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“The one and the same.” She rolls her eyes.
Double shit.
Becca comes in with Agnes’s water, so I use her arrival to get some answers to this fucked-up predicament.
“Becca, is Nathan Wilder’s profile live?” I ask, already knowing the answer. Otherwise, Agnes wouldn’t have barged into my office the way she did.
“Yes. I confirmed with Barry in the IT department that his profile went live the day before yesterday, so the algorithm is doing its magic. Wasn’t it supposed to be up and running?” Becca retorts in confusion.
Crap on a stick.
So that’s how Agnes found out that Nate was a client of ours and set up a date.
I can only guess how she got his contact details.
Damn it all to hell.
I totally forgot to tell Becca to hold off adding him to the database until I did my due diligence. And there was plenty of it for me to do. Not only haven’t I done a thorough background check on him, but Nate hasn’t answered half of the onlinequestionnaire I sent to him. And the half he did answer wasn’t very telling of the man that he is. Which meant that it would be tricky to pin down a viable match for him based solely on the vague and bland information he provided.
I guess the algorithm showed his profile to Agnes solely on the fact that they are both public figures—Nathan being the notorious hockey player that he is and Agnes because she was on most of the charity boards around the city, not to mention being the daughter of a renowned real estate mogul.
On paper, it would make perfect sense for the pair to bond over the trials and tribulations that come with being in the public eye. And if I hadn’t met the two personally, I might have made the same call.
They were both in their mid-twenties, rich and devastatingly beautiful, but that’s where their similarities end.
Agnes is too high-maintenance for a man like Nate.
While he might have his picture plastered on sports magazines, it took me just being in the same room with him for a minute to tell that he doesn’t like being the center of attention.
Agnes, on the other hand, lives for it.
“Do you want me to pull his profile out of our database?” Becca asks nervously when I take too long to say anything.
“No, that’s fine, Becca,” I answer with a stiff smile. “Thank you. That will be all.”
Becca’s eyes search mine, trying to get a hint of what’s going on, but I just discreetly shake my head and silently wave her off so I can start doing some serious damage control.
“So I take it the date didn’t go well then?” I ask, needing to know how much of a penance awaits me for this fuck-up.
“Date? A date would imply that there were two people involved.” Agnes lets out a frustrated huff.
“Don’t tell me he stood you up?” I blurt out, wide-eyed, in utter astonishment.
Standing people up goes against Love Moore’s rules.
If any client is caught doing it, then they are immediately pulled from the program. Not only is it an extremely childish antic, but it is tremendously damaging to the whole process. It takes immense courage to walk through my office doors and ask for help. And when clients go on a date, they are already at their most vulnerable state. Being stood up amplifies every insecurity they have, and I will not stand for such reckless, hurtful behavior.
Maybe my initial instincts were right.
Maybe Nate isn’t Love Moore material, as I thought.
“I wish. No, he didn’t stand me up,” Agnes explains, the tension in my shoulders relaxing a bit that Nate didn’t stoop to such a level. “Although I wish he had. It would have saved me the tedious evening I had to endure in his company.”
“Tedious?” I mimic, confused.
Nathan Wilder might be many things, but I would have never used the adjective tedious to describe him.
Abrasive.
