9781631050275TheirPerfectMatchMarshNC (2 page)

 “Maybe we should start by discussing exactly what a dating service can—and can’t—do for its clients. Have you ever worked wi…I mean, subscribed to one before?”

“Nope, never. But I believe that everyone ought to try something new once in a while. Don’t you agree?”

“Of course. It’s just that…well, sometimes people aren’t quite ready for everything we have to offer,” Molly improvised. She wanted to kick herself under the desk. Now she really did sound like someone running a shady escort service!

“No, I think I’m ready.” That jaunty grin flickered, but his sea-gray eyes remained serious. “Maybe it would clear things up if I explained why I’ve come to you.”

“Yes, it probably would,” she said, relieved.

 “Let me put it in the simplest possible terms.” Zane Bishop settled back in his chair. Even with his leather-jacketed shoulders shrugged against the upholstery, and his large hands draped over the soft chair arms, his sturdy build simmered with a quiet strength. “I’ve spent most of my life alone, and I don’t enjoy it as much as I used to. It’s time for me to make a change. A big change.”

“Why?” In general, Molly distrusted men with such obvious confidence, finding that it often concealed simple arrogance. In this case, she felt more intrigued than annoyed.

 “A change in circumstances, actually. My life’s a lot more stable now than it’s been for the past ten years. I just returned from overseas.”

“Ah. You were away on business?”

The thin, wary smile returned. “I hope I don’t look like the pinstriped-suit, frequent-flyer type to you. No, Miss Grayson, I meant that literally. Twelve years ago, I had this burning desire to see the world—all of it. So I joined the Merchant Marines. Ended up making more of a career of it than I intended to.”

So he was a drifter. That made sense. A man on the move, even one as striking as Zane Bishop, would hardly have time to form meaningful, lasting relationships. If he’d been away a long time, he might even have fallen out of touch with modern dating rituals. “But now you’re back in Providence to stay?”

He nodded again. “My father lived here for most of his life, but he died of cancer six months ago. I came back to be with him at the end.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Molly found herself moved by the image of this strong-willed, strong-limbed man tending his dying father.

“I thought about taking off after he died.” Zane rolled his shoulders as if to shrug off unwelcome memories and emotions. “But the real reason I’m planning to stay is that I like Providence. It’s big, impersonal, but not as depressing as some other cities I’ve spent time in. I have places to go, but I can still lose myself when I want to.”

“I know what you mean.” Providence was impersonal all right. Impersonal and quite often lonely. Apparently he understood that as well as she did. “And now you’re looking for someone you can lose yourself with,” she guessed.

“Recently, I decided to take a good, hard look at my own life. That’s when I discovered what was lacking. I have a whole new set of short-range plans, and a serious relationship factors heavily into those plans. Thanks to all those years at sea, I believe in getting from Point A to Point B as efficiently as possible. That’s where you come in, Miss Grayson.”

Molly nodded. His was the same basic story she’d heard in this office again and again. Independent men, and an increasing number of self-sufficient women, deciding that a solitary life no longer satisfied them. Once in a while, she allowed herself to wonder if she’d ever feel such a gnawing pressure to make a radical life change, to become one half of a committed couple.

But always—like now—she quickly dismissed the idea. Being alone was something she doubted she could change, even if she wanted to. Accepting perpetual singlehood as her destiny seemed by far the most sensible approach to life.

Molly selected the appropriate form from the folder in front of her and slid it across the desk. “All right. Just fill out this application, and we’ll start a routine background check. Once that’s complete, we’ll proceed with the next step.”

“Background check? How does that work?”

“It’s not much different than what you’d go through if you were applying for a credit card. We screen for any criminal history, indications of violent behavior, outstanding child support payments, or anything that might make someone a less than ideal mate. I hope you don’t take offense.”

“Of course not. You can hardly send your lady clients out with just any joker who wanders in off the street claiming to be lonely. They depend on you to keep more than their reputations safe.”

“I’m glad you understand.”

“I do. But I’d still like to learn more about the matchmaking process itself before I sign anything,” he said after scanning the form for a few moments.

“Actually, you record a short video and fill out another questionnaire—more personal this time—and then we figure out which female clients would be suitable based on your answers. We upload the video to clients we think you’d be compatible with and they can access it from their home computers.”

“You can do that just by reading my questionnaire?”

“Not reading…not exactly, anyway. Here at Lovelines, I’m pleased to say we’ve developed some exclusive, highly efficient software just for that purpose. I can’t reveal all our trade secrets, but suffice it to say that our program does the job far better than any mere mortal could hope to. The computer will give us a list of names, and we’ll arrange your first few dates. If something clicks… well, at that point you’re on your own.”

“Sounds impressive.”

“I’m glad you think so. Now, the sign-up fee is one thousand dollars for the first twelve months of service. Renewal memberships are three hundred dollars for each additional six months.”

He appeared to think it over, stroking the vague five o’clock shadow that dusted his face. “If your methods are as sure-fire as you say, surely I shouldn’t need to continue my membership.”

“With most clients, that’s precisely the case. However, we offer the option in the event of unforeseen circumstances. And there’s one other thing. We need a fifty percent deposit before we can do the preliminary screening.”

“Refundable, I assume?”

“That depends on the circumstances. If you decide to terminate your contract with us early, you’d forfeit any remaining balance. If it’s our decision, we’ll issue a pro-rated refund.

That would only happen if we found substantial misrepresentation on your part—like marital status—obviously—or criminal record. Termination could also result if one of the women we set you up with lodges a legitimate complaint.”

“You mean if she didn’t like my tie? Remind me not to wear one.”

She’d been about to slide the pen toward him. His words stopped her in mid-motion.

“Lovelines isn’t like a lot of other dating services, Mr. Bishop. We pride ourselves on being both exclusive and dependable. It’s my policy to personally approve each and every client I put into the databank.” Finally, she raised her chin and met his casual, too-confident smile with a stiff one of her own. “Like I said before, not everyone feels comfortable with our way of doing things. If you prefer, I can direct you to another service with less stringent requirements.”

“I didn’t say I felt uncomfortable.” Gently, he eased the pen from her hand and turned the contract toward him. She felt a little current spark as his pale fingers brushed against her darker ones, like lightning flashing against a gloomy cloud over the sea. “Like I said, you’re responsible for your clients’ safety. But don’t worry. I’m not some kind of lunatic stalker.”

“It happens, Mr. Bishop. Not here, of course,” she hastened to add.

“I just have one more question. How many people would have access to my account? You ask for some pretty personal stuff on this application form. I wouldn’t want my vital statistics…or my social security number…to become office gossip.”

“No need to worry about that. Lovelines consists only of me, Brenda Taylor, and Todd Matthews, our programmer. The information you give us is scanned directly into the system, and from there it can be accessed only from the computer right here in my office. No one will ever read it, not even the women it selects as matches for you. I handle all that sort of detail.”

“All right, then. I’m ready to try.” With a nod, Zane pulled his wallet from inside his leather jacket and handed her his credit card. Gold, she noticed. Zane Bishop had done well for himself in his seafaring career.

“Let me just step into the next room and have Brenda process this. I’ll be back momentarily with your receipt. Meanwhile, you can start filling out the background check form.”

Discreetly, she slipped into the reception area and closed her office door behind her.

Brenda had clearly been waiting impatiently for her to emerge. “Wow!” she whispered, faking a swoon. “I think that guy materialized out of a dream I had once—a real steamy dream, if you know what I mean. I sure hope he didn’t sign with us!”

Molly closed her hand around Zane’s credit card to shield it from Brenda’s view. “What? Why not?”

Brenda stared as if Molly had just asked the most ridiculous question in the history of human discourse. “Because, Molly! If he’s business, that would make him off-limits.”

“Aha. Does Decker know you ogle the men who walk in here?”

“Not for me, silly.” Reaching into her desk, Brenda snapped open her compact and did a quick check of her hair and makeup. “Decker’s more than enough man for me. I meant for you, Mol.”

“For me! Now you’re the one being silly.”

“Why? He’s gorgeous and he’s single, isn’t he? And he’s here because he wants a girlfriend.”

“Please, Brenda. He might hear you. Now run this credit card and prepare Mr. Bishop’s receipt, please. The usual fifty percent deposit.”

Brenda didn’t seem in the least chastised. Instead, she examined the card with obvious interest, turning it back and forth so that the holographic image embedded on its face shimmered in the fluorescent light. “Mmm, the gentleman is well-to-do as well as gorgeous.”

“Brenda, please. He’s a client, and as such he deserves courteous, respectful, and above all, discreet treatment. Now I’d like this conversation to end, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind. But I’m entitled to my opinion that he’s only the finest male specimen ever to walk through this office—with the exception of my Decker, of course.” With a shrug, Brenda turned back to her computer and completed the requested transaction in less than five minutes. She handed Molly the card along with the receipt that sputtered from her desktop printer. “Large credit line, too. You’re a fool if you fix him up with anyone but yourself, Molly.”

Molly grabbed the items in an uncharacteristically stiff gesture. “Like you said, you’re entitled to your opinion. Just like I’m entitled not to respond to it.”

She slipped back into her office and found Zane on his feet, his right hand tracing a pattern along the edge of her desk. He’d finished the background-check form and centered it neatly on her blotter.

“Here’s your receipt, Mr. Bishop,” she said, holding it out to him. “I hope you’ll find everything you’re looking for in Lovelines, and more.”

“I hope so, too. I admit that the idea of a dating service put me off at first, but I’ve always been adventurous.” He returned his gold card to his wallet and folded the receipt into a rectangle without even glancing at it. “What about you, Miss Grayson? Do you consider yourself the daring type?”

Molly laughed—a bit uneasily. “Most people who know me would say no.”

“I didn’t ask what other people think.” His shrewd, silvery-blue eyes locked on hers. “I wanted to know your opinion.”

“Then I guess my lack of a response answers your question.”

Zane tucked the folded receipt deep inside his leather jacket. “Let me be honest about one thing, Miss Grayson. I don’t believe in computers hooking people up. What I do believe in is human intuition. Mine tells me that you know exactly what you’re doing here. And yours should tell you that it’s not your computer I’m hiring.”

“I…I do realize that.” He stared at her so long, and so intently, she compulsively clutched at the sleeves of her blazer.

“I’m glad.” Stepping forward, Zane Bishop extended his hand. The warm pressure of his skin against hers suggested both the roughness of the storm-swept sea and the sensual caress of balmy trade winds. Yes, she could definitely picture Zane against the backdrop of some exotic harbor, the sun on his face and the salty spray misting his hair. “I look forward to our little adventure.”

Molly watched his broad shoulders fill the doorway as his purposeful gait carried him out of her office and finally out of sight. No doubt his easy, yet self-assured manner resulted from his military training…or were the Merchant Marines properly classed as paramilitary? Either way, he was a good advertisement for the benefits of a seafaring career. No doubt that sort of nomadic and intensely physical lifestyle suited his carefree nature to perfection.

Molly had to smile at the irony of the situation. How many times had she bemoaned the fact so few people today believed in romance and commitment the way she did, even if the prospect had so far eluded her, and probably would continue to? Now a gorgeous man was telling her he shared exactly those values—and had asked her to find him another woman who felt the same!

Soon enough, he would be matched, married, and settled, thanks to Lovelines—and her.

She didn’t dare speculate why that prospect distressed her so much.

* * * *

Zane had barely reached the sidewalk when his cell phone trilled. He didn’t need to wait for the caller to identify himself.

“I told you to wait until I buzzed you,” he barked, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one had followed him out of the building that housed the Lovelines office. “Do you want one of them to overhear us?”

Alaric didn’t bother with a conventional greeting. Nothing new there. His younger half-brother’s voice, however, was uncharacteristically nervous. “So…you did what I asked you to?”

“I signed up for a lifelong commitment engineered by Lovelines, yes. I have to admit, though, that it really didn’t seem like your kind of place, Alaric. There were silk flowers and a stack of women’s magazines beside the water cooler, for crying out loud.”