The Matchmaker's Billionaire (Billionaire Bachelor Mountain Cove Book 2)

by Maria Hoagland

  She’d reached for the book when the front door opened up, allowing the mist and a gust of wind to blow through. She yanked her hand away from the hardback.

  “Can I just say he’s amazing?”

  Emily’s coworker Hattie Smith bustled in, crashing more than collapsing her umbrella, revealing her wild red hair, its frizzies escaped from a pair of huge clips on either side of her head. Hair with as much potential as Hattie’s drove Emily half-crazy every time she saw it. She was dying to share Daisy Covington’s curly hair tips and tricks from the MyHeartChannel EveryDayGlam! She’d hold back until she could find a tactful way to broach the subject. After all, what did Emily know about the challenge of defining curls in this humidity when she kept her own blond hair in a textured bob somewhere between straight and wavy?

  “Which ‘he’ are we talking about?” Emily suspected it was the trolley driver again, considering that Hattie was just coming into work. Emily surreptitiously checked the clock in the corner of her computer screen—a good eleven minutes late. But last she’d heard, Hattie had moved on from him.

  “Martin, of course. You remember me talking about him, don’t you?”

  “I thought you hadn’t heard from him since the Chocolate Lovers’ Festival a month ago. You’re not going soft on him again, are you? Not when he ghosted you after your big date for Valentine’s?”

  Hattie rushed to the chair on the other side of Emily’s desk and dropped her bag at her feet. “You know he didn’t ghost me. He had to be away for a couple of weeks for work, and now he’s back.” She pulled a small box of candied pecans from her bag. “He always does the nicest things. He remembered I said I like pecans and brought these over from his mother’s farm.”

  From the sweet things Hattie had said about him in the past, Emily might have okayed the relationship if she hadn’t known the guy since he picked his nose in kindergarten and rubbed it on girls’ hair. Some things were just unforgivable. She shook off the thought and the compulsion to shower.

  “Out of town for work? Isn’t he a tour guide on the trolley?” What could he possibly be doing for work out of town? “Speaking of,” Emily went on. They hadn’t technically begun talking about it yet, though Emily had planned to all morning. She handed the prepared sticky note with the name and email address on it. “Here’s the contact info for Luca, the guy I told you about who I met on the airplane. The one with the delicious Italian accent and fascinating life story.” She pressed her hands to her chest and gave a faraway look. “When I met him, I knew he was perfect for you.”

  Emily and Luca had spent the flight from Seattle to Dallas chatting about everything from weather differences between Europe and the Southern United States to funny misunderstandings when meanings got lost in translation. By the time they landed, Emily was convinced Luca and Hattie were split-apart soul mates and would know it themselves as soon as they met. After Luca deplaned, the last leg of Emily’s flight to the tiny Bentonville airport was as boring as sewing needlepoint cushions.

  “I told him you’d email him, so he’s kind of waiting,” Emily said.

  Hattie absently stuck the Post-It note onto her index finger, pulled it off, and then pressed it on again. “It’s so sweet of you to think of me.” Her eyes, now several degrees sadder than when she’d come in, flicked toward the door. “But if this—” She looked at the name on the note. “—Luca is so great, how come you weren’t interested in him?”

  “I was,” Emily said truthfully. “For you. The entire time, I knew the reason I was seated next to him was so that I could introduce the two of you.”

  Emily wasn’t trying to crush her friend’s burgeoning romance with Martin, but she wasn’t exactly keen on listening to Hattie’s indecision over the relationship. Hattie wasn’t great at making a choice and sticking with it, and if she wasn’t fully invested, now was the best time to dissuade her from going down that road again, if only to avoid the inevitable fork that could result in her crashing into the curb. Which was why Emily sent her on a detour toward Luca instead.

  With the joy leached from Hattie’s face, Emily felt the pressure to fill the silence. “There’s nothing wrong with him, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m just not interested in dating right now. My joy comes from my work.”

  With resolution, Hattie took the sticky note off her finger and put it inside her purse, but she still didn’t look any happier.

  Emily needed to give her a distraction. “I wish you could have attended the wedding reception in the Crescent Hotel conservatory last weekend. It was absolutely gorgeous with the pink and salmon peonies. Ah, but the best part, of course, was how happy Miss Taylor and Mr. Weston were together!” Considering how long she’d been out of school and the fact that both her former cheer coach and her chemistry teacher had given her permission, Emily ought to call them by their first names, but it was a hard habit to break.

  Hattie’s chin lifted as the change of subject took effect. “I’m sure they were! Didn’t you set them up?” She didn’t wait for Emily to answer before barreling on. “Who were her bridesmaids? Anyone I know?” Hattie pressed for details.

  The office phone rang, and Hattie leaned forward to reach for it, knocking a wire file organizer toward Emily. Neatly organized papers slipped across her keyboard and hung precariously over the edge of the desk. Reacting quickly, Emily caught the stack with both hands, and only a couple of the smaller receipts fluttered to the ground.

  “Eureka Springs Chamber of Commerce, Hattie speaking. How may I assist you today?”

  At the sound of her coworker jumping in to take the call, Emily calmed her internal panic and reorganized the papers. She’d spent an hour that morning making sure the necessary documentation was there, receipts included, and noted in the software. The stack was for Hattie to file when she finally decided to waltz in.

  “You’re looking for a dating service?” Hattie sounded confused, and she had a right to be. She’d only worked at the chamber for a few months now. After a while, she would no longer be taken by surprise by the bizarre inquires that filtered through this office. She swallowed hard, trying to come up with something akin to “we’re not that kind of place,” though truth be told, Eureka Springs had its fair share of history in that regard. What town didn’t? And to think a modern-day version didn’t exist either would be ridiculous. “Well, most people use websites or apps to meet people.”

  There was another pause, and the person on the other side of the line—a woman, Emily could tell from the pitch—continued to explain.

  “Someone who knows everyone in town?” Hattie’s voice changed from a hard no to an I might have someone. Apparently, the person wasn’t looking for what both Emily and Hattie had first assumed. Hattie’s eyes flicked to Emily’s. “Actually, I do.”

  With a catch in her throat, Emily widened her eyes in warning. What was Hattie roping her into?

  Hattie bent across Emily’s desk and swiveled the computer monitor so both of them could see it. Her finger traced the air above each row of the calendar until she stopped on the next day. She raised her eyebrows to Emily in question. “Tomorrow, eleven o’clock?”

  Unfortunately, the calendar not only displayed the city’s upcoming events but Emily’s professional appointments—or lack thereof on that particular square—as well.

  “I believe I can make that happen.” Hattie grabbed a stack of sticky notes—the same ones Emily had used to write down Luca’s information—and jotted down an address and a phone number. “I will let you know if she needs to cancel, but I believe I have the perfect matchmaker for you.”

  Emily settled back into her leather office chair, crossing her arms over her chest. She calmly waited for Hattie to re-cradle the phone and start convincing her that this was a thing she needed to do. When Hattie didn’t say anything, Emily did. “Matchmaker, really?”

  Hattie stood up straight and pushed her bushy hair over her shoulder. “You were congratulating yourself on the successful match of your old high sch
ool teachers, were you not?” Hattie put a hand on her hip. “And you do know everyone in town.”

  Emily’s initial reaction to the subject softened. Perhaps she could be persuaded. Appealing to her pride almost thawed her, but Hattie doing so deliberately put her back on her guard. She kept her face impassive. It would take more than flattery to convince her to get involved in a scheme that could go so very wrong in so many ways. “You said it yourself that the chamber of commerce isn’t that kind of service. Accepting this job would set the wrong kind of precedent.”

  “That’s not what they’re asking for. Not really. They’re simply asking for some leads on setting someone up for a special event. Not a big deal. Point them in the right direction, and they’ll take over making all the arrangements.”

  It didn’t sound much better.

  “Think about it, Emily. You do this kind of thing every day. You read people as soon as they walk through that door.” Hattie pointed the direction she’d just come from. “In one short conversation, you know whether a patron should book the ghost tour or the historical cemetery tour. You recommend restaurants and events and direct them to the correct shops. You know this town and its people.” She waved her sticky note at Emily. How the tables had turned. “Doing this interview won’t be any different. Meet the person. If any names occur to you, introduce them, and then step out of the picture. Easy-peasy.”

  Emily bit her lower lip, considering. Maybe not easy-peasy, but the challenge of it intrigued her. If she was successful, she could claim another match.

  “Don’t go as Eureka Springs’s chamber of commerce executive director,” Hattie continued. “Go as Emily Wood, matchmaker.”

  “Should I have a business card made up?” Sarcasm infused Emily’s words.

  “Okay, this is why you need to do it.” Obviously discerning that Emily teetered on the edge of acceptance, Hattie swooped in with the final push. “It’s for one of the new billionaires in town.” She raised her eyebrows and her hands to keep Emily from protesting. “I know the fact that they’re rich doesn’t mean anything, except—” Hattie paused, but Emily couldn’t fill in the blank. “—the commission alone would be worth it. Go and check it out. Might be the easiest money you ever make.”

  The money would be nice, Emily wasn’t going to lie, but curiosity’s pull was a much stronger motivator. A billionaire? Was it someone whose name she would recognize? The safest bet in this part of the country was that he or she was somehow tied to America’s biggest box store retailer headquartered nearby, but maybe this was someone who’d come into their money in a more interesting way. She could do a quick internet search and find out about this person before deciding to take the job. She checked the sticky note for a name, but Hattie had written “PA: Annalise.” Figured.

  Emily reached for her phone, for a moment making it look like she was dialing to cancel. Instead, she toggled to her calendar function to enter the information. This could be the adventure she was looking for, and as an added bonus, perhaps the connection would give her a lead on the headliner for the weekend event she needed to plan. She just hoped the client wasn’t a total creep or somehow unmatchable. She refused to set up anyone she had reservations about. “No guarantees.” She held up a finger to warn Hattie, as if she were the one who needed to know.

  “No guarantees,” Hattie agreed. “Now about the St. Patty’s Day parade. Where do you want me that day? Are you heading out to pick up your dad at the independent living center first or . . .”

  Yes. Back to order and organization and predictability. That was what Emily needed. These were her guarantees. Maybe she couldn’t control the outcomes, but she could control her efforts, and if she planned them well enough, everything would work out.

  4

  When the fountain of words slowed to a trickle, Grant surrendered. Perhaps getting his blood moving would get the words going as well. He’d spent the bulk of the morning writing, but when he got to the scene where Cruise had to flirt with his latest female main character, his ideas stopped coming.

  The crunch of the cinder path underfoot and the swishing of the tree branches with their new spring leaves overhead were a symphony accompaniment to the snapping of ideas and the calming breath of creativity. Now that he was taking a break, he had so many impressions running through his head, he couldn’t hold on to all of them. He pulled out his phone and tapped out a few notes, hoping one or two words would be sufficient enough to bring the concepts back to mind. Even as he wrote down one thought, three or four other ideas cascaded over him, slipping away before he could hold on. He captured as much as he could and paused to see if there were more. When nothing else came, he pressed on.

  As if scrambling up a rock cliff and then jumping over a raging river, his mind leapt from Cruise Donnelly’s fictional impossible mess to his own real problem. Annalise could be right—which, unfortunately, wasn’t the first time. He wouldn’t pass up being at the escape mansion grand opening, and he probably should do that with a date. But did he really need a matchmaker?

  Maybe he did. Grant always struggled to meet—or at least date—the right women. As a teen, he’d been the typical nerd, so wary of rejection that he hadn’t put himself out there often enough. His one real relationship was in college, though it died away when she graduated and moved on. He’d planned to propose at the same time she accepted a job in Washington, DC. Instead of getting married, she wanted to start a new life with a clean break. She hadn’t even considered his feelings or their time together when she tossed him out with her used textbooks. After that, he’d focused on his career, Cruise Donnelly, and escape rooms. But maybe it had been long enough. Maybe it was time to try opening his heart again.

  His career was solid, he had the means to make a long-distance relationship work if necessary, and he was no longer that kid in glasses afraid to get turned down. He’d seen enough of the world to know that he was still a nerd, but hopefully an interesting one.

  Unfortunately, his level of success generated different problems. Was it too much to ask for someone to like him for himself—not for his fame, not for his money, and absolutely not because she was in love with Cruise Donnelly? There was no way he could compete with his fictional character.

  Living life more fully wouldn’t hurt his writing. Taking a chance on dating—like finding a real person to start a relationship with—would certainly qualify as living. Loneliness was taking its toll, at least according to his editor, who insisted Grant needed to up his romance subplots.

  “They’ll add it to the movies if you don’t,” she’d said in her last email. “Women drive ticket sales, and we can only rely on Gavin Stone to carry it so far, even if he is the most swoon-worthy star these days, according to my movie night group.”

  If her comment wasn’t enough to get her point across, she’d threatened to turn his manuscripts over to a ghostwriter. Of course, Grant wanted his books and movies to stay on top, so he would take his editor’s advice and sweeten his action-packed books with romance. If he could figure it out.

  Steering clear of the spring mud, Grant picked his way back to the path to his cabin, inspired again. He was so at home here in the woods. He’d come to Eureka Springs as a retreat from the world, but with how much he loved his Frank Lloyd Wright house, he would probably spend more time here than at his house in LA.

  But he was getting ahead of himself. Relocating wasn’t a decision he needed to make anytime soon. All he needed today was to get his five thousand words written—which shouldn’t be too hard with these notes—approve the details of the latest escape room in Boise, and then sketch out ideas he’d had that morning for a new escape mansion.

  They currently had a deal to open three—New York, London, and Paris, with London being the prototype—but it had occurred to him on his walk that the New York mansion needed one in DC to go with it. What was a United States political espionage challenge without chaining the two? In fact, they almost needed simultaneous openings in Tokyo, Zurich, and Moscow a
s well. Then, using clues from his books, return players could access higher levels as they collected information from the various escape mansions throughout the world. There would be a limited audience for this since few had the funds for travel that extensive, but those who had the opportunity might like it. Of course, he’d make sure not to penalize patrons who could only attend one of the Cruise Donnelly escape mansions.

  He was twenty-two minutes into his second forty-five-minute writing sprint when footsteps entered the cabin. Slight, short ones that belonged to his personal assistant. He finished his sentence and then another, but didn’t want to stop and lose the thread.

  “Just a sec,” he said, not looking up. He typed a few more sentences and scratched a final thought on the notepad at his right. “What can I do for you?” he asked before he looked up. He could almost be annoyed at the interruption, but Annalise never did so without a good reason.

  “Your matchmaker’s here.”

  He was rethinking this she doesn’t interrupt me for the wrong reasons assessment when a pretty blond woman stepped up by Annalise’s side. Graceful elegance accentuated a casual fashion sense that exuded confidence. He would have recognized her wide-set green eyes, slender nose, and high cheekbones anywhere, but in Eureka Springs, this had to be none other than the one person who filled him with both dread and desire.

  “Emily Wood?” His chin dropped in surprise at seeing his old friend again. He swallowed, studying her. Sometime in the past decade, she’d cut her long tresses, but he liked this look. Stylishly messy was what came to mind, though he was pretty sure that wasn’t a technical term. How would he describe it in a book? “Come in.”

  Annalise faded from the doorway and closed the door, leaving them alone.

  “Grant Robbins?” Emily’s face paled, and his name came out with an edge.

  Why did she sound surprised? What exactly had Annalise told her as they’d walked over from the main house? The name of the client would have been the most logical place to start.