“The magic you alluded to earlier,” Dax commented with raised eyebrows. “Right? It’s all smoke and mirrors, though. You tell these people they’re compatible and they fall for it. The power of suggestion. Quite brilliant, actually.”
And he meant it. If anyone knew the benefit of smoke and mirrors, he did. It kept everyone distracted from what was really going on behind the curtain, where the mess was.
A red stain spilled across Elise’s cheeks, but she didn’t back down. “You’re a cynical man, Dax Wakefield. Just because you don’t believe in happily ever after doesn’t mean it can’t happen.”
“True.” He conceded the point with a nod. “And false. I readily admit to being cynical but happily ever after is a myth. Long-term relationships consist of two people who’ve agreed to put up with each other. No ridiculous lies about loving each other forever required.”
“That’s...” Apparently she couldn’t come up with a word to describe it. So he helped her out.
“Reality?”
His mother had proven it by walking out on his father when Dax was seven. His father had never recovered from the hope she’d eventually come back. Poor sap.
“Sad,” she corrected with a brittle smile. “You must be so lonely.”
He blinked. “That’s one I’ve never been called before. I could have five different dates lined up for tonight in about thirty seconds.”
“Oh, you’re in worse shape than I thought.” With another slide of her legs that Dax couldn’t quite ignore, she leaned toward him. “You need to meet the love of your life. Immediately. I can help you.”
His own bark of laughter startled him. Because it wasn’t funny. “Which part wasn’t clear? The part where I said you were a phony or the part where I don’t believe in love?”
“It was all very clear,” she said quietly. “You’re trying to prove my business, my life’s work, is a sham. You can’t, because I can find the darkest of hearts a match. Even yours. You want to prove something? Put your name in my computer.”
Double ouch. He’d been bamboozled. And he’d never seen it coming.
Against all odds, he dredged up a healthy amount of respect for Elise Arundel.
Hell. He actually kind of liked her style.
* * *
Elise wiped her clammy hands on her skirt and prayed the pompous Mr. Wakefield didn’t notice. This was not the scripted, safe interview she’d been promised or she never would have agreed to sit on this stage under all these burning hot lights, with what felt like a million pairs of eyes boring a hole through her.
Thinking on her feet was not her strong suit.
Neither was dealing with wealthy, spoiled, too-handsome, arrogant playboys who despised everything she believed in.
And she’d just invited him to test her skills. Had she accidentally inhaled paint thinner?
It hardly mattered. He’d never take her up on it. Guys like Dax didn’t darken the door of a matchmaker. Shallow, unemotional relationships were a snap to find, especially for someone who clearly had a lot of practice enticing women into bed. And was likely an ace at keeping them there.
Dax stroked his jaw absently and contemplated her. “Are you offering to find me a match?”
“Not just a match,” she corrected immediately and tore her gaze from the thumb running under his chiseled cheekbone. “True love. My gig is happily ever after.”
Yes. It was, and she hadn’t failed one single couple yet. She wasn’t about to start today.
Matching hearts fulfilled her in so many ways. It almost made up for not finding her own match. But hope sprang eternal. If her mother’s five marriages and dozens of affairs hadn’t squeezed optimism and a belief in the power of love out of her, Dax Wakefield couldn’t kill them either.
“So tell me about your own happily ever after. Is Mr. Arundel your one true love?”
“I’m single,” she admitted readily. It was a common question from clients who wanted her credentials and the standard answer came easily now. “But it’s not a commentary on my services. You don’t decide against using a travel agent just because she hasn’t been to the resort you’re booking, right?”
“Right. But I would wonder why she became a travel agent if she doesn’t ever get on a plane.”
The crowd snickered and the muscles in her legs tensed. Oh, spotlight how do I hate thee? Let me count the ways...
She’d be happy to get on a plane if the right man came along. But clients were always right for someone else, not her, and well...she wasn’t the best at walking up to interesting men in public and introducing herself. Friday nights with a chick flick always seemed safer than battling the doubts that she wasn’t quite good enough, successful enough, or thin enough for dating.
She’d only agreed to this interview to promote her business. It was a necessary evil, and nothing other than EA International’s success could entice her into making such a public spectacle.
“I always fly first class myself, Mr. Wakefield,” she responded and if only her voice hadn’t squeaked, the delivery would have been perfect. “As soon as you’re ready to board, see me and I’ll put you on the right plane in the right seat to the right destination.
“What do I have to do?” he asked. “Fill out a profile online?”
Was he actually considering it? She swallowed and the really bad feeling she’d tamped down earlier roared back into her chest.
Talk him out of it.
It was a stupid idea in the first place. But how else could she have responded? He was disparaging not only her profession but a company with her name on it.
“Online profiles don’t work,” she said. “In order to find your soul mate, I have to know you. Personally.”
Dax’s eyelids drifted lower and he flashed a slumberous smile that absolutely should not have sent a zing through her stomach. “That sounds intriguing. Just how personal does this get, Ms. Arundel?”
Was he flirting? Well, she wasn’t. This was cold, hard business. “Very. I ask a series of intensive questions. By the time I’m finished, I’ll know you better than your own mother.”
Something dark skittered through Dax’s eyes but he covered it swiftly. “Tall order. But I don’t kiss and tell, especially not to my mama. If I do this, what happens if I don’t find true love? You’ll be exposed as a fraud. Are you sure you’re up for that?”
“I’m not worried,” she lied. “The only thing I ask is that you take this seriously. No cheating. If you commit to the process and don’t find true love, do your best to spread word far and wide that I’m not as good as I say I am.”
But she was that good. She’d written the matching algorithm herself, pouring countless hours into the code until it was bulletproof. People often perplexed her, but a program either worked or it didn’t, and she never gave up until she fixed the bug. Numbers were her refuge, her place of peace.
A well-written line of code didn’t care how many chocolate bars she ate. Or how easily chocolate settled on her hips.
“That’s quite a deal.” His gaze narrowed. “But it’s too easy. There’s no way I can lose.”
Because he believed she was pulling a fast one on her clients and that he’d never fall for it. “You’re right. You don’t lose either way. If you