Michaela and Gabby had cornered Troy away from the rest of the family. He wasn’t sure any of them would stick up for him if they learned about the bet and that he’d tried to hire Michaela to matchmake for Gabby.
Michaela wasn’t intimidated. On the contrary, her smile was serene. “I can’t make a match for Gabby if I don’t make one for you too.”
Dammit. They’d turned the tables on him. He should have known Gabby would try something like this. His younger sister was devious. And yet she smiled so sweetly. “I’ve already agreed that I’ll do it if you will.”
Michaela went on, “All you have to do is go on the date. If there’s chemistry, then it’s all good. If not—” She shrugged. “—we’ll look for someone else.”
He shuddered at the thought of going out night after night with a stream of women he didn’t know. Now, if one of those women were Michaela…
But he wasn’t in the market for a match.
Still, his sister had backed him into a corner, literally and figuratively. Or more aptly, he had backed himself into it. Going to a matchmaker was probably the dumbest idea he’d ever had. He should have combed through his business associates and acquaintances, his old diving buddies. Damn, Dirk Pendergast would have been perfect if Michaela hadn’t already found his bride for him.
Troy looked from Michaela to Gabby and back. He was totally screwed. He’d started it, and now he’d have to pay the price. “Okay, fine, I agree to let you matchmake for us both.” Then he grinned wickedly and narrowed his eyes at Gabby. “But the woman has got to be perfect.”
When Michaela found a match for him, he’d find some reason to declare the woman a bad match and get out of the date.
Gabby waggled her eyebrows at him. “And if you refuse to go on any dates Michaela finds for you, you forfeit the bet.”
Damn. His sneaky little sister had him again. He glared at her. “Same goes for you.”
She laughed in his face.
He could have growled, but that was beneath him. “All right. Find us both a date.”
“Good.” Then Michaela made a shooing motion at him. “Now I need to talk with your sister to learn exactly the kind of man who would be perfect for her.”
He gaped. “Don’t you need to talk to me about my perfect woman? It wouldn’t be fair to send me out on dates with women I might not have anything in common with.”
She sighed as if she wanted to roll her eyes. “I already have you figured out,” she said dryly.
Wait. What? Was that an insult?
Or maybe she’d already figured out that his perfect date would be with a woman who looked and smelled and acted exactly like Michaela.
Fernsby stood like a sentinel beside the portrait Gareth Tate had painted of him. It bore no resemblance to him whatsoever. The man in the portrait looked like he had a pole up his behind and lacked any expression, though admittedly the cut of the clothing was expensive and immaculate, and the eyes were the same gray. The features bore a few craggy lines, which Fernsby admitted to having. But the lips were too thin, and the nose was a veritable beak. Surely that was the feature the artist had exaggerated, because there was always an exaggerated feature in each of Gareth Tate’s portraits. Yes, that had to be it—the nose. Fernsby tipped his chin in the same pose as the portrait.
No, definitely, that man was nothing like him. Especially that nose.
He stood beside it to disabuse anyone of the notion that he was the subject.
But then he smiled, keeping his lips thin so that no one would realize it was a smile, and tipped his nose to sniff out potential romance in the air.
Michaela. What a lovely name. She, Gabrielle, and Troy appeared to be engaged in a heated conversation across the room.
Fernsby noted with delight the way Troy touched the young woman’s arm, a light brush of his fingers that perhaps Michaela didn’t even notice.
Troy had followed the woman around like a lovesick puppy, making all the introductions, never leaving her side. At least not until Gabrielle had dragged her off to that corner. Or had it been the other way round? Not that it mattered. If he were alone, Fernsby might have danced a jig. He was reminded of the song, parts of which Dame Angela Lansbury—such a pity the talented lady was now gone from their midst—sang so sweetly in the animated version of Beauty and the Beast, “Something There.” There was definitely something there with the dear boy that Fernsby had never seen before.
All Troy needed was a little nudge in the right direction. Right into the arms of Michaela Killian.
And Fernsby’s work would be done. Of course it would be. Because he was Fernsby. He could sniff out a budding romance before the lovebirds themselves even knew it.
He’d found Troy’s perfect match, long before the billionaire matchmaker could begin to guess what was coming.
“What a delightful time we had,” Michaela’s mother said.
The limousine Troy had rented for them flew home smoothly along Highway 1. Michaela had hoped—no, not hoped, expected that Troy would accompany them, since he also lived in Los Gatos. But he’d ushered them into the limo waiting outside the gallery.
