Miss Match

by Fiona Riley

  “Samantha?” Her partner’s annoyed voice called from his office, echoing through the now-empty conference room separating him from her.

  “Yes, Andrew,” she replied sweetly, hoping to suppress the building irritation she could sense in his tone.

  He leaned against her door frame, half-hidden behind a large box filled with files and papers. “Samantha, seriously, what gives?”

  “You’ll have to be more specific. I’m obviously involved in a few things here.” She motioned over the endless paperwork on her desk.

  “You know how important you showing face at the Lundsteins’ wedding is—all that hard work, Sam!”

  She pulled the box out of his arms and lowered it to the couch by his side. “Honestly, you know how much I hate those things, can’t you go in my place? You look so dapper in a suit.”

  “Of course I look great in a suit,” he said, “but that doesn’t excuse you from attending. You have to go.” He nodded his head as if agreeing with himself, crossing his arms and puffing out his chest.

  Samantha knew he was right. Ever since her dramatic breakup with her cheating fiancé and the hush money campaign to keep it from the public eye six months ago, she had been shirking her duties. She needed to show face for the sake of their business or it would flounder, like her unfortunate love life.

  “Ugh, fine, I’ll consider it.”

  “Well consider it very seriously, because I already mailed your affirmative reply. You ordered the fish.”

  “Andrew!” Now it was her turn to scold. “What were you thinking?”

  “I was thinking about you. And your job, and my job. And how much you need this.”

  She wanted to argue back for the sake of arguing, but her long day was catching up with her. She leaned wearily against the desk behind her, “Fine. Thank you, Andrew.”

  He flashed her a bashful smile as he stepped out of the doorway, returning thirty seconds later with a long black dry-cleaner’s bag draped over his arm.

  “Well, good, because I bought you a new dress for the occasion, and a matching suit for me.” He smiled apologetically as he handed her the garment bag.

  She didn’t know whether to chastise him for his omniscient prediction of her concession or hug him for planning on going with her. She settled for a weary smile and appreciative arm tap as she walked toward the door, flicking off the light and following him to the elevator.

  *

  The couch was closer than the bedroom and the wine was closer than last night’s leftovers, so both won out in Samantha’s fatigue. She eyed the garment bag draped over the arm of her couch. The dress was probably gorgeous, complementing her olive skin, accentuating her curves. Making her beautiful was Andrew’s specialty. It was why he was one of her closest friends, and not just her business partner. He was the only reason she had maintained any sort of professional success of late.

  As she settled into the couch, swirling the cabernet sauvignon in her wineglass, she glanced down at her briefcase. Inside were the dossiers of two millionaires looking for their perfect mates, begging for her attention, expecting her to make a feast out of crumbs. Samantha and Andrew ran a Boston-based high-end dating service for the blue bloods of the Greater New England area. Many members of the social elite found themselves later in life in search of love, having consistently put their business successes ahead of their personal accomplishments. And one day they—or their elderly parents—realized it was time to start looking for a perfect mate to match their well-manicured lives.

  Samantha had become known in the matchmaking industry for taking particularly complex clients who were so regimented in their professional lives that fitting another piece into an already established puzzle was nearly impossible. She had practically run her brand on making the impossible possible. Her business, Perfect Match, Inc., was booming. She and Andrew had a waiting list of up to six months for in-office meetings, with webcam interviews slotted out eight to twelve weeks. She had more head shots, essays, applications, and questionnaires to sort through than she knew what to do with.

  Trouble was, she couldn’t seem to garner the same type of enthusiasm for the business that she had in the past. She pushed Alec’s folder aside, reaching for Sheldyn “Shelly” White’s instead with a small smile. Shelly was significantly less outgoing than Alec, average in height and weight, sweet natured and quiet. But nerdy, socially awkward in groups of greater than two people, and she struggled to make conversation around beautiful women.

  Alec and Sheldyn were her two biggest clients and polar opposites, remaining single for a few very different reasons—the handsome but self-consumed prince with a violent temper, and the mild-mannered computer genius with crippling social anxiety. Oh, and each with millions upon millions of dollars at their fingertips.

  Samantha tossed the file back onto the table, leaned back, and rubbed the bridge of her nose as she reclined on the couch. She rested the wineglass on the table to her right as she slowly pulled off her fake eyelashes and placed them gently on the tabletop. She was done trying to make the impossible possible tonight. It was time to finish her drink and try to sleep, something that for once seemed like it was not far off.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Samantha smiled sadly as she looked around at the Lundsteins’ wedding celebration; it was everything Mrs. Carol Lundstein wanted for her son, and nothing that Nathan, the groom, wanted at all. Even the monogrammed napkins were not his taste, or that of his lovely bride, Constance. They both would have preferred a small, quiet ceremony without the pomp and circumstance of this grand display. Nathan was appeasing his mother, and Constance was dutifully fulfilling the role of obedient daughter-in-law. This was not their party—this was Carol’s. But, oh, what a party Carol could throw.

  Samantha could tell from the number of seats that this wedding had at least two hundred and fifty guests. It was a five-course feast with expensive wines, champagne flowing freely, and gift bags that would give the Oscars a run for their money. It was all decadence and frills. Breathtaking, really. The reception hall was gorgeous: the lighting, the flowers, the centerpieces, the ice sculptures—all flawless, the best that money could buy.

  “Did you really think eighteen months ago that we would be here?” Andrew mused as they made their way to their table. “Soft-spoken son of a self-absorbed mother bred on old money falling for a poor girl from a broken family. It’s the stuff fairy tales are made of.”

  “Honestly? No, never.” Samantha remembered the day when this unlikely match was made—a true pairing against all odds. After three months of searching, Nathan had still not found what he was looking for, until a pretty UPS delivery girl literally fell out of the elevator into their office. Nathan had thrown down the head shots he was holding and bolted to the elevator to help her, saving the contents of the box and keeping her from getting hurt.

  “He was her knight in shining Brooks Brothers and she was his damsel in an ugly brown uniform,” Andrew said as he pulled out Samantha’s chair. “You saw it though, you saw that connection and jumped on it. You really do have a talent, Sam.”

  They were seated off to the right of the dance floor, far enough from the seven-piece band to hear each other speaking. The table had filled in quickly: Samantha and Andrew were accompanied by Constance’s best friends from high school and college, Sarah and Franny, a few single friends of Nathan’s, a cute married couple that were expecting, and one empty seat to Samantha’s right. When the two single guys went to sit, they had fought over the chair next to hers, but she’d cleared her throat in annoyance and shot them each a quick glare. She didn’t feel like spending her evening brushing off horny late twentysomethings when just being here was difficult enough.

  Andrew excused himself to the restroom—and, Samantha suspected, to troll the cute, rich gay boys—effectively abandoning her at the table. Could the evening get any worse? But her pity party was interrupted by a waiter escorting a woman to the table. And she was positively stunning, tall and blond, in a gor
geous dark blue dress perfectly tailored to her lean build, with matching pumps.

  “Right here, Ms. Moss, can I get you something to drink?” He smiled warmly and pulled out the chair next to Samantha for the new guest.

  “Champagne please, lots. Thank you.” She smiled, her voice sounding smooth and melodious.

  The waiter nodded and pushed in her chair, looking expectantly over at Samantha to see if she needed anything as well.

  “I’ll have the same, thank you.” She broke out of her trance, smiling at the waiter before he turned to go.

  “How many glasses in are you?” the new woman leaned in and asked playfully.

  “Um, this is my second, but I do confess to drinking on the ride here.” Samantha paused, adding quickly, “I wasn’t driving.”

  “Ha. So I have some catching up to do. Good to know.” She laughed. “Also, glad to hear you abide by the rules of the road. I’m Lucinda, by the way.” She extended her hand toward Samantha.

  “Hi, I’m Samantha. And I’m so glad you aren’t some creepy guy, because you just saved me from having to politely reject that cretin over there.” She nodded subtly toward one of Nathan’s friends on the far side of the table who was leering at a woman standing by the ice sculpture.

  Lucinda laughed as she watched him lick his lips and smooth his eyebrows before standing to stalk the unsuspecting woman. “Glad to help.” She smiled and accepted the champagne flute that the waiter brought over, turning in her seat to face Samantha. “Cheers to deflecting unwanted sexual advances from strangers?”

  “I’ll drink to that.” Samantha clinked her glass with Lucinda’s before taking a hearty sip, maintaining the eye contact Lucinda had initiated.

  Lucinda’s bright blue eyes flashed and she winked playfully before asking, “So, what brings you to the misfit table?”

  “Misfit table?”

  “Yeah, misfits,” Lucinda repeated, quirking an eyebrow at Sarah and Franny before standing.

  “Ef you, Moss!” Franny snapped before tapping Sarah on the shoulder and pointing to Lucinda.

  “Hey, Luce!” Sarah’s face lit up and she waved, walking around the table to embrace Lucinda, shortly followed by Franny.

  Samantha watched the three obviously long-time friends with interest. People watching was an occupational hazard.

  “Hey, girls, how are things?” Lucinda asked, hugging the women and smiling.

  “We’re good. Franny here has some pre-med boy toy, but she has yet to introduce me to one of his classmates.” Sarah rolled her eyes, shoving Franny playfully.

  “As if you would even be interested in some bookish nerd,” Franny chided.

  “Hey, I love a man in uniform.” Sarah giggled, looping her arm into Lucinda’s. “I mean, scrubs are a uniform, right, Luce?”

  “Yeah, I think that counts.” Lucinda nodded and looked past her friends to the bride and groom who were making rounds at the tables on the other side of the room. “They’re very cute together, huh?”

  “Yeah,” both Sarah and Franny replied simultaneously with a dreamy air and immediately burst into laughter.

  Sarah nudged Franny. “Let’s go sign the guest book. See you, Luce.” She smiled and hugged Lucinda again before skipping off with Franny toward the reception table.

  Lucinda resumed her seat next to Samantha, who could barely contain her amusement. “What?”

  “Well, first off,” Samantha said, “I’m still trying to get over the fact that you called me a misfit.”

  “Oh, that? That was more for the oddballs at the other end of the table. I don’t know you well enough to call you a misfit. Wait,” Lucinda challenged, arching a perfectly plucked eyebrow, “are you offended because it’s true?”

  “I’ve been called worse things before, I guess.” Samantha smiled and sipped from her flute. Conversing with Lucinda was easy; something about her was warm and welcoming.

  “So, how do you know the happy couple?” Lucinda asked.

  “I was there when they met,” Samantha replied quietly, sipping her drink again.

  “That is an understatement,” Andrew supplemented from over her shoulder. “Don’t you think?”

  “Ah, you’re back”—Samantha winked at Lucinda before turning back to Andrew—“and surprisingly chatty for someone who abandoned me at the misfit table.”

  Andrew furrowed his brow in confusion before training his eyes on Lucinda. “Andrew Stanley.” He surveyed her curiously. “I know you, don’t I?”

  “Mmm, it’s possible. Lucinda Moss, nice to meet you.”

  “Uh-oh, don’t look now”—Andrew scowled as he looked toward the dance floor—“but it’s getting awfully cold in here.”

  “I should have known that bitch would be here.” Samantha’s gaze settled on the ash-blond-haired woman approaching their table with a determined stride. She drained the contents of her glass and took a deep breath as though she was preparing herself for a fight.

  *

  Lucinda leaned back and watched Samantha closely; stress lines sneaked across her flawless complexion as the woman in question got closer, slowed by another guest attempting to engage her in conversation.

  “Well, if it isn’t the notorious Miss Match,” the woman quipped with a venomously saccharine smirk as she finally approached their table. “What a pleasant surprise. Are you using this opportunity to assess potential prospects for your little dating-game resource pool?”

  Lucinda watched as Samantha visibly clenched her jaw before she swallowed the emotion and smiled sweetly.

  “Mrs. Frost, how have you been?”

  Mrs. Frost quirked an eyebrow, obviously irritated her barbs were so easily cast off. “It’s positively lovely that Andrew can be your date at such a wonderful event. I applaud you, Mr. Stanley—everyone loves a supportive gay friend.”

  Andrew allowed a small smile to break his otherwise masklike expression. “I have always appreciated the particular charm you bring to our interactions, Mrs. Frost.” And just like that, the mask returned and Andrew sipped his drink before turning and walking away.

  “He’s delightful today, isn’t he?” Mrs. Frost snarled at Andrew’s quick dismissal.

  Samantha turned to face the unpleasant woman fully. “I find his company a lot more appealing than that of most others, Claudette. I haven’t seen Alec yet today. I suppose he’s off somewhere assessing for himself?”

  As a deep scowl ripped across Claudette Frost’s plastic-surgery-altered face, Lucinda cleared her throat and stood from the table.

  “Hi, I’m Lucinda Moss, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” She extended her hand to a surprised Mrs. Frost, who took her hand suspiciously, clearly caught off guard. Lucinda smiled once more and turned her attention back to Samantha.

  “Samantha, shall we?” Lucinda asked while stepping between the women and ushering Samantha in the general direction of the guest book.

  Samantha smiled and linked her arm with her savior, before nodding curtly back at Mrs. Frost’s angry expression. She leaned in and tucked her arm tighter into Lucinda’s elbow as she whispered, “That’s twice today you saved my life…Who are you?”

  Lucinda nudged Samantha in the ribs with her elbow. “I just have a habit of being in the right place at the right time, I guess. It looked like you needed a distraction and I was afraid her face would get stuck like that.”

  The guest book was adorned with gold script and long flowing ribbons. A quill and ink bottle sat nearby with a wedding planner’s assistant policing it to ensure no profane scribbles would mar Carol Lundstein’s perfect memory book. The attendant guarding the book looked up and smiled broadly before stepping forward to shake Samantha’s hand. “Ms. Monteiro, it’s so nice to see you again. Another perfect match, I see—congrats.”

  “Hey, Lisa, it’s good to see you. Has Mrs. Lundstein been nice enough today?” Samantha had recommended Giovanni, her favorite wedding planner, and his team to help manage Mrs. Lundstein’s requests.

  Lisa looked around q
uickly. “She had him personally hand count the number of flower petals that were sprinkled in the church after being told by her numerologist that one thousand was the number of luck and fertility or something.” She paused and looked at Samantha with a grin. “Giovanni will never forgive you for introducing the happy couple.”

  Samantha caught Lucinda arching a curious eyebrow at that remark, and she hoped her complexion mostly hid the blush she felt forming under the amused look Lucinda was casting at her. “I’m a matchmaker, it’s what I do. I work in the industry of perfect pairings.”

  Lucinda’s smile evolved into a devilish grin. “Ah, Miss Match. I see.”

  Samantha pulled her arm from Lucinda’s and crossed it playfully across her chest, feigning an expression of annoyance. “And just how do you know the happy couple, Ms. Moss?”

  The smile on Lucinda’s face faltered a little as she contemplated her answer. “She’s my—”

  “Sister. I’m her sister.” Constance O’Malley Lundstein swooped in and wrapped her arms around Lucinda’s waist, finishing Lucinda’s sentence before kissing her on the cheek. “I’m so glad you made it, Luce.”

  “Connie, you look beautiful! Spin for me?” Lucinda extended her arm and took Connie’s hand, twirling her gently on the spot.

  “Sister?” Samantha hadn’t known about any female family members—the two older brothers, yes, but no sisters. She frowned slightly at the new information and wondered how it had gone unnoticed.

  “Mm-hmm.” Connie hummed distractedly as she continued to twirl and dance happily with Lucinda, who was looking equally as distracted and giddy.

  Lucinda hugged Constance, whispering something into her ear and kissing her cheek before looking back at her confused tablemate. “Little Connie O’Malley was the biggest pain in the butt any girl could ever ask for.” She winked and smiled back at Connie in response to her scoffing noise. “I lived with her family for a while when we were younger,” she explained. “They took me in as their own, so—”

  “So she’s my annoying older sister,” Connie said with a nod. “And, Luce, I see you met my fairy godmother, Samantha Monteiro.”