Harte Strings: The Billionaire Matchmaker, Part Two (5 page)

Lazer paused and grimaced. “He couldn’t fool me. I know the real reason behind his persistence. Both the duchess and Kayla, Justin’s wife, are trying to win me over to the joys of marriage and fatherhood. Don’t think you have the corner on matchmaking. They think forcing me to step up as godfather will do it.” He rolled his eyes.

I laughed, liking them before even meeting them.

“Go ahead and laugh,” Lazer said. “Kay and Jus have some added incentive to see me safely settled and domesticated.” He barely hesitated. “Kayla and I have a bit of a history that everyone would like to see safely buried.”

I cocked my head, exceptionally curious now. “Really? You’re not going to leave me hanging, are you? Spill! You did bring it up, after all.”

He shrugged good-naturedly, looking not at all embarrassed. “You could say that Kay and I had an instant attraction when we first met.”

Oooooh. I didn’t like hearing that. Instant attraction as in the kind he and I had? I wasn’t special? Wasn’t the only girl to turn him on like that? How very disappointing. And disturbing.

I forced myself to remain calm and outwardly imperturbable. “That’s not so scandalous, is it? It’s common enough for friends to be attracted to the same women. Friends are usually friends because of common interests. It makes sense they’d be drawn to similar types of women. I’ve seen it many times.”

He held my gaze, unflinching in the face of my optimism and benefit of the doubt. “Not so scandalous, no. Except I met her for the first time at the wedding reception I threw for them here, at Lazer Lodge.”

My eyebrows shot up. “
Oh
.” I swallowed hard, trying to recover and not look as shocked as I felt.

He waved a hand dismissively. “Kayla and I never crossed the line. It was all innocent. In the end.” He gazed off into the forever of the horizon as if remembering something. He snapped back to the present suddenly. “She’s crazy about Justin now. I’m over it. We’re all friends. All’s well that ends well.”

I frowned, unable to get past the thing with Kayla. There had to be something driving that behavior. Something kind of cluttered in his background or psyche I’d have to get rid of before he could move happily on to finding the mate of his life.

“When you say you didn’t cross the line, I’m assuming you mean physically?” I said. “There are other ways to overstep, you know. Sometimes making an inappropriate emotional connection can be as devastating as a physical affair.”

His face clouded over.

Oops. Now
I’d
overstepped. I held my hands up. “Sorry. Not my business. Forgive me. I didn’t mean to do my Dating Declutter on you. At least not so soon. Force of habit. Sometimes I can’t shut the matchmaker in me off. I’ll save the rest of my Spanish Inquisition for later this week, when I dig deep into your psyche to discover exactly the kind of woman you’re really looking for.”

His grin returned. “You sure you want to go there? What if you find I’m unmatchable?”

“No one’s unmatchable. Especially not a man who makes such a mean lavender martini and pairs it with rose chocolate.”

“How did you make that sound so girly?”

How did he make his voice sound so seductive? How did he flirt so damn well?

I was taking this all in. Making note of all his moves. “That wasn’t my intent.
This time
. A man who can make a girlie martini is incredibly hot, obviously. Women love men who are in touch with their feminine side.”

Commitment issues. Hitting on a good friend’s brand-new bride. He was
so
unsuitable. And yet my heart and body longed for him. Fate really was a cruel bitch.

I paused, trying to decide whether to bring up the robe or not. “By the way, thank you for the robe. Or maybe I should say, the
use
of the robe. It’s gorgeous.”

“And yours,” he said without hesitating. “Does it fit?”

“I haven’t had a chance to try it on.” I sipped my drink, thinking it was never good to appear too eager. Better to let him wonder whether it fit and imagine me in it. “I’m sure it will. If it doesn’t, I’ll make it fit.” I smiled coyly.

The lavender sugar on the rim of my glass was delicate, the perfect touch. I also detected a hint of raspberry liqueur and lavender syrup in it. It was a beautiful color. Lazer had an obvious knack for coloring my world with everything beautiful.

He laughed. “I’d like to see that.”

“I’ll bet you would.” I paused. “It’s too expensive. I shouldn’t accept it—”

“I insist.”

“I really—”

“Consider it part of your signing bonus if it eases your conscience.” He paused, studying me.

“Thank you. I will,” I said. Always show your gratitude if you want to land a man.

“Come back in the fall. The nights get cold here. I hand out cashmere robes.”

My heart raced. “Are you inviting me back already?”

“We’re partners. Fall is beautiful in the mountains.”

“A cashmere robe? It’s tempting.”

He
was tempting.

“I’m hoping I’ll be hosting another wedding reception at the lodge to draw you back up here. That’s all I’m saying.”

When I raised an eyebrow, he threw his hands up. “Not mine, of course.”

“We’ll see,” I said. “Speaking of receptions, I need to speak to your caterers and staff. I have some special requests for tonight.”

“You should have given them to me earlier to pass along.”

I shook my head. “I want the element of surprise.”

“That sounds ominous. But have it your way.”

We were interrupted by the sound of an approaching helicopter.

Lazer shielded his eyes as he looked into the sun, trying to spot it. “The guys are here!” His face lit up. He turned to me with an evil glint in his eyes. “Are you ready to meet your new clients and partners?”

A
shley

Other than contracting with me to match his friends, Lazer had told me very little about them. He hadn’t even given me their names, which rendered me unable to stalk them online, damn him. Although you can believe I’d tried. Social media stalking was half the fun of the job. And part of the service I offered.

You would be amazed at how many people’s social media accounts are totally off-putting to the opposite sex. Gentleman, when trying to impress women, it’s important to at least give the appearance of being a tiny bit romantic and mature. We’re not stupid creatures. We realize full well that you’re going to try to impress in the beginning and, in most cases, eventually the romantic gestures will become less frequent. If you start out at zero, that doesn’t bode well.

I’m also not saying to go overboard and pretend to be the Scarlet Pimpernel kissing the steps where his beloved has walked. Women love gestures like that in romantic novels. In real life, it can come off creepy. But let’s just say that if you really do like sunsets and walking on the beach, you shouldn’t hide that. And then there’s the all-important corollary—let a woman get to know you before revealing your, ahem, whimsical side and your penchant for beer pong.

Again, it all goes back to building that dating persona that’s going to land you your soul mate.
First impressions.
I can’t stress them enough. Love is blind. But people critically examining a potential mate for deal breakers online are not.

As might be expected from a person of Lazer’s celebrity, his social pages were shockingly lacking information about his friends and family. And to my trained eye, professionally managed to feed his playboy billionaire persona. Which, of course, made sense.

Lazer had insisted I meet his friends in person and form my own impressions of them. Consequently, my heart raced with both personal and professional anticipation as we went to the helipad to greet them.

I shielded my eyes with one hand as the wind from the helicopter blades whipped my hair in my face and I brushed it out of the way with the other. Gary was still piloting the craft. He nailed the landing, but remained in the pilot seat, pausing to unload.

Four men bounded from the helicopter, jostling and teasing each other like an eager litter of bighearted puppies. One of the four tossed their bags down to the others before disembarking. As soon as they were clear of the blades, the copter took off again.

The men converged on Lazer with equal exuberance, grabbing him in turn in exaggerated bear hugs or engaging in ribbing and backslapping. Their affection for him seemed genuine. Not at all like a show for me.

I studied them with an amused professional eye. As I’d said before, you can tell a lot about a person by their friends. So far, so good.

Lazer hadn’t been joking when he’d said they’d be dressed in shorts and T-shirts. That was indeed their style, accompanied by flip-flops or sandals. The right T-shirts and shorts can make a man look totally hot and confident. These guys had missed the mark. Fixable, totally fixable. You’d be surprised how many clients I have to make over. Even men who come from family money.

I continued to study them with the trained, critical eye of a matchmaker looking for deal breakers and flaws from a purely physical appearance angle. Yes, I knew that sounded shallow. But, like everyone else, I only got one first impression. I had to make it count.

And let’s get real. Looks and physical attractiveness are how we quickly filter potential mates. It was true that some people improved upon getting to know them. In the long run, people with charisma oozing out their pores could overcome being less physically appealing. But only if they made the first cut and got the chance to dazzle with their winning personalities. I was determined that my clients got that chance.

I put myself in the place of a woman looking for a man. If I were in a bar and one of them hit on me, how likely would I be to respond positively? First impressions. I was cataloguing mine. I wasn’t judging them by my own personal tastes. Ruling one out because he might be too outdoorsy for me, for example. I’d learned enough to put personal preferences aside. But right now, these guys weren’t up to my standards. I figured they’d get shot down more often than succeeding.

One of the men was a great big bear of a guy. In the dark, he wouldn’t have been hard to mistake for Bigfoot. He had an unruly beard, a shock of dark hair that needed trimming, and at least twenty pounds that needed shedding.

I could be brutally blunt about cosmetic changes that needed to be made before heading out on the dating scene. Yes, of course everyone wants someone to want them for them. But if you’re looking for a new job, you polish your résumé. Your personal appearance is your dating résumé. If you want to land the best match possible, you polish it before you look for a mate. Most women instinctively know that. Certain types of men are slower on the uptake. A complete makeover isn’t always necessary. Nor spending a year losing one hundred pounds. But at the very least, you tweak.

Another of the men was a tall, broad-shouldered redhead with thick hair and a big red beard. I was pleased that his hair was more auburn than red, deep and rich in color.

Personally, I thought red hair was beautiful. But my personal tastes had little bearing on market realities. Redheads were the hardest group of people to place. Too many prospective mates were shocked when
all
the body hair matched the head hair. And too many freckles, which usually came along for the ride, were often a deal breaker. Fortunately, he was only mildly freckled. I could work with him.

The last two men were slender, of average to slightly taller than average height, one had blond hair, the other brown. A closer look would tell me more, but beneath their shaggy hair and baggy clothes were the glimmers of good features and sound physiques. Something to work with, at least. With some fixing up and coaching, I could make them into heartbreakers.

All at once, four curious pair of gazes fell on Lottie, who had joined us at the sound of the approaching helicopter, and me.

I smiled back at the men, giving them my reassuring matchmaker’s smile. If you’re a matchmaker, a big part of the job is instilling confidence. Too many people come to me brokenhearted and despairing, rejected and dejected, feeling as if they’re unlovable. A supportive, confident smile from me, the pro, went a long way toward assuring them they weren’t beyond finding love.

Lazer turned to introduce me. “Gentlemen, I’d like to introduce you to our new partner and your matchmaker, Ashley Harte, and her assistant, Lottie.” He put his hand on my shoulder.

It could have been just to show I was the woman he was talking about. But that was rather obvious. Or it could have been that he was marking his territory. Which was what I liked to believe.

“Ashley is going to find you eternal happiness with your soul mate. And make us all a boatload of cash.” He whispered out of the side of his mouth to me, “No pressure.”

“Yeah. Thanks for that.” I smiled warmly at the men. Let the games begin. Whether they were aware of it or not, this was test night. I always began evaluating clients the moment I met them. And since I was playing the game of love on the professional level, everything was fair.

“Pay no attention to Lazer’s obvious cynicism.” I rolled my eyes toward him. “I’ve made hundreds of successful matches in my career. If you really want a spouse, I’ll find you one.”

The redhead approached me first, taking my hand in his large one and pumping it enthusiastically. “I’m Austin.”

He grinned and bumped Lazer with his shoulder. “You’ve been holding out on us. Why didn’t you tell us our matchmaker was hot?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned to me. “You’re much younger than I was expecting.”

I laughed. “I get that a lot. People are expecting a bubbe or a yenta.” I leaned forward, cupped a hand around my mouth, and whispered to him. “I’ll let you in on a secret—I’m not Jewish, either.” That was another common misperception, that all matchmakers were Jewish, particularly in New York.

His answering laugh was booming. “Neither am I.”

“Well. Now that we’ve got religion out of the way.” I liked Austin.

Beside me, Lazer stiffened. As if I liked Austin a little too much on sight. I hadn’t expected Lazer to be insecure.

Dylan was the big man, Jeremy the slightly built brown-haired guy with a slight stutter…

Cam was the last to introduce himself. “Welcome to the group, Ms. Harte.”

“Please, call me Ashley. We’re partners now,” I said.

Dylan made a show of looking around and behind me. “Where are the women?”

I laughed. “Not so fast, cowboy. I’m not bringing a random selection of women out here for you to meet. The odds of a good match in that are no better than random chance.” And they needed coaching. “Before there will be any women, you have to go through my boot camp.”

It seemed to me like they shuffled nervously at that.

We spilled into the lodge, the men carrying their bags and talking excitedly, ribbing Lazer.

“Usual rooms?” Cam asked.

Lazer nodded. “Dinner on the patio at six. Meet there.”

On cue, the men dispersed.

Lazer beamed at them and turned to me. “They’re a motley crew. But you get used to them. First impressions?”

“Eminently suitable,” I said. “Completely matchable.”

“That’s what I like to hear. I hope you still think so when you get to know them better.”

“How are they in the programming and business partner side?” I said. Turnabout grilling was fair play.

“Eminently suitable.”

“Good. I’ll see you at dinner,” I said. “I need a minute with the staff.” I hoped I hadn’t been lying about how suitable they were. I was about to find out how they treated people that had less power in the situation than they did. I was about to see how Lazer handled his staff, too. You could learn a lot by that.

W
hen we returned
to the pool area, the drinks had been cleared away, the built-in barbecue had been fired up, and the table artistically set. As if an interior decorator had been hired just for this casual event. The kitchen staff had gone into full swing with dinner preparations. A waiter brought out plates of appetizers, vol-au-vent piled high with savory fillings of Northwest fusion flavors. Salmon and shitake mushrooms. Mini crab puffs with wasabi aioli.

Lazer’s friends helped themselves to the bar. They appeared comfortable and completely at home at Lazer Lodge. Which was as it should be, and another big point in Lazer’s favor. Friends should feel welcome and comfortable in your home, no matter how much or how little you have.

Lottie and I had decided beforehand to divide and conquer. We separated the minute we hit the patio, and began mingling. I didn’t know what I was expecting. Social awkwardness and shyness, maybe. I shouldn’t have worried. I was immediately waylaid by Austin near the bar. He already had a half-empty beer in his hand.

“Austin,” he said, as if not expecting me to remember his name.

I liked it. It was both humble and socially graceful to make sure the other person wasn’t wildly grasping for his name and too embarrassed to ask.

“Lazer should have given us nametags.” He grinned. “They’re standard at corporate events, right? I’ll have to give him hell for putting the ladies at a disadvantage. I’ve known the rest of these boneheads for years. The question is—how have we put up with each other for so long?”

I laughed. “Don’t worry about me. I’m good with names. I remembered yours. It’s hard to forget such a tall, broad-shouldered man and that luscious mane of red hair.” I caressed my words, trying to draw him out. See how he reacted to being flirted with.

He ran a hand through his hair self-consciously, caught himself, and dropped his hand by his side. He laughed nervously. “Red hair is the curse of my family. It’s supposed to be recessive, but it’s dominant in mine. Any woman who marries me is going to have to accept that her kids will be carrot tops. And teased mercilessly about it.”

“Well
I
like it. It’s a beautiful auburn.” I studied him closely. His beard was much brighter red than his hair. “If you shaved your beard, no one would be likely to call you carrot top.”

He stroked his beard. After the initial horrified look at the thought of losing his facial hair passed, he seemed to consider it.

“Anyway,” I said. “Shave or not, red and green are the rarest colors for hair and eyes.”

“True. But they aren’t to everyone’s tastes, either.” He grinned, obviously pleased.

I let silence follow, waiting for him to fill in the gaps. I wanted to see how he did with small talk. There was an awkward pause where I kept smiling at him, waiting for him to take the lead.

“So how does this matchmaking work?” He glanced at my empty hands and looked like he realized he’d made a social mistake. “Sorry. Where are my manners? What can I get you? Beer? Wine? Hard cider? Hard lemonade? Hard root beer? A mixed drink? Something nonalcoholic? Lazer has it all.”

“A beer sounds good.” Mirroring. It made people feel comfortable. He was having a beer. I would have a beer. It helped that I liked beer, especially on warm evenings like this one.

Austin stepped behind the bar, opened the fridge, and laughed to himself, shaking his head. “Do you want me to run through the list of choices? Lazer has dozens. We could be here all night.”

“I like ale, if that narrows the field.”

“Only slightly.” He rummaged around the fridge. “Damn, Laze!”

Austin laughed and pulled a bottle of beer with a girlie, scroll-y purple label from the fridge, shaking his head. “This must be meant for you. Honey-lavender ale. Lazer likes to impress women with flowers in every form possible. It’s his ‘thing.’” He made air quotes and leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially, “Sooner or later he’ll offer to make you his lavender martini. If you turn it down, he’ll decide you’re more of a beer girl. This is his backup drink. Ten to one there’s a lavender lemonade in that fridge somewhere, too. In case you’re not a drinker.” He held the beer bottle out for me to inspect like a fine bottle of wine. “Drink this now and we throw his game off.”