Unmatchable

by Sky Corgan

  I flip back to the front of Alfred's file to see what exactly he's looking for. The description of his preferred date is every bit as pretentious as he is.

  Looking for someone with an income of or over $100,000 annually. Prefers blonde hair and blue eyes. No kids. Keeps fit and enjoys eating healthy. Preferably is involved in her community, likes politics and isn't religious.

  I shake my head and close the folder only seconds before I see the man himself standing in the doorway. His expression is deadpan as he looks at me, but he's still every bit as handsome as he was in his photos. He's wearing a light green button down shirt and gray slacks, and his matching gray jacket is being held over his shoulder by his index finger. The stubble on his face is much shorter, making him appear less rugged than before.

  “Mister Barnes.” I acknowledge him before gesturing to the chair on the other side of my desk. “Please come in and have a seat.”

  “Where's Kristi?” He doesn't budge from the door. “I was supposed to be seeing Kristi today.”

  “Your file has been transferred to me.” I force a smile, though there's no way I can make it look genuine. I haven't even spoken to this guy for five seconds, and he's already being unpleasant.

  “That's not how this goes.”

  “Oh.” I'm surprised by his outlandishly pompous attitude. “Then tell me how you think this is supposed to go, Mister Barnes.”

  He looks at me like I'm stupid. “I pay you to set me up on dates. I meet with the same matchmaking professional every time to go over those dates. She gives me feedback. I get matched with more compatible people. I go on more dates,” he rattles off like he's reading from the handbook.

  “Very good.” I clap my hands together, speaking to him like a small child. “Except, there's a bit of a problem. You see, according to your file, you missed over half of your dates. That means you come and see me. If you don't want to see me, then you can leave.” I nod excitedly as if that's exactly what I would like. Truly, it is. The less drama I have to deal with in my day, the better.

  “Well aren't you rude.” He furrows his brow at me.

  “Have a seat, Mister Barnes.” I gesture to the chair again.

  “I have no interest in talking to you.” He turns his nose up to me. “I'm here to speak to Kristi. And only Kristi.”

  “Unfortunately, that won't be possible. At this point, you are only allowed to speak to me.”

  “How about I speak to your boss instead?”

  “By all means.” I lean back in my chair.

  Mister Asshole grunts at me before disappearing only to return about ten minutes later looking even more ticked off. Anger suits him well. I've found that some men look even sexier when they're pissed off. It's kind of a twisted thing to think.

  “Are you ready to start your appointment, Mister Barnes?” I flip open his file.

  He says nothing, though he seems oddly calm as he walks up and hangs his jacket on the back of the chair before taking his seat. He crosses one leg over his knee and clasps his hands together on top of it, staring at me expectantly.

  “You are aware that missing three dates with no call/no show is grounds to terminate your contract,” I begin.

  “I was busy. I'm a busy man.” He looks at me as if his eyes could slice right through me. It's not intimidating me, though. I know that I'm the one in control here.

  “Too busy to pick up your phone and make a one-minute phone call?”

  He snorts. “One minute, my ass. You know your damn receptionist puts people on hold for five minutes before she even has the decency to transfer them to where they need to be.”

  “We're busy. A busy office,” I throw his words back at him with a twisted smile.

  “That's bullshit and you know it.” He rolls his eyes.

  “Bullshit or not, you violated your contract. That's on you, not us.”

  “Fine, that was my mistake,” he admits, giving a little. “It won't happen again, I assure you.

  “Now that we've gotten that mess out of the way, you can tell me who you're sending me out with next.” He pushes the placard with my name on it out of the way and uses the space to prop up his elbow.

  I glare at his elbow as if I could set it ablaze. The nerve of him to be such a dick. Slowly, my eyes make their way back up to his face, which I kinda want to punch. Any attraction that I felt for him before is now completely gone.

  “No one,” my voice is clipped.

  “Excuse me.” He raises an eyebrow.

  “Did I stu-stu-stutter? You don't get more dates. You're out.”

  Laughter bellows from his stomach, and he wipes his eye with the back of his hand before looking at me with an amused grin. For a second, I think I'm going crazy. Did this asshole really just laugh at me? What in the hell is wrong with him?

  “Did you really just?” He makes circles with his hand in the air while he catches his breath. “Did you really just say that? Man, you are something else.”

  My face turns about fifty shades of red with my rising anger. “Do you think this is funny?”

  “Hilarious, but that's beside the point.” He gestures at me dismissively while regaining his composure. “Seriously, when is my next date?”

  “Wow, you're arrogant, stupid AND deaf. Amazing. It's obvious that the only thing you've got going for you is looks. That doesn't work here though. Our clients deserve better.”

  All humor disappears from his face as if I just slapped him. “I think you forgot that I am one of your clients, Miss.” He glances down at the placard. “Emily.”

  “You're illiterate too. Brilliant! The name is Ember.” I pick up the placard and point to my name. “Em-ber. You know, like fire.”

  “Oh man, you are getting my blood pressure up. I'm impressed.” The smile returns as he leans back in his seat and is silent for several seconds while he ponders something. “How about this? Let's start over. I realize that I messed up. I won't do it again. Now give me my dates for the month.”

  My mouth falls open in disbelief that he thinks there's still a snowball's chance in hell that he's going to get his way. “You don't get any dates this month. Or next month. Or the month after. Or ever, for that matter.”

  “Why not?” He seems completely unfazed.

  “Because the two dates that you did have left horrible reviews for you.”

  “Lies.”

  “Read them yourself.” I turn his file around and push it towards him.

  He picks it up and scans through the comments, then he tosses the folder back down on my desk. “Lies,” he tells me again.

  “Really? You come in here acting like this, and you expect me to believe that both of those women were lying.”

  “I don't trust that's what they really said. Someone else could have written that into my file. Maybe whoever took down their comments was having a bad day.”

  I've had about enough of this dickhole. I grab the folder and turn it around, picking up the phone on my desk and punching the speakerphone button before dialing in the first number.

  “Hello,” a woman answers on the second ring.

  “Hi. Is this Miss Sydney Shrader?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Hi, Sydney. This is Ember Washington from Full Hearts Matchmaking Service. How are you?”

  “I'm fine.”

  “Good. Great. I was calling because I wanted to ask you about one of your past dates with a man named Alfred. Can you tell me how that date went?”

  “Ugh.” I can almost picture her shivering on the other end of the line. “I don't even want to remember it.”

  “I know. I apologize for your bad experience, but it would really be helpful if I could get more feedback from you.”

  “That guy was horrible. He took me out to karaoke and then left me at our table to go talk to another woman at the bar. I've never felt more disrespected in my entire life.”

  “Thank you, Miss Shrader. That's all I needed to know. Your feedback has been very helpful.”


  “You're welcome.”

  “You have a great day.”

  “You too.”

  I hang up the phone and glare at Mister Barnes. “You left her to go talk to another woman. Really?”

  He shrugs nonchalantly. “I wasn't that attracted to her. Do you really expect me to waste my night with a woman I'm not attracted to?”

  “It's called common courtesy, Mister Barnes.”

  “It's common courtesy not to waste someone's time,” he fires back.

  “There were more tactful ways to end the date. You could have told her you didn't feel well or that you had a sudden urgent appointment.”

  “Lying. Nice. Great way to establish trust.” He offers me a fake smile.

  “Anything is better than what you did.”

  “Whatever. Still, that wasn't entirely my fault. You guys are supposed to be the matchmaking experts. You matched me with someone who I was physically incompatible with. That's not on me. That's on you.”

  “You were obviously physically compatible with the next woman.” I gesture to the file. “She said you were practically trying to crawl down her pants.”

  “When I'm interested, I'm interested.”

  “Well, she obviously wasn't interested. You made her uncomfortable. And after she shut down your advances, you continued to hit on her. That's unacceptable behavior, Mister Barnes.”

  He leans forward, glancing around as if to make sure that no one is listening in. “Tell me the truth, Miss Washington. If I were hitting on you, would you shut down my advances?”

  All I can do is sit there and blink at him. The way he's looking at me makes me want to blush, but thinking about who he is makes me want to slap him. I'm speechless, and that's a rarity.

  Without another word, I pick up the receiver of my desk phone and dial the number for security. The guard picks up before the first ring even has a chance to finish.

  “Hi Brian, I need for you to come escort a client out of the building for me.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  COLTON

  Unacceptable.

  No wonder this company is floundering. Instead of doing what they can to save problem clients and gain more profits, they're purposely trying to scare them away. It's a rookie mistake. A rookie mistake made by a rookie business owner. How Freddie Montanez was able to be successful for as long as he has, I'm not sure, but it's obvious by his desire to sell his matchmaking company that he can't seem to figure out where he's gone wrong.

  That's where I come in.

  A business in a booming market with low overhead and high-paying clients is just up my alley. All I need to do is remove the major kinks in the system, get my PR people on it, and I can add another successful business to my empire. Dating is an industry I didn't see myself getting into, but I never shy away from an opportunity to make easy money.

  Freddie is paying his employees next to nothing, so I can keep most of them, send in my own management team and have things up and running in no time. From what I saw during my undercover internal investigation, only a few people need to go: two under-performing sales associates and The Beast.

  I roll my eyes and lean back in my lounge chair, looking out over the Houston skyline while I swirl the brandy in my glass. The Beast. I snigger to myself. More like The Chihuahua. So much bark in such a little thing. There was bite in the end too. Ember Washington took care of business. I have to give her that much. Brian, the security guard at Full Hearts Matchmaking Service, walked me all the way down to my car and waited outside until I had driven out of sight. Little does he know that I'll be his boss soon.

  It's a Tuesday night, and I'm bored as hell but too lazy to go out. Sometimes I jokingly think that I should hire someone to dress me. I have someone who drives me around. Someone who cooks my meals. Someone who cleans my loft. Why not hire someone to dress me too? I could simply lie on my bed like a child while they lift up my limbs and slide my clothes on. That would take indolence to an entirely new level. Maybe another business venture in the future. I doubt that would catch on, though. There's being lazy, and then there's being an entitled twat. Next thing you know, people would want an ass wiping service too.

  With nothing better to do, I head back inside and fire up my laptop. Briefly, I think about looking at porn, but it seems too early for that. Having a few drinks has my dick itching to be stroked, but I know that as soon as I masturbate, I'll get tired and want to go to bed. I glance at the corner of the screen and look at the time. It's only 8 PM. Definitely too early to be going to bed.

  I spend a few minutes reading some local news and political articles before I find myself just sitting there staring at the screen, bored again. It's one of those nights where I could be doing a thousand different things, but nothing sounds appealing. Submitting to defeat, I type in the URL for my favorite porn site. All of the typical preview videos pop up, the newly uploaded stuff. What catches my eye, though, is an ad on the side for an adult dating site.

  Without putting much thought into it, I click on the link. Immediately, I'm whisked away to a page with a scantily clad woman standing next to the sign-up form. She stares at me like she's just begging to be fucked, and I can't help but smirk. This website probably has a ratio of about thirty men to one woman. The majority of the female profiles are probably fake. The photos of women scrolling across the bottom of the screen are a pretty good confirmation of that. Only two out of the ten displayed weren't taken in a professional photo studio.

  This is not the business I'm buying, I remind myself. People on this site aren't looking for love; they're looking to get laid.

  I close out of the two open websites and go to Google to do a search for online dating sites. Then I click on the first link that pops up. Now that's more realistic. The photos meant to lure me into signing up are much more believable, though there are still a few modelesque females in the mix. Since this particular site is free, I decide to sign up for shits and giggles. Lord knows, I don't need help getting girls. They practically flock to me. When you're as wealthy and attractive as I am, you can have a different woman every night of the week if you want. Sometimes, I do.

  I type in all of my basic information, pick a screen name, and then give pause when it comes to the part where I have to upload a profile picture. This takes some of the fun out of things. I really want to stay anonymous, but I doubt I'll get any responses if I leave my picture blank. Everyone knows that you're ten times more likely to get a response if you have a profile picture. We're all visual creatures, after all. Sure, personality matters, but it's not what attracts us to someone at first.

  The next best thing would be to use an image of a cartoon character or something random. I decide to upload a stock photo of some guy holding a puppy. Well, the image is mostly just of the puppy. The camera is zoomed in on the puppy, so the only thing that's showing is the guy's lap and his hands.

  With that done, the website forces me to fill out a brief survey so that its algorithm can match me with other members. Then I'm taken to my profile where I'm finally free to browse around as I please.

  I spend the next hour looking at profiles and playing with the website's rating system. While I've never used a dating site before, I can definitely see the appeal. It makes everything so easy. You simply pick out the people that you want to interact with and send them a message or a flirt, hoping that they'll respond. In the course of an hour, I end up sending out about twenty emails to women I've found attractive. Some of them are currently online; some of them aren't. That's another thing I like about this site. No waiting. If you want to talk to someone, it lets you know whether or not they're online or how long it's been since they last visited the site.

  By the time I start getting bored, I still haven't received any responses. Maybe the puppy isn't doing it. I thought women loved animals—thought that would be enough. Guess not.

  I decide to go watch television for a while, but I can't seem to get into anything that I'm watching. The urge to go back and check the dat
ing site for responses is strong. No wonder the dating industry is such a profitable market. I'm half-tempted to sign up for a premium account just so I can see who has viewed my profile, something that's not available to free members. The website has to make money somehow, after all.

  I can't help but wonder if members of Full Hearts Matchmaking Service get the same rush thinking about who they'll be matched with. Already, I'm seeing ways to expand the service offerings. Right now, the service matches members based on a small set of criteria which does include physical preference, but they don't allow members to see their match until the date is already set. While I understand why they do this, I can definitely see the benefit of offering a service where the member can see who they'll be matched with before the date is set so that they can decide whether or not, based on physical attraction, the date would be a waste of time for them or not.

  Professional matchmaking is different from the online version. A game for the patient. The clientele is different. Online, people are looking for a variety of relationships: dating, long-term, casual sex. Members of the Full Hearts Matchmaking Service are looking for one thing only. Marriage. That's why they're willing to pay so much. Not just to find someone serious but also for all of the screenings that person has to go through. Online dating seems more like Russian Roulette.

  After an hour of thinking more about business than the entertainment before me, I hop back online to check my profile. My heart flutters with excitement as I see two emails in my inbox. One is from a woman I messaged earlier, a gorgeous brunette with huge tits. I smirk to myself, feeling pretty cunning about my puppy picture. The wind is taken out of my sails, though, when I open the message and read it.

  Buttercup92: Get a face, creep. No one wants to date your dog.

  I scowl, my excitement turning to anger in the blink of an eye. I'm not sure why I'm so pissed off. Maybe because the response was rude. Maybe because I know that if this bitch had seen my face, she'd be drooling all over my cock.