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“He’s so… I don’t know… There’s something about him. I don’t like him.”
He made her body ache. He made her panties wet. She hated the shaky, out-of-control way she behaved around him, while he remained poised and in control. She wanted more of his kisses and his hands all over her body. She wanted his head between her thighs, and this time without the barrier of clothes. He brought her back to her basic instincts as a woman, reducing her to lustful thoughts and the desire to be taken and conquered.
“You don’t have to like him. You’re not going to marry the man, you’re going to find him a woman he’s so excited about that he wants to make her his wife. You’ve worked with difficult clients before.”
She acknowledged the truth with a head nod. “Okay, if the woman of his dreams doesn’t mean falling in love, and that’s how he chooses to spend his hard-earned money, I won’t judge. But why do I have to be the one to help him? One of the other matchmakers would be a better fit. What about Rick?”
“He has his hands full with enough clients already.”
Rick stayed booked because some of the men they worked with requested a male matchmaker, believing he understood their needs better as a man and was therefore better equipped to find the right woman for them. Never mind there was no evidence to back up such a theory.
Traditionally, women dominated the field, but more men were entering the industry. The main characteristics necessary for success included intuition, great analytical and communication skills, and sensitivity to cultures and diversity.
“What about Wanda?”
“What about you?” Arnie tossed back.
Marissa sighed.
“What’s the real reason you have a problem with this guy?”
She swallowed. She couldn’t reveal the real reason. That they’d kissed, and she couldn’t stop thinking about what making love to him would be like. Bruno made her entire body flush hot in a way she hadn’t experienced in a long time, and she couldn’t act on the feeling because of the company rule.
The rule kept the lines from blurring and ensured staff didn’t use Executive Match as their personal dating service. Being privy to the client’s preferences meant a staff member could “become” whatever a potential client desired, which was unethical, to say the least.
“I believe he’d be better off with someone else.”
“I disagree. I believe you’re the person who can find him the woman of his dreams—whatever that looks like. You have the highest success rate in the company, and you’re good at what you do. Put aside your reservations, your personal biases, and think about this client in an objective way, the way you do all your clients. Mr. Santana needs our help, or he wouldn’t have come here. You said this was a referral, directly to you, correct?”
Marissa nodded.
“Then you need to help him. We land this guy a wife, we could get others like him. You know how important word-of-mouth is in our industry. That’s how my mother built this business. Key word—business. Businesses have to make money. That’s how you get those monthly checks.” He smiled smugly, as if he’d won the argument.
Marissa slumped in defeat. Clearly, she would not be able to change Arnie’s mind, and he had a point. It didn’t matter if she agreed with the client’s reasons for finding a mate. In fact, she had one client now—an older gentleman who was looking for a younger woman. If a match led to marriage, great. If not, he was fine with that too. According to him, he wasn’t dead and wanted to enjoy his last days.
Bruno came to them for a service, and her job was to provide it.
“Now please go do the thing I pay you to do,” Arnie said.
With a soft sigh, Marissa left his office and trudged to her own. Inside, she went to the window and placed a fist on her hip as she went through a bag of Cheetos.
She had failed and had to continue her working relationship with Bruno.
She didn’t know if she wanted to laugh or cry. After eight years in the industry, Bruno might be her biggest challenge yet—and could be the reason she lost her job—if she didn’t get her attraction under control.
Time for them to have a serious talk.
Chapter Nineteen
“We just got word. Congratulations, Bruno. You have three James Beard nominations!” Kristopher Thomas, the platinum-haired head of Bruno’s public relations, made the announcement from New York via video conference.
Bruno sat at the rectangular table in his corporate office, centrally located in Midtown Atlanta.
“Don’t keep us in suspense. Which categories?” Lang Draper asked.
He’d been Bruno’s agent for years, negotiating a licensing deal for a line of cookware and utensils, a publishing deal for five bestselling cookbooks, landed him an executive producer credit on several cooking shows, and helped him acquire other lucrative endorsements.
“Patience,” Kristopher said, enjoying keeping them in suspense.
