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“How about kids? Something you’d like in your future?” It’s a standard question, but it feels invasive asking my new boss this. The man who holds the fate of Opate in one of those large, constantly-armrest-drumming hands of his.
But if I can win him over to respecting our business model… maybe I can protect Opate.
“No kids,” Anthony says.
I note it down, even if it’s a shame. With a comforting strength to him, it’s easy to picture a child riding on his shoulders. I bet he’d soften then, in a way these silly prompts could never accomplish.
“That’s all right,” I tell him. “We have plenty of clients who share your sentiment.”
“Plenty?” he asks.
“Plenty,” I echo. It’s not, strictly speaking, a lie. We have a lot of female clients who are unsure about kids, and a few who have a strict no-kids-ever policy.
“Dogs or cats?”
Anthony looks up at the ceiling, the picture of a man tortured. “Knowing if I have a preference for cats or dogs will help me find everlasting love?”
“Ah, we don’t promise everlasting love, Mr. Winter. We promise healthy relationships with well-adjusted people.”
“How romantic,” he mutters. “Dogs, then. Put me down as a dog person.”
Ace shifts at his feet, letting out a soft canine sigh. Almost like he’s agreeing. I smile as I make a note of it in Anthony’s client profile. He might huff and puff as much as he likes, but my little house won’t blow over. It’s getting sturdier with every thing he says, the contours of his personality emerging little by little.
It wouldn’t be enough with a paying client, but it’ll have to be enough with him, because I doubt he’s going to endure a lot more of this.
“One last question,” I say. “Where do you see yourself in five years?”
Anthony’s gaze shutters. “Not that one.”
“No?”
“No.”
I nod and smile. “Okay, no problem. We’ll go silly instead, for the last one… What would the title of your autobiography be?”
Anthony’s jaw tenses as he thinks. Looks away from me. “Hindsight is twenty-twenty,” he says.
I think that might be the saddest thing I’ve ever heard. He turns back to me, like he’s remembering who I am. He clears his throat. “Is that all you need, Miss Davis?”
“Yes.” It’s not, not by a long shot. “Would you be free for a date a few days from now? I’ll email you with the details. It won’t be a long encounter, likely an hour or two at a café.”
“That’s good,” he says and rises. Ace lifts his head and we both watch Anthony stop by my office door.
“Yes?” I say.
“What we’ve spoken about, it stays between us.”
“It does,” I say. “Anything we discuss as a client to matchmaker is bound by confidentiality.”
He nods in response and steps out of my office, shutting the door behind him. I stare at it for far too long, one question and one only in my head. Who the hell am I going to set this man up with?
3
Summer
Suzy leans against her desk, arms moving as she describes her weekend. It was filled to the brim with excitement, just as usual, and a complete contrast to mine.
“Ivory wasn’t packed at all this time,” she says. “Are you sure you don’t want to come along this weekend? There are a ton of great guys there.”
