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This morning, she was the first to arrive, and she unlocked the suite before walking into her office. After dropping her belongings on the credenza, she sank into the white utilitarian leather chair behind her glass-topped desk.
Her desk phone’s light flicked on and off, indicating waiting messages. Since Skyler, her assistant, wasn’t in yet, Hope listened to the first voicemail, from a potential client who preferred to talk rather than use email.
The second was from a woman she’d talked to last week at a business mixer, hoping to meet an older gentleman she’d seen listed on Prestige’s website.
Rafe Sterling not withstanding, the week was off to a promising start.
A knock on her doorjamb made Hope look up.
Skyler stood there, carrying a tray that held two extra-large cups bearing the logo of their favorite shop. She also held up a small pastel-pink bag. If there was a God, there would be a chocolate cake doughnut inside. Without waiting for an invite, she sashayed in. “I come bearing gifts. A quad latte for the Matchmaking Maven.”
Four shots of espresso? “Are you a mind reader?”
“You were still emailing me at midnight, and I know you had to get up before five to meet Mr. Sterling.”
Greedy for the gift, Hope held out her hand.
“I want the details.”
“Anything. Even my firstborn. Just hand it over.”
Skyler held the cup just out of reach. “You have to promise not to leave anything out.”
Except for the ones about the collar, the kiss, or how impossible it was to banish the image of waiting for him at the end of the day. “What’s in the bag?”
“Exactly what you’re hoping is in there. You just have to share the details in return.”
“Anything you want to know,” Hope lied. All was fair in love and doughnuts.
With a grin, Skyler handed over the latte, then shoved the bag toward Hope before dropping into a chair. “How did that colossal piece of McHottie sexiness take the news that he’s getting married?”
“McHottie? You didn’t just say that.”
“His picture’s in his file.” Skyler flipped her long blonde braid over her shoulder. To Skyler, hair was the ultimate accessory.
Hope took a sip before exhaling a deep, thankful sigh. The coffee was still hot, and Skyler had opted for whole milk instead of the fat-free version that Hope usually selected. It was heaven in a cup. “We don’t refer to clients that way.”
“Of course we don’t.” Skyler popped the lid off her cup and blew on the contents, sending foam skittering over the rim. “My question remains.”
“He was less than enthusiastic.” She’d expected that, however.
“He looked at the candidates, though. Right? And did you slide my folder in there?”
“You’d miss working with me too much.”
“Yeah. Working is so much better than shopping and having spa days on an unlimited credit card.”
Hope captured the corner of the small pink bag and dragged it toward her. If she ate the pastry, she would have to hit the gym before she went home. Suddenly that seemed like a reasonable choice.
“Who did he like the best?”
Hope broke off a chunk of the doughnut and popped it in her mouth. “No one.”
“Are you kidding me? What man wouldn’t want a former pageant winner?” Skyler took a drink. “Maybe he is waiting for me.”
How had she managed her business without Skyler? Since she’d joined the team, business had doubled. She showed up with a good attitude, worked as long and as hard as Hope did, and she could be trusted with all their clients’ secrets, which was why Hope added, “He has certain…requirements that we weren’t aware of.”
“Oh?” Skyler scooted back in her seat. “Do tell.”
Until now, Hope thought she was unshockable. Their clients were from all parts of the globe, men who had the means to be as discriminating and unique as they wished. She’d had requests that a woman have a soft nature or that she wear heels at all times, even in the house. Other clients specified that any potential match had to be fluent in a specific language—French, Spanish, Arabic, Mandarin. Several had requested advanced degrees, including PhDs. A memorable octogenarian had been in search of a voluptuous twenty-something-year-old who was willing to read him bedtime stories. “He is into BDSM.”
