Mia Zachary - Afternoon Delight

“Then let’s get started on the paperwork.” Chris widened his smile and swept an arm toward his office across the hall. “To your left is the computer café where clients fill out the personality profile and check their LM e-mail accounts. I’ll take you inside when we’re done.”

He waited for Tina to precede him into the office and held the guest chair for her before rounding his desk. After filling a new water glass from the pitcher on the credenza, he reached into one of the file drawers for a new client packet.

“Here are the brochures about the company, about the best ways to present yourself in person and protect yourself online, and some testimonials from former clients. Also in that folder are the application, payment options and an inquiry consent form.”

Tina’s brow furrowed. “You’re going to investigate me?”

“As a precaution, we look into all of our applicants’ pasts, searching for criminal records. We wouldn’t want to accidentally put a client into a dangerous situation.” Chris leaned forward to point to a particular paper. “This sheet is the confidentiality statement, basically stating that none of your personal information will ever be revealed or sold to advertisers.”

He settled back in his chair, allowing Tina a few minutes to examine the brochures. There was no need to continue his sales pitch—he had good instincts. He recognized the signs of excitement and anticipation that love might be only a few dates away.

Tina looked up from reading. “Are you one of the ‘intelligent, dynamic people who are ready to find the love of their life’?”

Chris forced a chuckle. “I’m flattered, but unfortunately not available.”

She smiled shyly. “Too bad. You seem like a really nice guy and I like your honesty. She’s lucky, your lady.”

Honesty was a tightrope he carefully balanced on every day. He hadn’t lied—he never dated clients—but he sure as hell hadn’t told the whole truth either. He couldn’t afford to.

Tina stacked the brochures and closed the folder. “Sounds too good to be true, Chris, but sign me up anyway!”

“Once you fill out all of the forms, I’ll take you into the café and show you how to start the questionnaires.”

Twenty minutes later, he was back in his office with a capocollo and Swiss on sourdough. He pushed aside the mail his office manager, Lara, had left for him to make room for the sandwich, chips and soda. Lunch Meetings had become known for entrées like spinach, mushroom and chicken quesadilla but Chris was a ham and cheese kind of guy.

He stripped off his suit jacket and loosened his tie before diving into the food. He’d had a busy morning and this afternoon would be dedicated to his private seminars, so he had to eat fast if he wanted to get some of the administrative tasks out of the way. After popping open the can of cola, he pushed the speaker button on his phone to listen to his voicemail.

Hi, Chris. It’s Andrea. Give me or Diana a call when you get a chance, will you? Mom is acting really strange. Wait until you see her hair! She’s being very secretive and won’t tell us what’s going on. If anyone can get something out of her, it’s you. Talk later. Bye.

He jotted a note to drive over and see his mother. As the only male in the house with a single mother and two older sisters, he’d quickly learned how far charm would get him—Mom had rarely denied him anything. He’d been meaning to do some yard work for her, anyway, and that would give him a chance to find out what had Drea and Di so worried. He pushed the button for the next message.

Hi, Mr. London. My name is Amy Wong and I write for the San Francisco Inquirer. I’d like to make arrangements for an interview—

He erased the voicemail without bothering to hear the rest. The tabloid had been after his story for months, trying to get the inside scoop—or more likely the dirt—on the business, anything to explain the LM phenomenon. He’d never granted them an interview and he never would to protect himself and his clients from exposure.

Christopher, I’d like my mystery novels back and I have your DVDs. Let me know when it would be convenient to make the exchange. The call disconnected with an audible click.

He and Rachel had broken up after he overheard her tell a friend that he was “the guy you have sex with, not the one you stay with.” When he confronted her, Rachel had accused him of investing more energy into other people’s relationships rather than into his own.

She was probably right. Though he’d liked her, he hadn’t loved her. In fact, he wasn’t sure he’d ever really been in love. Lust, infatuation, but never love. He’d mail Rachel the books; she could keep the movies.

He played the last message. Mr. London, this is Andrew Johnston from Hollinger/Hansen. I have good news. Our principal investor is interested in your expansion project. However, before the Board commits any venture capital, we’d like to see a more detailed business plan. Call me at 555-4642, extension 201.

Chris dropped the last of his sandwich and played the message again. Another investment firm had turned him down two weeks ago. A wide grin spread across his face as he listened. Hot damn! It looked like he might be able to open locations in Oakland and San Jose after all.

He leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head, and gazed through the two-way mirror at the dining room and café. He’d done it!

In high school and college, fixing up his friends had been just a game. During his years at UCLA he’d parlayed his knack for matchmaking into free meals and Bruins football tickets. Eventually he’d turned a psychology major with a minor in statistics into a flourishing business. He’d taken a gamble and made it pay off not only for himself but also for his many happy clients.

It was ironic, actually, because love had nothing to do with his success. Despite his track record for others, Chris couldn’t seem to make a relationship last more than a month or so, a fact he was very careful to keep to himself. Who’d want to use a dating service run by a guy who was frequently single, a guy who didn’t believe in the idea of true love he so convincingly sold?

It all came down to science, namely mathematics and chemistry. If you presented people with a potential mate who mirrored the traits they wanted to see in themselves, the probability was high that these two people would experience infatuation. After infatuation, respect and commitment would hopefully follow.

Not that he hadn’t experienced a number of failures. His matchmaking skills hadn’t worked at all on his parents.

Chris had been eleven when his father had dumped the family, walking out on him, his mother and sisters. He’d never seen it coming. His parents had never fought, always discussing everything quietly and rationally, and his father swore there wasn’t another woman. Just some half-assed need to figure out what he wanted from life.

Chris had listened to the calmly delivered speech about things sometimes not working out the way you hope, nodding his head while his whole world imploded. He’d felt like his chest was on fire from the pressure of holding back sobs of anguish. Don’t go, Daddy. Don’t leave me. As his father turned away, the pressure bubble inside him had popped and the tears flowed freely.

It was the last time Chris ever cried.

He’d seen his father regularly, during awkward visits and strained outings, but it felt like there was a hollow space inside him. His mother had wanted her husband back, though, so Chris had done what he could—getting in trouble at school so his parents would have to meet in the principal’s office. But then later his more mature attempts also met with failure…

The intercom buzzed, shaking him off that line of thought. He listened to Lara’s voice. “Hi, Chris. Frank Lanvale is here for his one o’clock.”