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Bruno tossed the empty plastic bottle across the room and it landed squarely in the recycling bin. The matchmaking process couldn’t be any worse than the tedious hamster wheel of dating he was on now.
“All right, ask him.”
“I’ll talk to him as soon as I hang up with you. Now, about the text. What was the sweet and spicy sauce you put on the wings that time that everybody loved?”
“Simple, Sriracha and honey. A one to one ratio and mix well. If you want to elevate the flavor, add melted butter and salt.”
“Got it. I have a bunch of hungry people in my house and two trays of naked wings. You saved the day. I can whip up your sauce in a few minutes. Talk to you later!”
Bruno hung up and strolled into his bedroom, stripping off his clothing and the frustrations of the night. As he climbed into bed, his phone dinged. He glanced at the device and opened the text Ignacio had sent.
Lying back against the pillows, he read the information. Executive Match, Inc. had offices in New York, Beverly Hills, and Atlanta, and the referral was to someone named Marissa Liburd.
He clicked the link to the website and skimmed the details about the membership fee, how long they had been in business, and watched a short video by the Director of Marketing about how they operated.
After years of dating all manner of women, the video convinced him that a matchmaker was a viable option.
What did he have to lose?
Chapter Two
After parking his metallic gray Porsche Taycan Turbo S nearby, Bruno walked to the glass and steel building on Peachtree Street in downtown Atlanta that housed Executive Match, Inc.
He took the elevator to the seventh floor and walked down the quiet corridor to double glass doors with Executive Match, Inc. emblazoned in gold and black letters on the front. As soon as he entered, a soft doorbell chimed somewhere in the distance. Seconds later, a woman dressed in a sheath dress with a chic short haircut rounded the corner.
“Mr. Santana?” she said, extending a slim hand as she approached.
He shook it. “Yes.”
“Hello, I’m Lori. Welcome to Executive Match. We look forward to working with you. Right this way, please.”
She led him to a formal sitting room where a cream sofa was positioned across from two high back cream armchairs. A lacquered live edge coffee table sat in the middle.
“Can I get you something to drink while you wait for Ms. Liburd?”
“No, I’m fine, thank you.”
“I’ll let her know you’ve arrived.” Lori exited the room and quietly closed the door.
Bruno walked to the window and peered through the blinds at the passing traffic. After he had contacted the service on Monday, he spoke to a screener who asked him a series of preliminary questions. He hadn’t talked to Ms. Liburd yet, but that would change today when she interviewed him in depth about his preferences.
He didn’t have long to wait before he heard movement behind him.
The woman who entered temporarily gave him pause. He had expected someone older after the screener described Ms. Liburd as “one of the best” in the business, a veteran with eight years’ experience and the highest success rate in the company.
This woman appeared to be in her late twenties or early thirties if he had to guess—and she was beautiful. Not the knock-your-socks-off type. Her attractiveness was more subtle. Subdued.
She had russet-brown skin, and black cat-eye glasses sat on her pert nose but couldn’t hide the sultriness of her dark, friendly eyes—quite at odds with her overall appearance. Her black hair was pulled into a bun at her nape, and there were small round earrings in her ears. She wore simple black slacks and a blouse with a busy print buttoned all the way up to the high collar.
She gave off sexy librarian vibes. The silk blouse draped over her full breasts, which were more than a handful, and despite the straight-legged slacks, his discerning eyes picked up the curvaceous lines of her waist and hips.
“Mr. Santana.” Marissa extended her hand. “I’m Marissa Liburd. Pleasure to meet you.”
Her hand was soft and delicate and dwarfed in his, and the light floral fragrance she wore wafted around them, reminding him of a fresh spring morning in his garden after a rainstorm.
“Call me Bruno, por favor.”
“Okay, Bruno. And you should call me Marissa.” She wasn’t smiling but had such a pleasant face that her lips hinted at a smile.
