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“Oh, Nate?” I call out when he swings my door open. “You can call me Lottie.”
Chapter 9
Nathan
“Dr. Seymour is running a bit late, Mr. Wilder. But she will do her best to be with you shortly,” the receptionist coos, making a show of batting her eyelashes at me. “In the meantime, can I assist you with anything?” she adds while leaning her chest forward on her desk so I can get a good look at her double D’s. “There must be something I can do to make you more… comfortable while you wait?”
“No, thanks,” I reply with a clipped tone.
I’m already annoyed that I have to be here without having to deal with an overzealous receptionist who looks like she’s ready to take me into the back room and blow me.
The woman should know better than to flirt with her boss’s clients.
I mean, doesn’t she realize that anyone who comes into this shrink’s office is fucked in the head and not exactly dating material?
Women—I don’t think I’ll ever understand them. Though, I doubt they’ll ever understand my moody ass either, so I guess we’re even.
Hmm.
My mind immediately wanders to my matchmaker with the sullen thought and how she has her work cut out for her.
Charlotte Moore.
Lottie.
I must admit that I didn’t know exactly what to expect when I first entered the Love Moore Matchmaking Agency, but it sure as shit wasn’t her. I don’t know why, but a part of me just assumed that my matchmaker would be this elderly, grandmotherly figure, someone who had lived long enough to know all the tricks of the love trade.
Charlotte Moore was no one’s fucking grandmother, I can tell you that much.
She looked like one of those pin-up models that sailors would plaster all over the walls next to their bunks. The same posters they would use as inspiration to either jack off or to remember what they were fighting for in the first place. The woman is the epitome of fifties-style elegance and grace with a dab of edgy twenty-first-century sin and defiance.
Lottie couldn’t help but stand out in the middle of her perfectly decorated office, effortlessly commanding my attention with her one-of-a-kind style. She possessed such an air of intellect and confidence just by the eccentric way she spoke and carried herself that you couldn’t help but be in complete awe of her.
And don’t get me started on how many times my eyes trailed over to her half-sleeve tattoos on her left arm. The intricate designs, a vibrant tapestry of colors and symbols, seemed to come alive against her fair skin. The image of James Dean and Marilyn Monroe looking perfectly placed on her upper arm,almost as if God himself intended to imprint the image on her porcelain skin but just forgot.
I know that her unconventional appearance might not be everyone’s cup of tea, but the way Lottie just exuded a sense of self-acceptance, unapologetically owning her flawless style, was sexy as fuck to behold.
But her chosen wistful attire came second to her natural beauty.
Lottie’s pitch-black hair hung in perfect waves, cascading down her shoulders and framing her face with an air of mystery. At the same time, the red rose purposely threaded between her raven locks just above her ear softened her, giving a romantic aura about her. The contrast of obsidian against her porcelain skin created such a captivating visual that I had to blink a few times just to make sure I wasn’t seeing things.
And that mouth.
Fuck me, that mouth.
Every time those perfectly drawn, blood red lips uttered a word, it took an insane amount of effort for me to concentrate on the words coming out of her mouth.
But it was her eyes that truly captivated me—a mesmerizing shade of bluish-gray, they shimmered with an inner light, drawing me in like magnets.
In a world of conformity, Lottie effortlessly broke free from societal expectations, embracing her own individuality and creating a distinct style that was unmistakably all hers. I wouldn’t be surprised if men’s eyes followed her wherever she went, curious to catch a glimpse of this enchanting woman who defied conventions and made the world her own colorful canvas.
Yes—Charlotte Moore is unlike any woman I have ever met.
And by the email I received from her office earlier today, she’s now my new matchmaker.
After meeting her, I’m not sure any date she’d set me up with would hold a candle to her. Hell, I don’t know how her agency is so successful. I bet every male client who walks through her doors secretly wishes that she was their date instead of whoever she may have in mind for them. I can only imagine how disappointed they are when they find out she’s not on the list of possible candidates.
I mean, how could they not?
