And getting romantically involved with Matthew Whittaker would be a mistake. Matt came from the same world as her ex-fiancé. He was cerebral whereas she was all heart. If she got involved with him, not only could she say goodbye to Ideal Match’s potentially biggest success story to date, but her heart would be mashed in the process. She wasn’t in his league in any respect.
Lauren sighed. She shouldn’t be giving advice to other people, she needed it herself.
On top of it all, Matt had become her most frustrating and intractable client, even besting Heartbreak Phil. He’d found fault with every single woman she’d set him up with. It wasn’t that she expected him to find Ms. Right immediately—though the clock was ticking on the naming of the Sentinel’s new Most Eligible Bachelor—but that none of his matches progressed beyond a cursory first date.
Thus, today’s powwow.
As if on cue, she heard a door open and close in the reception room, followed by Candace’s called- out greeting to Matt.
Lauren reached the door to her office in time to see Candace, already with her coat on, heading toward the office’s outer door.
Catching Candace’s wink, she frowned.
Her receptionist seemed all too eager to leave her alone with Matt. And because six o’clock was Candace’s usual departure time, she couldn’t argue, especially since Candace had claimed—only half- convincingly despite a practiced and unwavering gaze—that she had agreed to babysit her neighbor’s kids again.
“See you tomorrow!” Candace called.
When the office’s door clicked shut, her eyes went to Matt. She was alone in the big, silent reception room with her newly minted Mr. Impossible, a name she’d coined for him last night…while in bed…when she’d again been thinking about him when she shouldn’t.
He’d discarded his coat on a nearby chair and was standing in the middle of the room with his hands shoved in his suit pockets.
In order to accommodate his schedule, she’d agreed to meet after the end of the business day. And the truth was this meeting had been put off long enough. He was driving her crazy, rejecting every candidate she’d sent his way.
They’d talked a bit by phone after some of his dates—when she’d been careful to avoid all mention of his behavior at Veronica and Albert’s wedding—but she’d gotten pat answers from him.
Still, even as he seemed to fill up all the available space in her office, she steeled herself for the discussion ahead, because she knew it was imperative he change his attitude.
“You’re sabotaging your chances of meeting the right woman,” she said without preamble.
“And hello to you, too,” he said with lazy amusement.
She felt the telltale tingling along her nerve endings and charged ahead to avoid thinking about how much he made her conscious of being a woman.
“Don’t try to sidestep the discussion.”
“I’m not sidestepping anything,” he said in a mild voice.
She folded her arms. “You told Monica that if she wanted to catch a husband, she’d be better off enrolling in a degree program instead of majoring at Salon U. to keep her hair a precise shade of champagne blond.”
He arched a brow. “You disagree?”
She threw up her hands. “She’s an heiress. She can afford it.”
“Obviously not, if she needed to hire you. There’s usually no shortage of guys who’d be happy to marry an heiress.”
“Not you, however.”
“I don’t need the money.”
He looked calm and unperturbed, and at the same time, radiated sex appeal. The observation riled her even more.
“In any case,” he said, “I believe my requirements included being down-to-earth. How does Monica qualify?”
“Down-to-earth socialites are a bit thin on the ground,” she replied tartly.
“You know, I don’t recollect listing socialite among my requirements.”
Of course, she thought, that requirement went without saying. His type wanted to marry well, and not to some nobody from Sacramento with schoolteacher parents who were strictly middle-class.
“You said you were looking for someone with the acumen for business entertainment,” she countered.
“Business being the operative word there.”
“What about Sarah then? Her father was a surgeon, but she’s as down-to-earth as you can get. She started a handmade soaps business. She should have suited the entrepreneurial side of you.”
“Too back-to-nature.” He shrugged. “Besides, there was no chemistry. We talked shop all night.”
“How about Lily? What was wrong with her?”
He arched a brow. “Save me from fashionistas.”
“Amanda?”
“She was a public relations executive. I got the impression she was less interested in me than in a job as a spokesperson at Whittaker Enterprises.”
She folded her arms. “What about Peyton?”
“Advertising. She took one look at me and saw a potential client.”
“Pamela?” She’d been sure she had a hit there. “She’s a TV anchor, and she’s as polished as they come.”
“Too interested in herself.”
She bit back a sigh of exasperation.
He contemplated her for a second. “You’ve tried to set me up with umpteen candidates and failed. You know there’s only one thing left for you to do, don’t you?”
“And that would be?” she asked coolly, dropping her arms.
“Date me yourself.”
Caught off guard, she retorted, “Don’t be absurd.”
He sized her up. “Why? What’s wrong with you?”
“It appears you’ve misunderstood the nature of the services we offer in this office,” she said, her words coated with frost. “I’m in the business of finding you a lifetime partner, not providing you with a fling.”
“Who said anything about a fling? I’m talking about mutual enjoyment.”
“You want sexual services in exchange for my fee.”
“No,” he drawled, “just suggesting we see where things lead.”
She knew where things would lead, and she didn’t have to sleep with him to find out. She was incapable of satisfying him, but was determined he never know. Her heart was retired, and her sexual prowess nonexistent.
She affected an expression of cool disdain. “Well, that’s an approach I haven’t heard before. Just come out and ask for sex.”