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Chapter 2
Abbi
Myjobisatricky one. A balancing act. An art form.
And we take it very seriously at Match X. This may sound very silly, but it’s not. Not if you really think about it. Is there anything more essential than finding love? Is there any higher calling? Could any work be more vital than helping two people make a meaningful and lasting connection? We also have a lot of competition in the online sphere.
Last month shows that sometimes it doesn’t work out, but when it does?Chef’s kiss.
Match X is a high-end, discreet dating service where people don’t have to go online and find matches for themselves. When you’ve exhausted all your options, it can be a timesaver or somewhere to turn for help. Some people have lost faith and need a hand to steer the car for them. There is a long list of reasons, but to have someone as a client who doesn’t actually want my services?
That’s new.
I’ve just spent the last half hour talking with Diana Lawless about her son. It seems she had an attack of the guilts over the weekend and thought she better call me back and clue me in on a few issues. Namely, that Dean thinks the whole thing is unnecessary.
A joke.
I can’t say I’ve ever had an openly reluctant candidate. Sure, people self-sabotage, but that’s usually a confidence issue and done on an unconscious level. I’ve probably done that myself at some point. But I’ve never had someone I’m trying to find a match for who’s going to openly be their own obstacle.
I lean back in my chair and rub a hand over my face, looking around the office to see if anyone has overheard my conversation. I press the heels of my palms into my closed eyes and wonder if I’ll have a headache by the end of the day.
Highly likely.
My friend, Ellen, pops her head up over the partition to her little cubicle, and she gives me a grim smile. Yep, she heard, and she feels sorry for me. Fantastic.
I breathe in and out for a few more seconds with my eyes closed—that’s all I allow myself.
Once I open my eyes and focus on the notes on my computer screen, I narrow them to the name at the top.Dean Lawless. Bringer of stress and resistance to love.
I skim back over the notes from my two conversations with his mother as well as the research I’ve done on Dean myself. His social media profile is pretty scarce, but he appears in photos of a certain set of families well known for their money and status. His parents are wealthy. Super wealthy. From what I can gather, he’s grown up with a silver spoon in his mouth. He’s basically the opposite of me, someone who’s managed to make it on her own. Sure, I’ve landed in a pretty strange job, but I started here at reception, and now I’m a salaried employee. I’ve worked my way up the totem pole, and I’m proud of myself. I can’t see myself in this career forever, but right now, I take it very seriously.
Gah, I hope he doesn’t have an entitled attitude. His mom sounded pretty down to earth, at least on the phone.
Digging into his employment history, it seems he’s actually very successful in his own right. His name appears in a bunch of legal articles, and I can almost trace the trajectory of his career. He made partner at a law firm at a young age, so he’s probably also driven and hard-working. That’s a plus. But maybe he’s too hard-working. His mom seemed to think he could do with more time away from the office.
He’s still single at thirty-five and has only had a couple of serious relationships, according to his mom. I have no idea why they ended.Hmm, interesting. He seems to be enjoying the bachelor life and isn’t too keen on giving it up. He might be very picky or have overly specific requirements when looking for a partner. God, I hope he doesn’t only like leggy blondes with double-D chests and an IQ the level of lukewarm water.
I skim through my notes. He owns his penthouse apartment in the middle of the city, drives an Aston Martin, some new type I’ve not heard of before, likes to vacation in tropical locations, and knows how to fly.Well, la de da.
But has no pets, doesn’t read for pleasure, and never cooks for himself.
There are ticks in both the pro and con columns. All these details will help me when considering who he might be best suited for. Certainly,I’dhave an issue with some of his cons—no pets, no reading, and no cooking—they’d all come up as red flags against my profile.
Luckily, our company’s matchmaking software won’t be putting him together with me, or a girllikeme, for that matter. I’ve done my own profile as a way to learn the system, but I’m certainly not in it.
Part of the brief with this match is that it needs to be done in a tight timeframe. There’s some big society wedding on the horizon, and she wants him to have a date for that. She also wants this match to supply grandchildren in the coming years, although I have no idea how Dean feels about that. Tight timeframes are always a challenge.
His mother is also extremely well known, and my succeeding in this could do wonders for the company’s reputation. The opposite also applies—mess this up, and we’re likely to be dragged through the mud in her social circles.
So, yeah, no pressure.
I’m hoping to get a match with the first pick on the first date. I mean, I always have that hope, but in most cases, it’s unrealistic. This time I need to exhaust every avenue, check every box, drill right into both Dean and his potential match to boost the chances of success.
I put my head down and work my tail off, roping in Ellen and a few other work friends to have a look over our firm’s candidate database for possible dates and generally doing all I can to prepare for this match. To prevent any more precious minutes ticking away, I’ve organized to meet with the man himself in an upscale coffee house a few blocks from my work.
Smoothing my hands over my fitted black suit pants, I look down at my nude pumps, making sure they’re shiny and free from scuff marks. Today’s outfit is a silky maroon blouse, and with my dark red nails, I think I look polished and professional. This is a bit of a departure from my normal quirky style of dress, but after last month—shudder—I felt like a change was needed. I pick up my black leather handbag and a black coat to ward against the chill in the air—it’s not quite spring yet.
As I stride down the sidewalk, dodging pedestrians, I decide the best thing to do is focus on my chances of success—the law of attraction and all that. Finding Dean a match won’t be easy, but I have a good track record and have done my research. I’ve also started looking in the database regarding pairings and have a short list of women I’m already thinking might be a good fit. Depending on what Dean has to say and how he comes across, I’m hoping that by the time I get back to the office, my colleagues will have given this match some thought too and might have some suggestions for me.
