The best thing Michaela could do was find the perfect match for him ASAP.
Michaela spent the Monday after Gareth Tate’s exhibition searching for a match for Gabby Harrington. She’d never had such a tough time, though she usually found it was harder to find good matches for women than men. Gabby wanted perfect, but of course no man was perfect. Spending time with Gabby at the showing—where she’d literally had to tell Troy to shut up and get out because he kept wanting to put his two cents in—she’d quizzed the woman about herself, about how she viewed her own life and herself as a human being. She did not ask about the kind of man she might be interested in. Often, people thought they wanted one thing, when in reality they wanted something entirely different. Michaela had always found it best to learn everything she could about her client first.
A vivacious free spirit, Gabby owned a franchise of plant-based bakery cafés. When starting her business, she’d seen a hole she could fill as more and more people chose a plant-based diet. And they were dying for yummy baked goods. She wasn’t militant about converting anyone else to the lifestyle and even occasionally indulged in meat products.
“Sometimes I crave a hearty, meaty dish,” Gabby had admitted.
And Michaela had added, “Oh my gosh, you’d love my mother’s Irish stew.”
Gabby created the recipes, although if a franchisee or an employee came up with something amazing, she loved to add it to the menu, giving them credit. She operated her own bakery café in Carmel, which was where she did all her testing and apparently had quite an extensive kitchen. She was all about her work. Her forms of relaxation were long walks on the beach, hiking at Point Lobos or any of the other nearby state parks, and reading.
Now Michaela was having difficulty finding the perfect match for the workaholic baker. But it was only her first day on the job, and she still had high hopes.
Troy, on the other hand, was quite simple. He was fun-loving with a humorous nature, goal-oriented, intelligent, and hardworking, if his gold medals, his sporting goods empire, and his new venture with Matt Tremont were any indication. Michaela represented a number of accomplished women looking for the right match.
Yet Michaela kept passing over candidate after candidate.
This went on into Tuesday morning. The truth was she felt a little hitch in her chest every time she thought about picking up the phone to call a potential match for him. She’d never felt jealousy over any of the men she’d matched with amazing women. Because she didn’t date billionaires. She just didn’t. Which meant she couldn’t be jealous over Troy Harrington.
“Get over yourself,” she hissed to her empty office. Then she forced herself to dial.
When Michaela took her own emotions out of the equation, Alice Fletcher was a perfect match. After extolling Troy’s virtues, she said to Alice, “I think you’d enjoy spending time with Troy.”
Alice huffed out a breath. “I’m not sold on the idea,” she admitted. “He’s not exactly my type. You know I like the brainy ones rather than the sporty ones.”
Michaela could have told her that Troy’s sporty background had also given him the physique of an Olympian. And he had the looks of an Olympic god. But she never liked to make a match based purely on physique or looks. Alice was a beautiful woman—drop-dead gorgeous, in fact. She was also intelligent, accomplished, philanthropic, and a bit picky about the men she wanted to be matched with.
But this was good, right? Alice didn’t want to go out with him. Michaela would have to keep searching. Maybe she’d never find anyone. But what if the next lady she found was over the moon about a date with Troy? Maybe it was better that he go out with someone like Alice, who was on the fence about him.
Oh God, she couldn’t be jealous. She had to make this date work.
Instead of touting Troy’s physical attributes, Michaela said, “You know he owns a huge sports gear conglomerate. He might be athletic, but he didn’t get where he is without being brainy too.” She specifically used Alice’s descriptor. “And you don’t get to be an Olympic gold medalist without being smart, dedicated, and goal-oriented.”
She finally got Alice’s agreement. “All right, I’ll go on one date. But if he’s full of himself, I’m out of there.”
Michaela was almost affronted. “I would never take on a client who’s full of himself.” Then she added, “Or herself.”
Alice laughed. “You’re right. I’m being full of myself.”
Michaela said with a smile in her voice, “I never said that.”
She could almost see Alice pointing a finger at her. “You didn’t need to say it. Go ahead and make the date. Let me check my calendar.” She was silent for a few seconds before she came back. “I’m free on Thursday. But the weekend is completely booked. If Thursday doesn’t work, we’ll have to do something next week. Oh, and don’t make it too early. Maybe around eight.”
They ended the call, and Michaela’s hand hovered over the phone. She should call Troy now, but she glanced at her watch. It was late morning. She didn’t want to disturb his lunch hour. Maybe it would be best to call him that afternoon. Although the date was Thursday, she had no idea about his schedule.
Michaela knew she was making excuses. She’d matched him with a beautiful, accomplished woman. And yet… the thought of Troy in the arms of a gorgeous woman like Alice made her a little crazy. She didn’t want to analyze why.
Because she couldn’t be jealous. She wouldn’t be jealous.
But perhaps she needed a caffeine fix before she tackled the phone call. Yes, that was the ticket. She left her office to head to her favorite coffee place, Santa Cruz 9.
Coffee was her Dutch courage. Where did that saying come from? Why did only the Dutch have courage?
The order line was long. The coffeehouse didn’t have an order-ahead feature like the big chains, but she liked to shop and eat local. And Santa Cruz 9 was as local as you could get. She spent the time in line scrolling through her email, deleting spam—she never sent spam to a separate folder, to ensure she’d never miss anything.
She’d started on her subscription emails, deciding which she would save for later and which she would delete, when she had a faint olfactory fantasy. As though she could smell Troy Harrington’s attractive male scent. It triggered a memory of how his touch felt on her elbow, her arm, her back as he guided her. How, after she’d had more than one glass of champagne at the gallery on Saturday, she’d begun to imagine how it would feel if he touched her in other places. Her skin seemed to heat, and her body seemed to melt.
Then his voice burrowed deep inside her. “Imagine meeting you here.”
