate, and when he approached a seller to make his first offer, he’d been shaking in his boots. But he managed to make a decent deal, and by the time he renovated the property and sold it, he’d made an eleven-thousand-dollar profit. He was hooked.
And, God, he wanted to get back in the game.
But he was willing to wait it out, bide his time, work his plan. He’d never put much stock in the notion of true love, but he knew there were plenty of starry‑eyed people out there like Alison Carter who did. All he had to do was match them up, collect the cash, and eventually he’d be back on top again.
Chapter 4
That afternoon, Alison sat at the bar at McCaffrey’s with Heather, feeling dumber with every moment that passed. The more she tried to explain Brandon’s taking over his grandmother’s matchmaking business, the more skeptical Heather’s expression became.
“Let me get this straight,” Heather said. “You actually hired a man to find you a man?”
“This is the twenty‑first century. Gender roles are blurred. A person can be anything he wants to be. It’s only narrow-minded people who don’t accept that.”
“Yeah? How do you feel about buying tampons when the clerk is a man?”
She hated it. In fact, she’d wait in a line twice as long just to get a woman to ring her up. “Come on, Heather. Do you really think that bothers me?”
“Would you buy a bra from a man?”
Alison’s face crinkled. “Well…�
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“So I guess you’re narrow-minded, huh?”
“No, I’m not,” Alison said, regaining her composure. “If he were a trained professional…uh…bra-fitter-seller person, I wouldn’t mind at all.”
“Yeah? Picture him staring at your boobs. ‘No, honey. That fit is all wrong. I think you need a 34B.’”
“Hey! My gynecologist is a man.”
“Only because he was your mother’s gynecologist, he’s approximately a hundred and twelve years old, and you’ve been going to him since you were eighteen.”
“Brandon is a matchmaker. He won’t be getting anywhere near my boobs and my…whatever. It’s like hiring a lawyer or a plumber or something. I’m paying him for a service, and that’s that.”
“He just got started. That means he has no experience.”
“He said when he was younger he used to listen when his grandmother was talking to clients. He was inspired by her.”
“Which is not the same as doing the job himself. So what has he been doing up to now?”
Alison paused. “I’m not sure.”
“Yet you gave him fifteen hundred dollars? Just like that?”
I couldn’t help it. He was gorgeous and charming and I have the backbone of an amoeba. “I had a good feeling about him.”
“You also had a good feeling about Randy. Look what happened there.”
“Oh, all right!” Alison said, resisting the urge to pound her forehead against the bar. “Look. It isn’t as if I haven’t second-guessed this a dozen times already. But I have to do something or I’ll be alone forever.”
“You’re better off never getting married than being married to the wrong man.”
Alison sighed. “Yeah, I know. But it doesn’t stop me from wishing the right man would wander by sometime before I’m on Social Security.”
“You’ll find him soon enough. I’m just not sure this guy can make that happen.”
“Well, he’d have to really be into matchmaking to take over his dead grandmother’s business, wouldn’t he?”
Heather thought about that for a moment. “Yeah. I guess so. But it still seems kinda strange. What has he done for you so far?”
“He gave me a questionnaire to fill out. I’m going to drop it by his office tomorrow on my lunch hour.”
“You filled out a questionnaire? This is supposed to be personalized service. That’s why you’re paying him an arm and a leg.”
“He needs to have the basics. Then I’m sure we’ll discuss what I’m looking for in a man.”
“Assuming he hasn’t already left town with your fifteen hundred bucks.”
“Will you stop being so cynical? Maybe he just believes in true love and wants to help people find it.”
“Come on, Alison. Does that sound like your average man?”
No, but Alison had already determined that Brandon had a few qualities that were definitely above average. If his intuition was as finely developed as his body, his business was going to be a screaming success. She just wished she had a handle on the way he made his matches. The questionnaire hadn’t asked her much more than online dating sites did, so how was he supposed to know the specifics of what she was looking for? And whether she was the right match for the men he set her up with?
But of course they would talk. Personalized service, right? That was what she was paying for.
Please, God, let this go well so I don’t look like a fool about men.
Again.
“So what does he look like?” Heather asked. “I’m picturing a little guy with horn‑rimmed glasses and a receding hairline.”
“Uh…no. That’s not exactly the right description. He’s more like—”
In that moment, she happened to glance out the window, and she couldn’t believe whom she saw.
“Oh, my God,” she murmured. “There he is.”
“Where?”
“Coming up the sidewalk outside.”
Heather whipped around to watch as Brandon made his way toward the door, and her eyes grew so wide Alison thought they were going to pop out of her skull.
“Him?” Heather said.
“Yeah.”
Heather sucked in a breath, then let it out slowly. “Oh, my.”
Alison felt the tiniest bit of vindication that he had that effect on Heather, too. And judging from the way the waitresses’ jaws practically hit the floor as he walked through the door, that lack of immunity probably spanned most of the female population.
“What’s he doing here?” Heather asked.
“He lives nearby. Guess he’s coming in for…I don’t know. A beer?”
Unfortunately, Heather’s surprise turned back to skepticism with the speed of light. “I guess now we know why you had such a good feeling about him.”
“Now, hold on,” Alison said. “I know what you’re thinking, but his looks had nothing to do with it.”
“Oh, come on! You’re a sucker for guys like him. Did you or did you not buy a one-year gym membership from a guy just because he looked like George Clooney?”
Alison frowned. “His looks had nothing to do with that, either. It was January second. Buying a gym membership on January second is practically an American tradition.”
“You can’t think straight around guys like him,” Heather said. “You lose your head. It falls right off your shoulders and goes rolling down the street.”
“We have a business arrangement,” Alison snapped. “I hired him to do a job, and that’s that. His looks have nothing to do with—”
“He’s coming over here,” Heather said.
Alison went still, gripping her martini with glass‑shattering pressure. “He is?”
“Calm down,” Heather said with more than a tiny bit of sarcasm. “It’s a business arrangement, right?”
Right. That was exactly what it was. Business, business, business…
Alison hoped maybe Brandon would just walk past them and grab a booth, or head across the room to play a little pool, saving Heather the effort of going all judgmental on him up close. Unfortunately, he caught Alison’s eye, recognized her, and slid onto the stool beside her. He leaned one forearm casually against the bar and gave her a lazy smile, already melting into the place as if he’d been coming there all his life.
“Hey, Alison,” he said. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I didn’t expect to see you, either.”
“It’s one of the first things I do whenever I’m new in town. I find a good neighborhood bar. A man has to have his priorities.” He turned to Heather. “You must be a friend of Alison’s. I’m Brandon Scott.”
“The matchmaker?”
He gave her a warm smile of affirmation. “That’s right.”
“I’m Heather McCaffrey.”
“McCaffrey? You own the place?”
“My husband and I do.”
“I like it,” he said, circling his gaze around the room. “Comfortable. Friendly. Big screens. Pool tables. And the boar’s head above the bar is a nice touch. I assume there’s a story behind the wedding veil it’s wearing?”
“Yeah. There’s a story.” And the look on her face said But I’m not going to tell you.
Alison wondered if Heather knew she was scowling at him. Probably. If there was somebody she didn’t like, she generally let the world know it. But there was no reason not to like Brandon. None at all. Being almost unbearably handsome was something he’d been born with and couldn’t help, and it certainly didn’t mean he couldn’t be a competent matchmaker. Horn-rimmed glasses and a receding hairline did seem more in line with that profession, but really, who was she to judge?
Just then, Tracy caught sight of Brandon and sauntered down the length of the bar to take his order. She was one of those women who had perfect legs, a tiny waist, and artificial boobs the size of twin Hindenburgs, who radiated an aura of leg‑spreading availability with all the subtlety of an Amsterdam whore. In other words, men couldn’t pry their eyes away with a crowbar.
>
“Hey, there,” Tracy said, giving Brandon a luminous smile. “What can I get for you?”
“Blue Moon,” Brandon said, returning her smile with a megawatt one of his own, which didn’t surprise Alison in the least. Pretty people always responded to pretty people. It was a law of nature. And in the meantime, average people had the misfortune of having to watch the kind of mating ritual they were genetically barred from taking part in.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,” she said in that super sexy voice designed to waft right into a man’s ears and turn him to mush.
“I’m new in town,” Brandon replied.
“Why, that is just about the best news I’ve had all day. Am I going to see you around here a lot?”
“You kidding? Look around. What’s there to keep me away?”
“Not me,” Tracy purred. “That’s for sure.”
The moment a woman like Tracy entered the picture, it was as if a cloak of invisibility fell over Alison. She came this close to asking Tracy how she could flirt so shamelessly with Brandon when it was possible that, because he’d sat down next to her as soon as he arrived, they were a couple.
Oh, get over yourself. The woman isn’t blind.
Tracy walked away to grab Brandon a beer, her tiny little ass swishing back and forth. Right on cue, Brandon swiveled his head to watch.
Alison let out a silent sigh. She’d come to the conclusion a long time ago that an ass like Tracy’s had a built-in tractor beam, and men were helpless to resist it.
“So, Brandon,” Heather said. “Alison tells me your grandmother died and you’re taking over her matchmaking business.”
He turned back. “That’s right.”
“Isn’t that kind of a weird profession for a man?”
Alison cringed at the question, but Brandon seemed unfazed. “Yeah, I guess it is,” he said. “But my grandmother did a lot of good for a lot of people. I’d like to pick up where she left off.”
