Harte Strings: The Billionaire Matchmaker, Part Two

by Gina Robinson

  Again, it all goes back to building that dating persona that’s going to land you your soul mate. First impressions. I can’t stress them enough. Love is blind. But people critically examining a potential mate for deal breakers online are not.

  As might be expected from a person of Lazer’s celebrity, his social pages were shockingly lacking information about his friends and family. And to my trained eye, professionally managed to feed his playboy billionaire persona. Which, of course, made sense.

  Lazer had insisted I meet his friends in person and form my own impressions of them. Consequently, my heart raced with both personal and professional anticipation as we went to the helipad to greet them.

  I shielded my eyes with one hand as the wind from the helicopter blades whipped my hair in my face and I brushed it out of the way with the other. Gary was still piloting the craft. He nailed the landing, but remained in the pilot seat, pausing to unload.

  Four men bounded from the helicopter, jostling and teasing each other like an eager litter of bighearted puppies. One of the four tossed their bags down to the others before disembarking. As soon as they were clear of the blades, the copter took off again.

  The men converged on Lazer with equal exuberance, grabbing him in turn in exaggerated bear hugs or engaging in ribbing and backslapping. Their affection for him seemed genuine. Not at all like a show for me.

  I studied them with an amused professional eye. As I’d said before, you can tell a lot about a person by their friends. So far, so good.

  Lazer hadn’t been joking when he’d said they’d be dressed in shorts and T-shirts. That was indeed their style, accompanied by flip-flops or sandals. The right T-shirts and shorts can make a man look totally hot and confident. These guys had missed the mark. Fixable, totally fixable. You’d be surprised how many clients I have to make over. Even men who come from family money.

  I continued to study them with the trained, critical eye of a matchmaker looking for deal breakers and flaws from a purely physical appearance angle. Yes, I knew that sounded shallow. But, like everyone else, I only got one first impression. I had to make it count.

  And let’s get real. Looks and physical attractiveness are how we quickly filter potential mates. It was true that some people improved upon getting to know them. In the long run, people with charisma oozing out their pores could overcome being less physically appealing. But only if they made the first cut and got the chance to dazzle with their winning personalities. I was determined that my clients got that chance.

  I put myself in the place of a woman looking for a man. If I were in a bar and one of them hit on me, how likely would I be to respond positively? First impressions. I was cataloguing mine. I wasn’t judging them by my own personal tastes. Ruling one out because he might be too outdoorsy for me, for example. I’d learned enough to put personal preferences aside. But right now, these guys weren’t up to my standards. I figured they’d get shot down more often than succeeding.

  One of the men was a great big bear of a guy. In the dark, he wouldn’t have been hard to mistake for Bigfoot. He had an unruly beard, a shock of dark hair that needed trimming, and at least twenty pounds that needed shedding.

  I could be brutally blunt about cosmetic changes that needed to be made before heading out on the dating scene. Yes, of course everyone wants someone to want them for them. But if you’re looking for a new job, you polish your résumé. Your personal appearance is your dating résumé. If you want to land the best match possible, you polish it before you look for a mate. Most women instinctively know that. Certain types of men are slower on the uptake. A complete makeover isn’t always necessary. Nor spending a year losing one hundred pounds. But at the very least, you tweak.

  Another of the men was a tall, broad-shouldered redhead with thick hair and a big red beard. I was pleased that his hair was more auburn than red, deep and rich in color.

  Personally, I thought red hair was beautiful. But my personal tastes had little bearing on market realities. Redheads were the hardest group of people to place. Too many prospective mates were shocked when all the body hair matched the head hair. And too many freckles, which usually came along for the ride, were often a deal breaker. Fortunately, he was only mildly freckled. I could work with him.

  The last two men were slender, of average to slightly taller than average height, one had blond hair, the other brown. A closer look would tell me more, but beneath their shaggy hair and baggy clothes were the glimmers of good features and sound physiques. Something to work with, at least. With some fixing up and coaching, I could make them into heartbreakers.

  All at once, four curious pair of gazes fell on Lottie, who had joined us at the sound of the approaching helicopter, and me.

  I smiled back at the men, giving them my reassuring matchmaker’s smile. If you’re a matchmaker, a big part of the job is instilling confidence. Too many people come to me brokenhearted and despairing, rejected and dejected, feeling as if they’re unlovable. A supportive, confident smile from me, the pro, went a long way toward assuring them they weren’t beyond finding love.

  Lazer turned to introduce me. “Gentlemen, I’d like to introduce you to our new partner and your matchmaker, Ashley Harte, and her assistant, Lottie.” He put his hand on my shoulder.

  It could have been just to show I was the woman he was talking about. But that was rather obvious. Or it could have been that he was marking his territory. Which was what I liked to believe.

  “Ashley is going to find you eternal happiness with your soul mate. And make us all a boatload of cash.” He whispered out of the side of his mouth to me, “No pressure.”

  “Yeah. Thanks for that.” I smiled warmly at the men. Let the games begin. Whether they were aware of it or not, this was test night. I always began evaluating clients the moment I met them. And since I was playing the game of love on the professional level, everything was fair.

  “Pay no attention to Lazer’s obvious cynicism.” I rolled my eyes toward him. “I’ve made hundreds of successful matches in my career. If you really want a spouse, I’ll find you one.”

  The redhead approached me first, taking my hand in his large one and pumping it enthusiastically. “I’m Austin.”

  He grinned and bumped Lazer with his shoulder. “You’ve been holding out on us. Why didn’t you tell us our matchmaker was hot?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned to me. “You’re much younger than I was expecting.”

  I laughed. “I get that a lot. People are expecting a bubbe or a yenta.” I leaned forward, cupped a hand around my mouth, and whispered to him. “I’ll let you in on a secret—I’m not Jewish, either.” That was another common misperception, that all matchmakers were Jewish, particularly in New York.

  His answering laugh was booming. “Neither am I.”

  “Well. Now that we’ve got religion out of the way.” I liked Austin.

  Beside me, Lazer stiffened. As if I liked Austin a little too much on sight. I hadn’t expected Lazer to be insecure.

  Dylan was the big man, Jeremy the slightly built brown-haired guy with a slight stutter…

  Cam was the last to introduce himself. “Welcome to the group, Ms. Harte.”

  “Please, call me Ashley. We’re partners now,” I said.

  Dylan made a show of looking around and behind me. “Where are the women?”

  I laughed. “Not so fast, cowboy. I’m not bringing a random selection of women out here for you to meet. The odds of a good match in that are no better than random chance.” And they needed coaching. “Before there will be any women, you have to go through my boot camp.”

  It seemed to me like they shuffled nervously at that.

  We spilled into the lodge, the men carrying their bags and talking excitedly, ribbing Lazer.

  “Usual rooms?” Cam asked.

  Lazer nodded. “Dinner on the patio at six. Meet there.”

  On cue, the men dispersed.

  Lazer beamed at them and turned to me. “They’re a motley c
rew. But you get used to them. First impressions?”

  “Eminently suitable,” I said. “Completely matchable.”

  “That’s what I like to hear. I hope you still think so when you get to know them better.”

  “How are they in the programming and business partner side?” I said. Turnabout grilling was fair play.

  “Eminently suitable.”

  “Good. I’ll see you at dinner,” I said. “I need a minute with the staff.” I hoped I hadn’t been lying about how suitable they were. I was about to find out how they treated people that had less power in the situation than they did. I was about to see how Lazer handled his staff, too. You could learn a lot by that.

  * * *

  When we returned to the pool area, the drinks had been cleared away, the built-in barbecue had been fired up, and the table artistically set. As if an interior decorator had been hired just for this casual event. The kitchen staff had gone into full swing with dinner preparations. A waiter brought out plates of appetizers, vol-au-vent piled high with savory fillings of Northwest fusion flavors. Salmon and shitake mushrooms. Mini crab puffs with wasabi aioli.

  Lazer’s friends helped themselves to the bar. They appeared comfortable and completely at home at Lazer Lodge. Which was as it should be, and another big point in Lazer’s favor. Friends should feel welcome and comfortable in your home, no matter how much or how little you have.

  Lottie and I had decided beforehand to divide and conquer. We separated the minute we hit the patio, and began mingling. I didn’t know what I was expecting. Social awkwardness and shyness, maybe. I shouldn’t have worried. I was immediately waylaid by Austin near the bar. He already had a half-empty beer in his hand.

  “Austin,” he said, as if not expecting me to remember his name.

  I liked it. It was both humble and socially graceful to make sure the other person wasn’t wildly grasping for his name and too embarrassed to ask.

  “Lazer should have given us nametags.” He grinned. “They’re standard at corporate events, right? I’ll have to give him hell for putting the ladies at a disadvantage. I’ve known the rest of these boneheads for years. The question is—how have we put up with each other for so long?”

  I laughed. “Don’t worry about me. I’m good with names. I remembered yours. It’s hard to forget such a tall, broad-shouldered man and that luscious mane of red hair.” I caressed my words, trying to draw him out. See how he reacted to being flirted with.

  He ran a hand through his hair self-consciously, caught himself, and dropped his hand by his side. He laughed nervously. “Red hair is the curse of my family. It’s supposed to be recessive, but it’s dominant in mine. Any woman who marries me is going to have to accept that her kids will be carrot tops. And teased mercilessly about it.”

  “Well I like it. It’s a beautiful auburn.” I studied him closely. His beard was much brighter red than his hair. “If you shaved your beard, no one would be likely to call you carrot top.”

  He stroked his beard. After the initial horrified look at the thought of losing his facial hair passed, he seemed to consider it.

  “Anyway,” I said. “Shave or not, red and green are the rarest colors for hair and eyes.”

  “True. But they aren’t to everyone’s tastes, either.” He grinned, obviously pleased.

  I let silence follow, waiting for him to fill in the gaps. I wanted to see how he did with small talk. There was an awkward pause where I kept smiling at him, waiting for him to take the lead.

  “So how does this matchmaking work?” He glanced at my empty hands and looked like he realized he’d made a social mistake. “Sorry. Where are my manners? What can I get you? Beer? Wine? Hard cider? Hard lemonade? Hard root beer? A mixed drink? Something nonalcoholic? Lazer has it all.”

  “A beer sounds good.” Mirroring. It made people feel comfortable. He was having a beer. I would have a beer. It helped that I liked beer, especially on warm evenings like this one.

  Austin stepped behind the bar, opened the fridge, and laughed to himself, shaking his head. “Do you want me to run through the list of choices? Lazer has dozens. We could be here all night.”

  “I like ale, if that narrows the field.”

  “Only slightly.” He rummaged around the fridge. “Damn, Laze!”

  Austin laughed and pulled a bottle of beer with a girlie, scroll-y purple label from the fridge, shaking his head. “This must be meant for you. Honey-lavender ale. Lazer likes to impress women with flowers in every form possible. It’s his ‘thing.’” He made air quotes and leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially, “Sooner or later he’ll offer to make you his lavender martini. If you turn it down, he’ll decide you’re more of a beer girl. This is his backup drink. Ten to one there’s a lavender lemonade in that fridge somewhere, too. In case you’re not a drinker.” He held the beer bottle out for me to inspect like a fine bottle of wine. “Drink this now and we throw his game off.”

  I smiled, too, liking Austin more and more. Delighted to have a conspirator. “You’re positively diabolical.” I tapped the bottle and studied the label. “Is this any good?”

  He shrugged. “Decent. Summery and fresh is how they market it. It’s made by a buddy’s brew house.”

  “Sold.”

  He opened it for me with a bottle opener behind the bar. “Glass?”

  I’d noticed the men drinking directly from the bottle. I held my hand out for it. “No. Thank you.”

  We strolled to the edge of the pool and took a seat with a small table near it where a plate of vol-au-vent sat surrounded by a fan of napkins.

  “You wanted to know about the matchmaking process,” I said, and took a pull of my beer. “It’s simple, really. I get to know you and find out what kind of woman you’re looking for. Then I scour my pool of eligible women, very discriminatingly, looking for someone I think will be a great match for you.

  “I give you her details and you take her out. Or, if you prefer, I set up the first meeting. I can even help you plan it. It’s all part of my job. What I’m paid for. You take her out on your date and see how it goes.”

  He considered that a moment. “If I like her?”

  “You ask her out again and let the relationship proceed naturally.”

  “If I don’t?”

  “I match you up again until we find one you do. I have a large pool of women to draw from.”

  “You don’t always get it right?” He seemed genuinely interested in the answer. His tone was half teasing, half serious.

  “Not always the first time. Matching is intuitive as much as anything. I use the criteria you give me. Sometimes, though, you don’t want what you think you want. And chemistry is unpredictable.”

  He set his bottle on the table and grabbed an appetizer and napkin. “What if I like a match and she isn’t into me?” He seemed a little too casual, like he was facing a fear asking me this. “What if I ask her out again and she turns me down?”

  “Sometimes it’s just a matter of chemistry. She doesn’t feel it and you do. Odd as it is to say, it’s nothing personal. You can’t force chemistry.

  “I sometimes make the analogy of putting together a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle. Some of the pieces look like they should fit. You try them. But they don’t. They aren’t a true match, is all. There’s another piece that will fit. You just have to find it, which may take some looking. The fact the first one didn’t doesn’t reflect badly on either the puzzle or the puzzler.”

  He nodded, seeming to like my explanation. “True enough. But how will I know? Some women treat guys like shit. Just stop answering your texts. You get no feedback. Maybe I did something wrong. Maybe there was something I could have done better. Something I could have said. How will I improve?”

  I flashed him my reassuring smile, liking him tremendously. “That’s what I’m here for. After each of the first few dates with the same person, and then periodically after that, I follow up with both parties to see how the date went. And later, how the rela
tionship is going. If I get constructive feedback, I pass it along. If I see a pattern of behavior that isn’t helping your cause, we’ll work on correcting it before your next match.”

  He was quiet, thinking. “So you’re as much our dating coach as anything?”

  I nodded. “Or mentor. Or objective third party. I’m any and all of those things.”

  “Dating postmortem.” He frowned and shifted in his seat. “That’s a lot of pressure.” He cleared his throat. “I’m not smooth with the ladies. That’s why I’m here.”

  I touched his arm and gave it a reassuring squeeze. When I first started my business, I met all of my clients in a quiet corner of a restaurant. This setting reminded me of those early days. It was the perfect, relaxed way to get started. Thank you, Lazer.

  “From what I can tell so far, you have nothing to worry about. You’re delightful. It might seem intimidating at first,” I said. “It’s hard to hear criticism about anything. Especially about something so personal. Don’t worry. We’ll quickly weed out any annoying habits you might have that turn potential mates off. Most things are minor and easily fixed. Like anything, dating gets easier with practice.

  “I’ll be your buffer and sounding board any time you need me. And I mean any time. When my clients are out on dates, I’m available for emergency help. This will be fun. I promise.” I squeezed his arm again and reached for a shitake mushroom vol-au-vent. It was surprising how well it went with the lavender beer. Which really did have a hint of lavender-honey taste to it. “Tell me about yourself, Austin. What do you like to do? What are your hobbies?”

  “Oh, well.” He blushed very faintly, obviously embarrassed, as if there was nothing interesting about him that I’d like to hear.

  “Come on,” I said. “What are you hiding from me? A big, handsome man like yourself, I bet you have some interesting hobbies. Rec rugby? Hiking?”

  He looked even more embarrassed. “Cosplay.” It was almost a whisper.

  “Really?” I leaned toward him to show my interest. “What kinds of characters?”