Disgusted with the entire situation, he went into the house at twelve to wash up and eat a quick lunch before this Dominique arrived.
She was probably his mother's age and homely.
Still, he made sure to brush his teeth after he ate his tuna sandwich with lots of onions and dill relish just the way he liked. Trolls already had a less than flattering reputation amongst other fae creatures. No need to have bad breath and reinforce that belief.
He'd just dried his face and hands when the doorbell rang.
Clay looked at himself in the mirror and shook his head. He had no doubt that this would be a pointless endeavor. When it proved to be, he would use the situation to convince his mother to stop meddling in his love life.
He brushed a bit of sawdust off his shirt and walked to the front door, fully expecting a plump matron with grey hair and an unfortunate hat.
Instead, he found a tall, statuesque woman with long golden hair, glowing golden skin, and eyes of ice blue. She was a vision. Perfection. Her pin-up curves were draped with a dusky blue dress that clung in all the right places but managed to look professional at the same time.
"Uh..." Clay had no idea what to say.
The gorgeous creature smiled at him. "Hello, my name is Dominique Proxa. You must be Barclay Dugan." She held out her hand as she stepped inside.
"Guh," he replied, taking her hand on autopilot.
"Your mother told me so much about you."
"Um." He had to get his shit together and actually string a collection of sounds into a coherent sentence. "Please, come in." Like a specter, the voice of his mother drifted through his mind, reminding him to be a good host. "May I get you something to drink?"
Dominique shook her head, releasing a delicate cloud of fragrance. Her perfume was subtle but just as intoxicating as the lady wearing it.
"Please come into the living room," he said, gesturing to his left.
He watched her walk into the room and admired the view for a moment. Then, he released a long breath. As beautiful as she was, she was way out of his league. And likely high maintenance. Something he didn't deal with well.
Still, she was enough to drain all his common sense.
Clay followed her into the living room and sat down in one of his favorite chairs. She was looking around, smiling.
"Your mother told me that you made furniture. Did you make all of this?"
He shrugged. "Just the shelves and this chair. Oh, and the coffee table. Upholstery isn't my strength, so I bought the couch from some big furniture store."
"Well, what you did make is absolutely lovely," she said, turning that smile at him.
He felt his brain cells dying and cleared his throat.
"Thank you," he answered, his voice gruff.
"You're welcome." She leaned over and lifted a large leather bag into her lap. He hadn't noticed it when she came in because he was so blinded by her. "Now, we should get started. Some of my questions will seem strange, but you'd be surprised how often little details can be a problem when finding someone a match."
"Ms. Proxa—" Clay began.
"Dominique, please," she interrupted.
"Dominique, look, I need to be honest with you. I really don't want to use your service. You see, my mother is the one who—"
She laughed, the sound as bright and appealing as a bell. "I understand." She folded her hands on top of her bag. "You see, she's already paid for the first month of service, though, and we don't offer refunds unless we're unable to find you a suitable match within a year."
Clay winced. "How about this? I'll do the interview and go on one date. Then, I won't have wasted my mother's money and I can convince her that this is a horrible idea."
Dominique cocked her head to one side. "Why do you think this is a horrible idea?"
"Look at me," he said, waving a hand over his upper body. "I'm big, rough, and ugly. I'm literally a troll. Other fae aren't exactly crazy about my kind. I doubt you'll be able to find anyone who would be interested in meeting me."
