Almost Matched (Almost Bad Boys) by A.O. Peart Read Free Book Online

 
     

 

     
    FIVE
    “ The great question… which I have never been able to answer, despite my 30 years of research into the feminine soul, is ‘What does a woman want?’”
    Sigmund Freud
     
    I’m in my office, talking on the phone with one of our long-term customers when my cell phone chimes. I glance at the screen. The number seems familiar, but I can’t place it. A moment later the voicemail ding announces a new message.  
    Ali sticks her head in my office and mouths to me, “Are you about done?”
    I nod, pointing to the phone and mouth back, “Esther Bosarge.”
    Ali rolls her eyes. Esther is one of our first members. She is still a member. We’ve carefully matched her six different times, but Esther is never satisfied.  
    I scribble on my notepad, ‘Let’s grab something to eat’ and show it to Ali.
    She gives me two thumbs up.  
    Esther continues to complain in my ear in her strong French accent. I assure her that her latest match, which she is very unhappy with for God knows what reason, does in fact have a Master’s Degree in Economics, and that we always verify all the information provided by our members. So no, his education isn’t something he just made up. I tell her that our program will search through the profiles once again and we might find a good match this or next week, since we have new gentlemen signing up daily. She’s my personal client—oh, fucking joy—and so I go through all the profiles matched to hers, choosing the best possible ones.  
    When Esther finally lets me go, I holler to Ali, “I don’t know what to do with Esther. She’s way too picky.”
    Ali walks into my office, purse in hand, shaking her head. “We might need to put her on the ‘A List’.
    The ‘A List’ means the ‘Arduous List’. It’s our name for the members of a very particular taste that are extremely difficult to match. It’s as if, deep inside, they don’t really want to meet anyone who could sweep them off their feet, but rather prefer to be demanding and endlessly catered to.  
    “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing,” I say, bringing my cell phone up to my ear to listen to the voicemail from a few minutes earlier.
    Ali drops down in the chair, legs stretched out. “Hurry up. I’m so hungry.”
    “Oh, my.” I grin at the voicemail on my phone.  
    “What is it?” Ali perks up.  
    “Colin called. Hold on.” I raise my hand to stop her so I can listen to the end of his message.
    Ali watches me as if trying to read my expression.  
    “Well?” she asks, anxiously, when I put the phone down and don’t comment.  
    “ Well , he said he saw my number in his missed calls list and was sorry he wasn’t there to pick up.”  
    “That’s it?” Ali seems disappointed.  
    “He wants to take me out to dinner. So it worked quite nicely—just like Caroline suggested.”
    “What did she tell you?”
    “Not to call after that one time. She said he would see the missed call from me and if he’s really interested, he will call.”
    “That girl is a genius.” Ali mocks.  
    I snort. “She was right though. I’ll call him back from the restaurant. This way we can just get together for a drink. More casual and less time invested in case he turns out not to be what I expect.”
    “Good plan,” Ali agrees. “I have a feeling that he might be a keeper.”
    I sigh. “Yeah, you said that about Rich too.” My voice carries an accusatory note, and I inwardly chastise myself. It’s not Ali’s fault that Rich turned out to be a liar and a cheat.  
    “I know, and I’m sorry. He’s a total douchebag.”  
    We decide on Rudolfo’s—a tiny Italian restaurant in downtown Bellevue, just a few minutes’ drive from our office. It’s the smallest restaurant that I’ve ever known, so we are taking our chances on grabbing a table without reservation during dinnertime. We get lucky and spot one empty table in the corner. It’s getting dark outside, and the heavy rain that had