by Jane Graves
“You’d do all this for me?” he asked.
“Hey, I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for me. If I can get you more people to practice on, maybe you’ll get the hang of it before you match me up again.”
He smiled. “No. You’re doing it because you’re a nice person who likes to help other people.”
“So we’re back to the nice girl thing again? I told you before. Men don’t want that.”
“The man you’re looking for does.”
“Then find him for me, will you? I’m not getting any younger.” She sighed. “Let’s just hope the next guy really is over his last love. I don’t know if I can take another bout of hot sex in the ladies’ room that I’m not participating in.”
Just then, Jasmine strolled across the front porch and jumped up onto the swing. She put one paw on Alison’s leg, then looked up at her.
“Oh, look at her!” Alison said. “She’s such a sweet kitty. She actually asks if she can get into my lap.” Alison scratched her behind her ears, and Jasmine plopped down. “She could teach my cats a thing or two about manners.”
“Now, see?” Brandon said, smiling. “You need her.”
“Oh, come on,” Alison said. “You know you want this precious kitty.”
Sooner or later he’d have to find her a new home. But how? She was his grandmother’s cat after all. He couldn’t just take her to a shelter.
He decided he’d worry about that when the time came.
“I’ll need to write you a new check since you tore that one up,” Brandon said.
“We’ll settle up when I see you next. Give me two days, and I’ll have everything ready to go.” She smiled. “Don’t worry. Things are going to work out just fine.”
He believed that. He believed her when she said she knew what she was doing and could get him the clients he needed. The question was, could he hold up his end of the bargain and find her a husband?
After Alison left, Brandon grabbed a beer and came back out to the front porch, flipping off the light so he wouldn’t draw bugs. He sat there a long time in the dark, sipping the beer, thinking about how he’d entered into this business with little more than the bare bones of a plan and a whole lot of audacity, thinking he’d get in, toss the dice on enough matches to get him the money he needed, and get out. But now for the first time, he was beginning to realize that the business he’d intended to bleed dry and then toss away just might be more important to people than he realized.
And there was something about Alison that made him want to give her the happily ever after she was dreaming of.
On Monday morning, Alison sidled up next to Lois’s cubicle. As soon as Lois saw her, she poked her computer keyboard and closed the website she was looking at, as if everybody in the entire office didn’t know she spent at least an hour a day on a Twilight fan forum.
“What do you want?” Lois said, pretending to concentrate on the Photoshop image that was now on her screen.
“I need a favor.”
“I don’t do favors.”
“I need a logo.”
“So hire a graphic artist.”
“You’re a graphic artist. The best graphic artist I know.”
“Don’t kiss my ass. You know how I feel about ass kissing.”
“How about if we barter a little?”
Lois turned slowly back to face her. “What did you have in mind?”
Alison pulled out the unmarked sack and gave Lois a peek inside.
“Godivas?” Lois said in a panicked whisper. “You can’t bring Godivas in here! That’s like cheating on the company!”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah! Somebody in accounting brought a sack of those mini Snickers bars to the office once and got an official reprimand, and you’re flashing Godivas?”
“That never happened. Somebody started that rumor as a joke.”
“It was no joke. Management doesn’t like to see competitor’s products anywhere in the office. I don’t mess with management.”
“Lois,” Alison said, whispering enticingly. “It’s Godiva.”
Lois scowled at her. “You’re a horrible person, Alison. I know everybody thinks you’re really nice and everything, but you’re not.”
“There are only two people in on this. You and me. And I’m not telling.”
Lois looked back into the sack at the gold box and actually licked her lips. Any moment Alison expected her to flap her arms, take off, and buzz around the box of chocolates like a vulture over a dying rat.
“Candy first,” Lois said. “Then the logo.”
She reached for the sack, but Alison pulled it away. “I need it by tomorrow afternoon.”
“Anything in particular you want?”
“I’ll e-mail you some info on the company. You can take it from there.”
“I’ll have a mock-up for you in the morning.”
“Deal.”
Alison handed her the sack, which she quickly stuffed into her lower desk drawer. But not five minutes later, Alison saw her grab the sack out of the drawer again. She flicked her head back and forth, checking for witnesses, then disappeared into the ladies’ room. Good God. What kind of person ate a box of Godiva chocolates while sitting in a bathroom stall?
A really, really compulsive one.
On her lunch hour, Alison wrote the press release. By the next afternoon, Lois had the final logo for her. It was a pair of hearts connected with strings, just as Alison had expected, but it was stylized just enough that it didn’t look dumb. The tagline Alison had decided on, Tying Two Hearts Together Forever, was in a serpentine pattern beneath it in a casual font. It looked enticing and interesting but highly professional at the same time. How Lois could be Lois and still come up with good stuff like this, she didn’t know. Brandon had traded a box of Godiva for pure gold.
True to her word, Alison showed up at Brandon’s house two days later with the press release in hand. They sat down on the porch swing, and Alison handed it to him.
“Tell me what you think.”
He scanned the headline. Matchmaking Man Helps Singles Find Their Soul Mates.
“So that’ll get attention?” he asked.
“Oh, yeah.”
“I like the logo.”
“Isn’t it great?”
It was. But as Brandon read the rest of the press release, he started to get a really funny feeling inside. Alison had written about how he’d inherited the business from his grandmother, who had been a matchmaker in Plano for thirty years. How he used to sit on the stairs in her turn‑of-the-century home listening to her talk to her clients and help them make the love connection they’d always dreamed about. How matching people with their soul mates was in his blood, so he was driven to make his own clients’ dreams come true.
It was everything he’d told Alison as if it were the truth, and there was barely any truth in it at all. Yeah, he’d heard his grandmother talking to her clients. But it was more like he heard a snippet or two as he was blowing through on the way to the kitchen, or coming through the back door and heading upstairs. But telling Alison he’d spent only two years living with his grandmother before turning eighteen and hightailing it out of town wouldn’t have been quite as effective a sales pitch.
The press release went on to talk about the personalized service he offered, just as his grandmother had, but from a twenty-first-century perspective. Then Alison had added a few bullet points containing statistics on the success people have using personal matchmakers versus Internet dating. And she finished with, Oddly enough, Brandon Scott hasn’t yet found that one special person for himself, but he’s convinced that’ll be his reward for helping other people find true love.
“I took a few liberties with that last line,” Alison said. “Hope you don’t mind.”
Hey, what the hell. Let’s both lie. “It’s fine.”
“Do I have the contact information correct?”
He glanced at the bottom of the sheet. “Yeah.”
“Now it’s photo time. Let’s see…over there.”
She pointed toward the porch railing and got out her camera.
“Okay,” she said when he was in place. “Smile.”
He did. She snapped a few photos and looked at the screen. “Nope. That’s a phony smile.”
“It didn’t feel phony.”
“It never does. But it sure looks it. Try again.”
He smiled again. Same story.
“Relax a little,” Alison said.
He did. Or tried to. And it still looked fake.
“Okay,” Alison said. “I want you to be serious for a moment. No smiling.”
“Uh…okay.” He gave her a deadpan look.
“Now. I want you to imagine David and his ex doing it in a bathroom stall.”
He smiled.
Click.
“Sorry,” Brandon said. “That shouldn’t make me laugh.”
“We have to laugh about it, or we’ll cry.” Alison looked at the screen and smiled herself. “There. Perfect.” She grabbed her purse. “Gotta go. I’ll send the press release and your photo out first thing tomorrow. Be ready. You’re liable to get some action pretty quickly.”
“Do you really think so?”
“I really think so.”
A little voice was egging him to tell her the truth, but he knew how she’d feel about that. Maybe this press release would net nothing, and he wouldn’t have to feel bad about it.
Then again, if it didn’t net something, he was finished.
At ten-thirty the next morning, Brandon was at his desk, sipping a cup of coffee, when the phone rang. He picked it up from his desktop and answered it.
“Hello?”
“Is this Brandon Scott?”
He sat up. “Yes?”
“This is Kelsey Dunn from Dallas After Dark. We just received your press release. I was wondering if you’d be available for an interview sometime today or tomorrow?”
“Uh…yeah. Sure.”
“We’d like to run a story on your matchmaking service. I think our readers will be very interested in getting to know you better.”
Brandon’s heart was suddenly beating double time. “I’ll have to check my calendar, but I think I’ll have some free time this afternoon.”
Feeling a surge of hope, he made an appointment with her for four o’clock. And before the day was out, he was contacted by the Dallas Morning News, a radio station, and a local blogger who offered advice to the lovelorn and asked him if he ever did any guest blogging.
And just like that, he was in business.
Chapter 13
The next week was a blur for Brandon.
After doing two print interviews, a blog interview, and a radio interview with a popular morning show, his phone had started to ring. Within a couple of days, he’d signed three new clients and had introductory appointments with two more.
By the time Friday came, he was ready for a beer and a game of pool, so he grabbed Tom and they headed to McCaffrey’s.
“So it’s actually working?” Tom said as he racked up the balls. “I was beginning to think you were going to have to throw in the towel.”
“Nope. And I did the math. If everything continues at this rate, I’ll have all the money I need to close the deal.”
“Then keep making those matches,” Tom said.
Brandon smacked the last ball into the side pocket to end the game. When he looked up again, he saw Alison come through the door. She waved, her face lighting up with a sunny smile. He smiled and waved back at her, and when she started walking toward him, for some reason, his heart started to beat a little faster.
They’d talked several times this week about the interviews he was doing and the clients he was signing. Her excitement over his success was so contagious that every time the phone rang, he hoped it was her. Seeing her in person was even better.
Especially tonight.
She wore a casual halter dress with a snug skirt that stopped midthigh. Up to now, he’d seen her in longer skirts or pants, and he was stopped cold by the sight of her legs, which were clearly one of her better features. What added to the fantasy was a pair of hot pink pumps with heels just this side of stratospheric. Her hair was pulled up to the crown of her head in some kind of shiny barrette thing with pieces of hair falling out of it and grazing her cheeks.
She came up beside them at the pool table. “Hey, guys.”
“Hi, Alison,” Tom said. “You look great tonight.”
“Thanks. The shoes are a little slutty, I’m afraid. Not really my style, but Heather convinced me I needed to branch out.”
“So where are you heading tonight?” Brandon asked. “This isn’t your usual McCaffrey’s look.”
“It’s girls’ night out. As soon as Heather’s finished here, we’re meeting some friends for a wine tasting.”
“So you’re a wine enthusiast?” Brandon asked.
“Not exactly. You know that guy you see sitting on a curb downtown drinking from a bottle of Ripple in a brown paper sack?”
“Yeah?”
“He knows more about wine than I do. But at least I drink it out of a glass.”
“So where’s Heather?” Brandon asked. “I don’t feel comfortable here unless she’s giving me the evil eye.”
“In her office in the back, I imagine. I’m a little early.”
“Do you think there’s hope that she’ll ever stop hating me?”
Alison smiled. “There’s always hope. Hey! I heard you on the drive time radio interview this morning. You were great.”
“Yeah? I wasn’t sure about that. Did you hear the host ask me if I cherry-picked my hottest women clients for myself?”
“Don’t worry. You said exactly the right thing. ‘No, Steve, I don’t, but if you’d like to hire me as your matchmaker, I’d be happy to cherry-pick one for you.’ That was a great answer.”
“So how about I cherry-pick you for Steve?”
Alison pursed her lips with mock irritation. “Are you trying for a third strike?”
Brandon grinned. “Okay. Bad idea. But I do need to find you a new match.”
“Take your time,” she said. “It’s more important right now that you get new clients signed up.”
“Nope. You’re my number one client. I’ll have somebody for you soon.”
“I know,” she said with a soft smile. “I have faith in you.”
He knew she did. And that was why he felt like a total fraud. Just make damned sure you get it right this time.
And then he heard a little throat clearing. He turned to see Heather standing behind him.
“Hi, Heather,” Brandon said with a smile.
“Hello,” she said with all the warmth of a cadaver. “Alison? Are you ready to go?”
“Yep,” she said, grabbing her purse from the bar. “See you guys later.”
As she walked away, Tom said, “Wow. Heather’s a little cold, isn’t she?”
“Yeah. She thinks I’m out to con Alison.”
“Intuitive, isn’t she?”
“I’m not conning anybody. Alison has helped me, and I intend to help her.”
“Well, then. Better luck with her next match. Then again, anything will be better than the first two, won’t it?”
Then Brandon realized Tom was talking to him but watching Alison through the window as they walked to Heather’s car, clearly enjoying the view as much as he was. And for some reason, that pissed him off.
“Will you stop staring at her like that?” he said.
“Like what?”
“She’s not that kind of girl.”
“Maybe not, but those shoes say she is. You know what I said about her not being my kind of woman? Maybe I’m reconsidering.”
“Right. You’ll turn into a family man about the time hell freezes over.”
“I didn’t say my kind of woman for a lifetime. But a night or two is a definite possibility. How about making me her next match?”
“Knock i
t off. That’s not what she’s looking for, and you know it.”
“Fine,” Tom said. “I can’t touch. I can’t even look. So what can I do?”
“Go after Tracy.”
Tom glanced to the bar, where Tracy was leaning over to wash glasses, her top so low cut she was in danger of her breasts falling out. Something told Brandon that if it happened, it wouldn’t be the first time.
“Good advice,” Tom said. “I’m on it.”
As Tom walked away, Brandon turned back to the window and watched Alison in precisely the way he’d told Tom not to. As she got into the car, he noticed her legs again. They were amazing—smooth, tanned, and curvy. Someday he wanted to run his hand from her thigh to her ankle and back up again, and watch as tiny little goose bumps rose in its wake. Of course, if he did, he’d be overstepping his bounds in ways he’d promised himself he wouldn’t. In the end, she wasn’t his kind of woman any more than she was Tom’s. But still there was something about her…
He probably needed to take his own advice. Don’t touch. Don’t even look. But he figured as long as he didn’t actually act on any of his errant thoughts about Alison, he was in the clear.
When Brandon and Tom got home that evening, the sun had just slipped beyond the horizon. A spectacular red gold sunset warmed the entire neighborhood, set to music by a mass of crickets that took their jobs very seriously. Tom went inside to watch a baseball game, but after the flurry of activity that week, Brandon was content just to grab another beer, sit on the porch swing, and rock for a little while.
He’d taken to doing that more and more, just sitting out there in the evenings, rocking back and forth and watching the neighbors do what neighbors did. On one side of him lived a young, dark-haired woman. He’d seen her in her yard a few times piddling around with her flowers, but otherwise she seemed to keep to herself. The young couple next door on the other side went for a stroll almost every evening with the wading pool kids in tow. The old woman across the street, the one who’d taken Jasmine in when his grandmother had died, came out most evenings and hand-watered her periwinkles. Then she scoured her lawn for any weeds that dared show their ugly little faces and attacked them with a weed popper. Across the street and a few doors down lived a meticulous, thirty-something guy who always wore a pressed T‑shirt and shorts and walked his perfectly groomed Lhasa apso at precisely eight o’clock every evening. Fortunately, he never hit the road without a poop-scooper and a plastic bag, for which Brandon thanked him. Various kids bicycled or skateboarded up and down the block.
