Matchmaker 01: January

I entered the opulent offices of Legato Real Estate Development. There were no windows for a view of the Manhattan skyline, as the office was in the center of the building, but that didn't detract from the impact. Marble floor, expensive wood on the walls, and the whispering splash of a waterfall front and center behind the receptionist.

"May I help you?" the pretty brunette behind the sensuously curved Rosewood desk asked with a smile.

"Brooklyn Lancaster. I have an appointment with Mr. Legato."

"Yes, Ms. Lancaster. Mr. Legato is expecting you. Please have a seat and he'll be with you in a moment."

I smiled pleasantly and moved to one of the dark red leather chairs that dotted the reception area. It was obvious that LRED, pronounced 'L-Red' by most who were familiar with the firm, had money. Good thing because I didn't work cheap. This meeting alone was costing Mr. Legato twenty to twenty-five thousand, plus expenses, but I was worth it.

I provided a unique service to my rarified clientele, the one percenters, the people that didn't bother to look at my fees, and if they did, if I were charging less, they'd be suspicious of my claims.

"Ms. Lancaster?" a handsome man said as he strode silently across the thick wool carpeting. "So good to finally meet you in person. Care to join me?" he asked as he gestured past the granite wall behind the reception desk with the perpetually flowing, softly burbling waterfall.

He led me down a corridor, the walls made of furniture grade mahogany, until we entered a large corner office with panoramic floor to ceiling glass on two walls overlooking the Manhattan skyline. Mr. Legato's office was on the fifty-second, and top, floor of the Legato building. It took a lot to impress me, but the view was... impressive. The large room was tastefully decorated, the rich mahogany wood walls framing expressionist paintings perfectly.

"Can I get you anything to drink? Please, have a seat."

"No thank you, Mr. Legato. I—"

"Please, call me Bryant. Mr. Legato sounds so standoffish, especially considering our arrangement."

"Brooklyn," I said with a smile. I settled into the small conversation group of four brown leather chairs surrounding a cherrywood table. The light flooding in from the windows kept the rich dark woods of the walls and furnishings from making the room appear gloomy and depressing.

Bryant had an easy sophistication about him as I studied him, and he was he wasn't hard on the eyes either. It was hard to imagine him needing my help, but attracting women wasn't the same as finding the perfect woman, and that's where I came in.

I offered an exclusive, and more importantly, discreet introduction service. A few who knew of my service claimed I was little more than a madam, whoring out women despite my high prices and five-thousand-dollar suits. I didn't care what people said. I was providing a service, nothing more, nothing less. It was completely legal and above board, and my clients were the cream of society worldwide.

My clients were predominantly men, but occasionally a woman would ask for my services. I conducted a brief interview with the client to determine if I thought I could help them. If I believed they were legitimate, and I could help, as I did with Bryant, I'd conduct a more detailed interview and use my knowledge and resources to attempt to find my client the perfect companion.

I wouldn't accept clients if I thought they were simply looking for another notch on their belt, and sometimes I decided the client would be impossible to successfully match because of personality issues. I'd turned down more than one man who was so arrogant, controlling, and self-centered, no woman would want to remain with him for long, no matter how large his bank account. If someone was looking for a bimbo they could control and dominate, male or female, they'd have no problem finding that on their own by flashing money around.

I wasn't perfect, and sometimes I had to take more than one stab at the problem, but eighty-seven percent of the people I paired were still together five years later. I'd take that statistic, and everyone else could kiss my ass.

"So, how do we begin?" he asked.

"I'm going to ask you some questions. The more open and honest you are with me, the more likely I'll be able to match you with someone to your liking. I'm going to record our meeting, with your permission, so I don't miss any details. The recording will be destroyed after I've matched you. My questions may sound vaguely insulting, like you're buying a car or a horse, but it helps me narrow in on what you want, or think you want, so please, be honest. Nothing you say will ever leave this room."

He waved his hand dismissively. "Your reputation speaks for itself, so you must be doing something right."

I bobbed my head ever so slightly in acknowledgment. "So, tell me a little about yourself."

"Bryant Legato," he began. "Twenty-seven-year-old real estate tycoon, playboy, and cad. Heir to the Legato Real Estate Empire and face of the company."

I smiled again. So many of my clients were arrogant assholes, but Bryant didn't take himself too seriously. That would help tremendously. I waited for him to continue but he remained quiet. "That's it?"

"That's it," he confirmed.

"What are your interests, your passions?"

"Skiing in the winter, tennis in the summer. Closing a billion-dollar deal is a lot of fun too. I enjoy good wine, good food, and conversation with intelligent people. I like shopping and have a weakness for expensive trinkets."

My face remained perfectly serene. I'd noticed his Rolex. I hadn't gotten a good look at it, but as it was a chronometer model, it likely cost between fifteen and twenty thousand dollars. Men like Bryant typically liked to talk about themselves. They generally had egos as large as their bank accounts, but Bryant played it close to the chest.

"What do you want in a companion? Any specific types? Tall? Blonde?" I probed. I'd really begin to bore in later in the interview, but for now I was getting a baseline and a place to start.

"Intelligent," he said without hesitation. "That's most important. The rest," he shrugged. "Beautiful, of course, but I don't have a type. No smokers and no drugs," he added after a pause.

I pulled photos from my portfolio and spread them on the small table between us. There were fifty photos of women, all beautiful, in various shapes, sizes, colors, and styles of dress. All the women were professional models I'd hired specifically to create a cross-section of looks. Each woman was photographed twice, once dressed for success and once casually. I had an equal number of photos of men for my occasional female clients.

"Any of these catch your fancy?" I asked.

He glanced through the photos methodically. I gave him about a minute to look before I spoke again. I didn't want him studying the photos too closely. This wasn't a beauty contest. I was simply looking for a general guide to his taste in women.

"What's a no go?" I asked to pull his attention back to me.

"No go?" he asked.

"Anything you would find a problem. Political or religious views, anything like that."

He began sliding the photos around. He seemed to have a preference for women with a soft, round face and full figure.

"No, nothing in particular. I don't want some wide-eyed leftist with no clue about how capitalism works and thinks anyone with more than a thousand dollars in the bank is some rich asshole who should be ashamed for being successful. But other than that?" He shrugged.

I nodded, silently watching as Bryant pulled out two photos and slid the others to side. The two photos were of the same woman, and I wondered if he'd picked her because he liked her the most or the least. He began to look through the larger stack of photos again.

"Tell me something about the last woman you dated that you found appealing or couldn't tolerate."

He looked up at me and sighed as he leaned back in his chair, the photos temporally forgotten. He clearly wasn't thrilled with the idea. I smiled. He'd probably get a lot more uncomfortable before this interview was over.

I paced. I was normally a secure, confident woman, but I'd never done anything like this before. Three months ago, after an ugly breakup with Nick, my former boyfriend, I'd entered my information into an 'exclusive' dating app that promised the potential for romance, adventure, and an experience of a lifetime. That seemed like just what I needed after Nick had dropped me like a smelly sock. He'd decided he couldn't put up with my shit anymore, shit like expecting him to show up for dates and keeping promises.

Nick had been hot as shit, and he certainly knew how to please a woman between the sheets, but after six months of turmoil, and almost three months of separation, I wondered what I saw in him. Actually, I knew what I saw in him, but getting fucked to nirvana occasionally wasn't enough to offset the lonely nights, the feelings of neglect, and the occasional sneering, degrading comment. I was nothing but a fuck toy for him, and I wanted more. I was still hurting from Nick's explosive departure, but plenty of Rocky Road ice cream, weepy movies on Netflix, and a little time, had dulled the edge of my pain.

As the ache began to fade, I'd realized how stupid I'd been, falling prey to the promises the app made. I was smarter than that. The only saving grace was the app wanted nothing but general details about my life, my likes and dislikes, and a photo. There was no request for payment, contact information, or even my name. There were no advertisements, and there was no way to option up or make any selections from other members. I simply downloaded the app, entered my information, and that was it. The app promised the service was totally free, and there was nothing else for me to do. To be honest, if the company behind the app was legit, I couldn't figure out how it stayed in business.

The app was very upfront in stating that only one in a thousand applicants were selected, and the names were purged after three months. The app would alert when your profile was deleted, so you could resubmit, but I'd decided I wasn't going to bother. I'd been vulnerable and needy when I'd applied the first time, but now the worst of those feels were now gone.

What I found most intriguing was if a candidate was selected, the app would alert the applicant and the person could accept an offer for a personal interview. A personal interview... for what? It was all very hush-hush and mysterious, and stuff like that was catnip to me.

I'd looked for information on the company, but I'd found nothing except Lancaster Personal Services was a private company, based in Chicago, with estimated annual revenue of between five and eight million dollars.

After a time, I'd forgotten about the app and the profile I'd entered, deciding it was nothing but a scam as I indulged in chocolate ice cream and threw myself into my work. It wasn't easy running a small business, but not having a social life helped. I left the app on my phone, waiting out my three months, but then I planned on deleting it.

I was working in my little office when my phone alerted with a sound I'd never heard before. It brought to mind the sound a fairy godmother's wand would make in a Disney movie, a high pitched, almost whimsical tinkling sound. Personal Interview Requested was on the screen with two large buttons below, a green one labeled Accept and a red one labeled Decline.

I'd almost pressed the big red decline button, but all the hopes and fears I'd had when I first entered my information came rushing back. After a long moment of soul searching, I'd tapped the green button. I had to know the pitch. The app had asked for a phone number and a convenient time for the interview.

I'd almost tapped the cancel button, but after another round of soul searching, I entered my phone number and typed anytime into the time field. I pressed send and had just placed the device back on my desk when it began to ring.

I'd listened to the woman's pitch. She'd explained she was interviewing select women for a project she was working on, and I was one of six possible candidates. I'd first blown it off as a scam and kept waiting for the part where I was supposed to send her five thousand dollars to secure my place, but the woman had been adamant that it was no scam and she'd never ask me for money. Even more interesting was the woman, after a short conversation, wanted me to meet her at the time and place of my choosing. I'd selected a busy restaurant near my office, just in case the woman was some kind of whack job. The woman wouldn't give me her name, only telling me I could call her Brooklyn. I couldn't figure out why she wanted to be called by a New York borough, but whatever tripped her trigger.

Brooklyn had met me the next day, and what was even more amazing was she'd flown from Chicago to do it. She'd grilled me for two hours in Henry's, asking a lot of personal questions. At first, I'd been very uncomfortable answering, but Brooklyn was an expert putting me at ease. She'd constantly reassured me that I could stop any time and that she'd leave and never bother me again. When she was done, she'd paid for our meals, left a two hundred percent tip on the table, and left. She'd asked if she could contact me again. I'd given her permission, causing Brooklyn to smile and thank me. She'd said she would be in contact with me again, no matter what happened, and if I hadn't heard from her, that was because no decision had been made.

It had taken almost a month more before Brooklyn had called me again, and now I was wearing a hole in the floor waiting for a man I'd never met to arrive in Telluride, Colorado. Brooklyn had explained it all to me. At first I was aghast at what she was proposing. I was going to spend a month as the companion of a man, the man that had paid Brooklyn to find him a compatible woman, the man that had paid for my first-class airfare and was paying for this beautiful chalet.

I swallowed hard as I continued to pace. Brooklyn had promised, promised, nothing was expected of me. She'd said I could leave any time, and I had a prepaid first-class plane ticket back to San Antonio, Texas, and a hotel voucher good for one night at the airport motel in Montrose, Colorado, in my luggage. All I had to do was show up at the airport and present my ticket to be returned home.

The only reason I'd agreed to this flight of fancy was Brooklyn had gone out of her way to make me feel safe, had promised me that Bryant was buying only the introduction, and had assured me that anything that happened after that was entirely up to us. The winning argument was when Brooklyn had asked why this was any different than having a friend of mine introduce me to someone they thought I might like.

The major difference was I would be out of my comfort zone and away from home for a month, with a man I didn't know. That was when Brooklyn had really set the hook. She'd said, 'It wouldn't be an adventure if there was no risk.' I smiled to myself as I turned to pace the other way. Brooklyn was good. She was really, really good.

Middle of February was when I started getting busy at work, so getting a month-long break in January worked out. I kept reminding myself that Bryant was in the same situation. Just like I knew only his first name, he knew only mine. Everything else about each other we had to discover for ourselves.

My heart nearly stopped when I heard the rumble of the garage door going up. I'd had almost an hour to prepare myself for Bryant's arrival, but knowing he was here made my heart pound and it felt like a longhorn steer was standing on my chest. I stood at the top of the steps, my fingers twisting and untwisting as I waited.

A man stepped in from the garage at the bottom of the steps. He was dressed in what I called business casual, jeans, a white shirt with a dark blue sweater, and a dark grey blazer. He was a big man, his height hard to judge at the bottom of the steps, but certainly not short. He was well muscled without being bulky, and his dark hair was slightly windblown.

He was wearing stylish glasses, but they seemed to fit him. Between his style of dress and the glasses, he was working the sexy nerd in a big way.

"Lane?" he asked as he started up the steps.

"Yes. Bryant?"

"That's me." He paused in front of me and extended his hand. I took it as I revised his height upwards an inch or two. He had to be at least six-one. "Bryant Legato, from New York City."

I couldn't stop the small smile that tickled my lips. As if I couldn't tell from his accent. "Lane Carlisle, San Antonio, Texas."

He looked me over and smiled down at me. "Brooklyn was certainly right."

"About what?"

His smile spread. "The only thing she would tell me was your first name, that you were beautiful, and you had a Texas accent that could melt a man's heart."

Oh, he was delightfully bold. "That's more than I know about you. All I knew was your first name."

"She must have told you something else."

I shook my head. "Not a thing."

He looked down at me, slightly puzzled. "Really. Why did you agree to meet me, then?"

"Brooklyn is a very good saleswoman."

He smiled again. "And obviously a woman of impeccable taste. Oh, and she told me to tell you that I'm aware of the ground rules."

"Ground rules?"

"Yes. Basically, if I make you uncomfortable, you can leave on a moment's notice, and there's not a thing I can do to stop you. Short of kidnapping," he added with a grin.

"Is that something I have to worry about?" I asked. I tried to make the question light and teasing, but I'm not sure I was completely successful.

His smile faded and he looked at me seriously. He slowly took my hand, placed a Range Rover key in it, and closed my fingers over it. "Hang onto that. It's your way to the airport. It's full of gas."

I couldn't hold his gaze and looked away. "Thank you."

"Now!" he exclaimed, rubbing his hands together. "I have to get my bag and skis. Have you picked your room?"

"Yes."

"Great. When I come back up, you can show me which room is mine."

"Need some help?" I offered.

He paused on the first step. "I only have one bag. Normally I have someone do this kind of stuff for me, but Brooklyn refused to let me bring anyone. I'm actually looking forward to doing for myself for a month. It's kind of like roughing it, without the bears, bugs, dysentery, and other unpleasantness."

I snickered as I followed him to the lower level of the chalet where the garage, storage, and a game room resided. I'd already figured out he had to be rich to pay for all of this with no assurance of me sleeping with him, but I was starting to suspect he might be more than 'rich.'

He only had one small case in the back of the car, along with skis. "That's it?" I asked.

He shrugged as he pulled them out. "It's part of the adventure."

"What is?"

"Doing things together, one of which is shopping."

I took the bag as he pulled out the skis. I pushed the button to start the hatch of the SUV closing before I led him to another room I'd found as I explored the cabin.

"Shopping?" I asked as I pushed open the door, flipped on the light, and stepped out of the way so he could enter.

"Yeah. How many changes of clothes did you bring?"

"Three. I was told to pack light."

"Same for me. You think that's enough for a month?" he asked as he placed the skis in the holders mounted on the wall. "Where's your equipment?"

"What equipment?"

"You don't ski?"