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She didn’t sit right away, her gaze steady, as if trying to decide if she should stay or go. Finally, she adjusted the glasses on her nose and returned to her seat. Was that a smirk at the corner of her lips?
“As I was saying…”
Marissa went through her entire spiel about the history of the company and finished with a detailed explanation of how they worked with clients, reiterating that they required at least a one-year commitment from him.
“You really think this process will take a year?” Bruno asked.
“Depends. Some people match quickly, while others take time. You’re thirty-six years old. I assume you’ve been dating at least since the age of eighteen. Eighteen years of dating and you’re not married. Granted, you might not have been looking for a wife all along, but you’ve dated for all that time and aren’t married yet. Give us a year, which is a negligible period when compared to eighteen years, and we’ll probably—no guarantee—find your wife. The most important part of this process is you have to be open to experimentation and finding love. Your soulmate is out there.”
Bruno let out a short, punctuated laugh. “Soulmate? That’s very optimistic, but I don’t believe in soulmates. I don’t even believe marriage is forever. I’m realistic.” He had hardened his heart against falling in love. Been there, done that. “I want a companion and a mother for my children. Hopefully, we—me and the woman you find for me—will have a good ten years or so together. I don’t expect much more.”
Chapter Three
Marissa couldn’t believe her ears, but she had been in this business long enough to keep the shock off her face. “Sounds like you’re looking for a temporary wife,” she told Bruno.
“I’m looking for a wife. I expect my marriage to be temporary.” His tone was very matter-of-fact.
“And why is that?”
Probing deeper meant she’d get a better understanding of potential hang-ups and hopefully help her find the right woman for him. At least she hoped so. This was their initial meeting, but she was beginning to have her doubts. Dealing with high-profile, wealthy men presented a unique set of problems. They tended to be picky and have unrealistic expectations.
“The divorce rate is astronomical. I’ve seen enough relationships that didn’t last, despite the couples swearing they were in love at the time they married. I’ve observed it in my own family. Love is an illusion, easily discarded when one person or both don’t get what they want right away.” He spoke the last two words with intense distaste.
Huh. There was something there they might have to explore at a later date.
“I see. That might happen to the average person, but working with Executive Match increases your chance of having a marriage that will last a lifetime.”
“Increases the chance, but does not… guarantee.” A smile touched his lips.
Marissa answered his statement with a faint smile of her own.
Touché. He had used her own words against her. Bruno Santana was definitely going to be a challenge, but she was up for the challenge. Based on the preliminary interview, he was a darn near perfect bachelor. Wealthy—though they needed to verify his financial status. Never married before and no kids, so no children or ex-wife to worry about that could potentially cause friction in his relationship down the road.
She couldn’t deny he was appealing and caused an odd awareness to flicker beneath her skin. Physically, he checked all the right boxes. Fit and handsome with black-as-night hair combed in voluminous waves away from his face, olive-toned skin darkened by stubble and thick eyebrows above mesmerizing gray eyes.
He knew how to dress too. Another plus. Not everyone in his income bracket dressed well. Elegant in a crisp white shirt, gray tailored slacks, and black Italian leather loafers, he’d be downright deadly in a suit.
Born in Mexico and raised in Colombia, his velvety voice contained a hint of his Hispanic roots. Enough to make women who loved a foreign accent swoon. Meanwhile, a casual air of arrogance surrounded him, as if he knew he was the total package and any woman she matched him with would be the lucky one—not the other way around.
“Correct, no guarantees. May I continue?” Marissa asked.
“Please.”
They both spoke in a polite tone, an underlying thread of tension in their voices.
“Why now? What made you decide to look for a wife at this moment in time?” Her pen remained poised above her notepad. While her colleagues used electronic tablets to avoid the task of having to transfer the information into the database, she preferred the comfort of note-taking with paper and ink and doing the transfer later.
“I wish I could say there was a profound reason, such as a health scare, but…” He paused and considered his answer before continuing, stretching one long arm along the back of the sofa. “I grew up in a wealthy household, and I have now become a wealthy man in my own right. I have plenty of culinary and business achievements. But the truth is, I have no one to share these things with. As I mentioned, I’m seeking companionship. I don’t want or need to fall in love. Compatibility is more important than love. Which means, when I find the right woman, I don’t intend to waste time. I want to get married right away.”
“Good to know. In the initial interview, you mentioned that you’re looking for someone with a great sense of humor who is outgoing, is that correct?” Marissa wrote notes as she asked the question.
“Yes, and a great conversationalist is a must. I can’t tell you how difficult it is to find someone who can carry on a good conversation.”
Unhappiness seeped into his voice. She’d heard the same complaint from both men and women.
She made eye contact with him, her dark eyes meeting his gray ones. His stare was mesmerizing, bold, and intense, and a thousand butterflies swooped to the base of her belly. What was it about this man that made her so… anxious?
Marissa resettled in the chair to slough off the odd feelings pervading this meeting with him. “Let’s talk a little about what you’re looking for in a woman. We’ll begin with physical attributes. What features do you find attractive in a potential partner?”
