Harte Strings: The Billionaire Matchmaker, Part Two

by Gina Robinson

  He laughed and shook his head. “Sure. If I were looking for a woman to spend the rest of my life with. But, as I plan to keep trading one woman for the next beautiful one, a sexpot will suit me just fine. I’ll be on to the next, younger model long before anyone’s beauty fades.”

  I almost rose to his bait. “I’ll just put you down for an intellectual, while you’re pretending to look for a match,” I said as I tapped it into my laptop. “With sexpot as your second choice.”

  “You’re keeping a file on me?”

  “I keep files on all my clients,” I said. “You don’t expect me to memorize every detail of every client, do you?” I smiled at him. “Don’t worry. This laptop is password protected and secured with the best security software available.”

  “I’m not worried,” he said. “Tell me this—have you categorized men into groups that women find attractive?”

  “Absolutely!” I nodded.

  “What category did your late husband fall into?”

  “He was a hero,” I responded without hesitating or thinking about it.

  “And the other types of men?”

  “Very similar to types of women,” I said. “The boy next door, the intellectual, the handyman, the protector, the sugar daddy, the bad boy, and the playboy.”

  “What type would you say I am?”

  I couldn’t tell whether he was fishing for a compliment. His expression was masked.

  “Please!” I said. “You’re blatantly obvious. We’re going to market you as a playboy and a bit of a bad boy. It will bring the women in.”

  “And the type of man most women want?”

  “You mean the kind of man most of my successful, intelligent, beautiful marriage-minded female clients want?”

  He nodded.

  “They want a man who’s smart and witty and can make them laugh. The intellectual, of course.”

  His eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed. What was going on in that mind of his?

  “That hasn’t been my experience. Or that of most of my friends.”

  “They want the intellectual,” I said. “Believe me. But they have to be attracted to him physically, too. Sometimes all he needs is a little polish and a little work on his moves.

  “Moving on,” I said, and cleared my throat again. “That was just the introduction to my Dating Declutter. The first real step to determining the kind of mate you want begins with evaluating your past relationships and making a list of the attributes you liked and disliked in your former girlfriends. The goal is to see if a pattern emerges so we can pinpoint any dating mistakes. We want to correct those.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t make dating mistakes.”

  I raised an eyebrow right back at him and laughed. “You don’t? Not ever?”

  “Not now.” He understood my meaning. “That proposal is ancient history.”

  “Everyone makes mistakes.” I took a deep breath. “If you didn’t make any mistakes, you’d be in a happily committed long-term relationship that you’d have no desire to leave.”

  His skepticism may as well have been written in the sky, it was so obvious.

  “Once we see what mistakes you’re making, we can make a list of your absolute must-haves in a partner, as well as your definite deal breakers. We all have them. Some can be as simple as she snaps her gum or bites her nails.”

  “How long do you have?” He glanced pointedly at his watch. “Isn’t Austin’s appointment in a few minutes? My list of exes is long. Depending on how far back you want me to go—”

  I shook my head. “I said girlfriends, not one-night stands and hookups. You have to have dated them at least a month and had more than four consecutive dates with them.” I paused, watching him with evil amusement. “By that standard, I’m expecting your list to be on the short side.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. “You’re not going to make your list here and now. It’s your homework. I want you to spend some quiet time really thinking about it. Deeply, introspectively, meditatively. It’s not spur-of-moment, off-the-top-of-your-head stuff.”

  I handed him a worksheet I’d made for my clients to fill out. “We’ll discuss this next time,” I said.

  He didn’t move. “I almost forgot.” He reached into his pants pocket, pulled out a small resealable zipper bag, and handed it to me. “This came a few days ago.”

  I took the bag from him and smiled as I pulled out the contents. “A heart lock and key!” I turned it over in my hand. “But how did you know?”

  He grinned.

  “You damned cheater!” I said. “The agency had three good concepts. How did you know we’d choose this one?”

  He shrugged and tapped his head. “I’m clairvoyant.”

  “You’re crazy is what you are if you think I believe that. You’ll have to work harder, Mr. Copperfield.” I shook my head. “You had swag made for each one, you filthy rich billionaire.”

  He laughed as I studied the lock.

  It was beautiful, custom-made, one-inch, heart-shaped, shiny, gold-plated, and engraved with Pair Us on Lake Union and our logo. It even had a heart-shaped key.

  I turned the lock over in my hand, carefully examining it. “Find the key to your heart,” I murmured, repeating the catchphrase we’d decided on just a few hours ago. “The lock is beautiful! Perfect. Good quality. The engraving and logo look classy. As good as the sketches the agency showed us.”

  He nodded, watching me as I tried the key in the lock.

  “And it works!” I shouldn’t have been so excited about that.

  “Of course it works.” He rolled his eyes playfully. “It has very nice action, too. I wouldn’t trust it to safeguard my most valuable possession, but it’ll do for our purposes.”

  “How much will these cost, with the engraving?” I asked, still studying it.

  “In bulk, they’re perfectly reasonable, especially considering the clientele we’re going after. If we have to, we can give them out based on the matchmaking package the client picks. Silver locks or stainless steel for less expensive packages.”

  “Will we offer free engraving so the couple can put their initials on them?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  As I reached to hand the lock back to Lazer, our fingers brushed. There was that electricity between us again. A spark literally leaped between us. We both jerked back our hands and laughed.

  “Shocking,” he said.

  But the reaction wasn’t purely due to static electricity.

  He closed my fingers over the lock and squeezed my hand. “Keep it. That one’s yours.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You think there’s a match out there somewhere for this matchmaker?” I laughed a little nervously.

  “If there is, by your own admission, you’re headed to the right place. We have a bigger pool of eligible men than Manhattan.”

  I wondered if he was including himself in that number. I laughed again, genuinely amused. “You’re so reassuring.”

  “I’m not one of your girlfriends. I don’t do reassuring.”

  His phone rang. “Excuse me a second.” He grabbed it. “A text from Riggins. It can wait until we’re through.”

  “I’d like to meet the duke and his wife.”

  “I’m sure you will.” Lazer’s eyes sparkled with promise.

  At his words, my matchmaking self warred with my dating self. Making unrealistic future plans with someone soon—bad. Talking about the future in a vague way—good. But we were business partners, so what did that mean?

  I was parsing his every word way too much.

  He stood to leave. “I’ll tell Austin you’re ready for him.”

  As I waited for Austin to arrive, my mind raced. I had to win Lazer’s heart without using my body. I had to find him matches and pray they weren’t right for him. While I decided whether he was really right for me.

  It was a herculean, nearly impossible task. The greatest of my matchmaking career.

  Austi
n came in for his appointment as Lazer was leaving. In contrast to Lazer’s appointment, I was relaxed and confident.

  “How did it go with Lazer? You started with the hardest one first,” Austin said as he took a seat. “To be honest, the rest of us think this is all a publicity stunt to get clients and promote the app.”

  My heart nearly stopped. We were that transparent? Not even Lazer’s friends were in on the PR aspect of Lazer’s involvement. Only the two of us knew his true motives.

  “You think so?” I said calmly.

  Austin grinned. “It’s either that or he’s playing along to be part of the crowd. Lazer doesn’t like to be left out of things.”

  That was new information.

  “I hope you’re wrong,” I said. “If he’s not serious, he’ll fail. And that will be bad for my track record. But enough about Lazer—let’s talk about you.”

  “There’s a topic I can warm up to!”

  I explained the process to him. He was definitely game. I’d been thinking about each of the men as I’d observed them. And finding I liked this new way of getting to know new clients. I knew exactly how I wanted to fix Austin up.

  “I read your book,” he said.

  I wondered if they all had. It was a delight to have clients who came prepared. “Excellent.”

  He stroked his scruffy, overgrown beard. He hadn’t shaved his neck or used any kind of beard trimmer that I could see.

  “Unlike Lazer, I’ve never been a guy the women noticed or looked at twice. Except for my size. And that just scares most of them. When I walk down a dark street alone and come upon a lone woman or group of them, they cross the street to avoid me. I try to beat them to the punch when I can.”

  “Women are cautious. It’s prudent to cross the street when you’re walking alone, no matter what a lone man you meet looks like,” I said, kindly.

  “Maybe. But I look like a big red bear,” he said lightly.

  It was an apt enough description.

  “I know what you’re going to tell me—I have to trim this beast.” He he stroked the beard again.

  I considered him a minute. “If you know what I’m going to tell you, why didn’t you act already?”

  He made a face. “I was hoping I was wrong and wouldn’t have to. You know, that you could find a woman who’d love me for me.” He winked.

  “You’re just pulling my leg now,” I said. “First, we have to attract their attention. Why do you think fishermen use shiny lures?”

  I had a very specific look in mind for Austin. I’d stalked his Facebook profile and found old, pre-beard pictures of him. Enough of them to know there was a strong chin beneath all that hair.

  “I have good news for you. You don’t have to trim your beard.”

  His face lit up and he looked amazed. Like maybe he didn’t have such bad instincts about his personal grooming after all.

  “You have to shave it off.” It was, perhaps, cruel of me to get his hopes up like that. “And grow your hair out. It’s short now. But in the old pictures of you when your hair was longer, it has a lot of curl.”

  He frowned. “Too much. Unruly is what I’d call it. I like it short. No fuss.”

  I nodded sympathetically. “But the women will love it longer. Trust me. And with the proper haircut, it won’t be a problem to style at all. I promise. When I’m done with you, you’ll look like a handsome Scots warrior. The women will go crazy.”

  Chapter 9

  Ashley

  As I lay in bed that night, thinking over the day, Ruck came back to haunt my thoughts. Was he my deal breaker? Would he break a deal with any man I might fall for?

  All that was left of Ruck now were memories of him. Because his family was small and his mother and father were gone, too, I was the main bearer of them. I had a duty to keep them going. If I got involved with someone else, would those lovely memories fade to sepia? Did Ruck deserve that? If I had died first, I would have wanted Ruck to be happy and find someone else. At least, that was what the selfless part of me told myself. It was what I should want, right?

  But forget me? Forget us? No, I wasn’t that selfless. Love another woman as much or more than me? The very question brought out a fierce surge of jealousy. So maybe I wasn’t as socially evolved and good as I should have been. I was, sadly, human.

  And then there was simply me to think about, too. Either a really good marriage or a really bad marriage tends to make a person gun shy about trying marriage a second time. I’d seen this among my clients, too. The bad for obvious reasons. The good because you feel like an imposter who got lucky the first time. Now you fear failure on the second, as well as being disloyal to your late spouse. You feel fate has already handed you enough happiness. Why should you deserve more when some people haven’t had their first helping of true love? Maybe you’re simply tempting fate to try.

  I send clients like me to therapy to help them overcome all these feelings before I begin sending them out on dates with matches I’ve picked for them. The first step any good matchmaker takes is evaluating their client’s dating and relationship history. As I’d explained to Lazer and the others, you need to look for any signs or patterns of behavior that will sabotage a relationship. Any baggage the client has—like still being in love with an ex—that will hinder them from finding a true mate.

  When you made matches for a living like I did, the thought of finding someone new was even more daunting than for the average person. It was a simple case of knowing too much. I saw how hard and improbable finding a true soul mate was once, let alone twice. The task seemed almost insurmountable. Only the most dedicated need apply.

  As for myself, I needed time and close contact to see whether Lazer was as good a match for me as Ruck had been. And whether I could really risk my heart again.

  Restless, I got out of bed and went to the window, lifting the curtain to peer out. I needed fresh air. It helped me think. I had a view of the stars and the starlit pool. I was surprised to see a figure by the pool. It took me a second to realize it was Lazer.

  I quietly opened the window and was hit by the cool night. Lazer stripped off his shirt. What was he thinking going for a swim all alone at night in the cold? I almost called out to him just as he shrugged out of his swim trunks and stood buck naked in the starlight. Thank you, stars.

  His backside was toward me. He had a nice ass; I’d give him that. But then, I already knew that. He took three steps and dove into the pool, sliding in without a splash.

  I watched, breathless, until he resurfaced and began swimming laps with long, smooth strokes. There was a second when I felt like a Peeping Tom, a voyeur. And then I remembered Lazer’s comment about my room having the best view and realized he intended for me to see this.

  Before I could move away from the window, he looked up. Instinctively, I let the curtain drop, heart pounding. Caught.

  He’d seen me. If not me, exactly, the movement of the curtain. He knew I’d been watching him. I could just picture his smile.

  * * *

  Lazer

  Ashley cornered me at breakfast. “Do you always swim naked?”

  “Not always. Sometimes I wear all my clothes,” I said.

  She smiled back at me. “I suppose that’s what you meant by my room having a nice view?”

  “How arrogant do you think I am?” I laughed. “Don’t answer that. You should have joined me.”

  “You should have been working on your homework.”

  I frowned. “I’m not a fan of your homework. Too much introspection is bad for a man.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” she said, and wandered off to join Lottie and Cam at a table.

  I’d been serious. I didn’t like that homework.

  * * *

  Ashley

  The morning meeting with the PR firm went well. I thought we conveyed to them that we wanted to push Lazer as our frontman, our celebrity spokesman, while maintaining an organic feel to our campaign.

  The campaign itself would not
focus on paid ads, but social media reach and interest we could gin up in the press. The PR firm had experts in each social media platform that would be posting and monitoring our success. The hope was that we could get enough interest to go viral. This approach had worked well for Lazer since his rise to billionairehood, and this particular project, with the reality TV show feel of watching Lazer go through the process of finding a wife, was particularly suited.

  At this point in my career, I got most of my business through word of mouth and organic press. I was a well-known matchmaker in Manhattan. I thought Seattle would be a harder sell. But that remained to be seen.

  After our meeting, I had my second session with Lazer. I couldn’t decide whether I was more nervous because his answers could very well eliminate me as any kind of contender for the role of his wife, or because they could contain deal breakers for me. Or because we might just be a perfect match. Except for the fact he didn’t want children and didn’t want to settle down and get married.

  I told my clients that they should evaluate every date, every match, everyone they were even thinking of flirting with for deal breakers. Once they found one, they shouldn’t even bat their eyes at that person. Just walk away. If they didn’t, unhappiness and heartbreak were almost certainly on the horizon.

  And yet here I was, wanting a man with two huge deal breakers. And rather than just walking away, I was looking for a way in and a way to change his mind.

  We’d both dressed in business casual for our earlier meeting with the PR firm, even though Lazer had originally promised he wasn’t going to wear anything dressier than shorts while we were at the lodge. Neither of us had changed. Dressed in slacks and a dress shirt, he looked exactly like my version of physical perfection. Let’s face it. He looked like almost every woman’s version of male perfection. I wondered if Sanne now ever regretted refusing him. There was no coming back from such a cruel rejection of him.

  He had his paperwork in hand as he sat on the sofa. “Deal breakers.” He shoved a pillow out of the way. “Wants kids. Is clingy. And wants to get married.”