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I’m walking a tightrope over here.
“What made me approach Opate Match…” he repeats, his deep voice filling my office. “Truthfully, I’ve never had much respect for agencies such as yours. I‘ve long been somewhat of a… skeptic, you might say.”
I nod. This is not unusual. “That’s understandable when you’ve never been a client of one before.”
“Most dating services and websites seem to be quick ways for people to find sexual partners,” he says, looking straight at me, a glint in his eyes. It’s clear he thinks he’s offending me.
I lean back in my chair. If he thinks he’ll unnerve me, he has no idea of the matches I’ve brokered. Three times divorced? I’ll find someone perfect for them. Can’t date in public for fear of the press? Bring it on.
“There are certainly some who use dating services for that end,” I agree. “But Opate is not one of those services.”
“Oh?”
“No. We pride ourselves on making lasting matches, ones our clients are pleased with long-term. Naturally, what people do with their free time is outside of our hands, but once we know what a client wants, we’ll never set them up with someone looking for a different level of commitment.”
He gives a slow nod. “And the couples on the wall there? They all wanted the same level of commitment from the beginning?”
“For the most part, yes.”
“Hmm.”
“You don’t seem convinced,” I say, adding my widest smile. “I understand that blind dating can be unusual, intimidating even, when you’re not used to it.”
He drums his fingers along the armrest. “You believe in this company. In what you offer.”
“Of course I do,” I say. “I wouldn’t work here if I didn’t.”
“Many people work with things they dislike.”
“Not me.”
He gives another quiet hum and glances from me to the room around us. The hardwood floors and white walls, polished tables and expensive armchairs, filled with the elegant minimalism so common in high-end decor. “Opate Match profiles itself as a company for elite matchmaking. Matches for the rich and famous, I believe, is one of the tag lines.”
“Our clientele is well-heeled, yes.” I tip my head in his direction. “Like you.”
When in doubt, flatter a client.
The look on his face makes me think he’s fighting against rolling his eyes. “Right. Well, I understand the merits of that… but it doesn’t convince me the company deals in true love.”
I’ve had clients in my office who have cried, screamed, cursed the person they were just on a date with for not wanting to continue. This man might be obstinate, but he’s far from the most difficult case I’ve had. Has he been burned in the past?
“How so?”
“It’s prestige dating,” he says. “Trophy wives and rich men, or Upper-East-Siders who didn’t have the good fortune of meeting their future spouse at an Ivy League college. They’re not here for love, Ms. Davis. They’re here for an arranged marriage.”
My hands fall flat on the desk in front of me.
It’s one thing to be accused of being a service setting up people for the sole purpose of sex. It’s something else to be told I don’t deal in love.
“Our clients, due to their status, have a very unique set of challenges when it comes to dating. Not all of them can walk into a bar and talk to a stranger,” I say.
He inclines his head. “That can be difficult, yes. But for more people than just the so-called elite.”
“You’re right. A difficulty with dating isn’t unique to the people who hire us,” I say, smiling wide again. Whatever he might say, I’ll crack him. I’ll just have to work a bit harder. “But we always pre-vet clients before accepting them. The level of personal interaction between myself or Vivienne with each client means that the matchmaking is a far smoother process. There’s no need to spend three weeks dating someone to later learn you’re incompatible on some fundamental level.”
“You’ve turned a messy, human process into something logical?”
“In some ways, yes. But we don’t control it. We’re just facilitators. The real magic happens when our clients leave this office, ready to meet with someone who’s just as ready as they are to find a life partner.”
