Dex nodded. “The good news is our plan makes more sense than ever. We’ve just taken possession of the element of surprise. He has no idea we’re on to him. When we present Knox with the real match of his life, his guard will be down. He won’t be expecting the love of his life.”
“No one expects the love of their life,” Cam said.
Dex rubbed his hands together. “He’ll be powerless to resist her,” he said, his voice pitching higher with excitement. “And taken completely off guard by her charm, charisma, and animal magnetism. He won’t know what hit him until love has completely steamrolled over him. Then he’ll be putty in her hands and ours.”
“Force fields down, Knox buddy.” Dylan punched the air.
A couple of the men clapped. “Right on.”
“By the time Ashley releases Knox from his promise to Ruck, he’ll take her up on it with a sigh of relief.” Dex’s grin grew even wider. “Now that have the element of surprise, we need to figure out how to wield it to our advantage most effectively. No leaks. He can’t find out that we know he faked his profile.”
Cam slapped Dex on the back. “Great job.” Cam’s expression turned smug. “And think of it—Knox has been intentionally subjecting himself to failed dates. I’ve had plenty of uncomfortable dates where the woman is nice enough, but there’s no chemistry and no connection. They’re torture. Worse than an out-and-out bad date. There’s some satisfaction for us in that.”
“I feel sorry for the women he’s been matched with,” Jeremy said. “It was unfair to them.”
Jeremy was right. Besides all that, Knox was making my business look ineffective and Ashley appear inept, when she was the most brilliant matchmaker on the planet.
“We can’t undo that, unfortunately.” I blew out a breath to keep from exploding. I was furious with Knox. And angry with myself for not seeing this hole in our matching system before.
Dex laughed. “What are you so angry at?”
“I don’t like being played,” I said. “I feel foolish and naïve for believing our clients always legitimately fill out their profiles. For not even thinking some would game the system.”
“And why would you? They’re paying good money to find a partner. For the average person, what would be the point? Cheer up,” Dex said jovially. “With our software, you now have a check you can use.”
He made a good point.
“Ashley’s usually good at outing any fakers.” Jeremy’s brow was furrowed. “She has an instinct for matching people. Why didn’t she spot Knox?”
“My guess? She’s too close to Knox. Too blinded by her loyalty to him and Ruck to see through Knox,” I said. “There was always a little chemistry between Ashley and Knox, even when Ruck was alive. Because of that, she may have believed she’s a closer match than she was.” I paused. “Jus, run the compatibility between Ashley and Knox again. How close of a match are we talking now?”
This time I was excited while I waited for the answer. Though there was a moment of doubt—what if Knox was actually a better match than he or we thought?
“Eighty-five percent, Lazer.” Jus showed me the results on his screen.
I fist-bumped him. “A solid B in compatibility with Ashley. Not bad. It’s within the tolerance to make a happy relationship.”
“But it gives us a whole lot more room to work with,” Dex said. “So? What would you like us to do, Lazer? Start our search again using the profile of Knox we generated as a baseline? There’s a small risk I’m wrong.” He shrugged. “I mean, I’m not. But it’s your call.”
“Run with the new profile,” I said. “Find me his match.” I could have put my pinkie to the side of my mouth like a villain, but I resisted. “The bastard doesn’t deserve a happy match, but it’s the only way I’m getting him out of my hair.”
Austin put his arm around my shoulder. “Ah, the things we do for love.”
Austin could always make me smile. “Get back to work,” I said.
By Saturday afternoon, the guys were bleary-eyed and flagging. They’d turned up dozens of good matches, matches that were closer to Knox than Ashley, but nothing practically perfect. Damn, I was beginning to sound like Mary Poppins. In this case, small powder wouldn’t do. We needed the major cannon. We needed a home run. A siren Knox couldn’t possibly resist.
The search was overwhelming. Given the odds, it was a wonder anyone ever found a spouse. I was beginning to believe falling in love with the right person really was a miracle.
Suddenly, Jeremy fist-pumped from his comfy spot on the conference room sofa. “I got it. I found her. We have a match, boys.”
Most of the guys had headphones on. One by one, they noticed Jeremy gesturing and pulled them off.
“I got it. I found her.”
I was in one of my top-end recliners, fiddling around with a financial report for a company I was considering investing in and doing my due diligence on. The others were similarly draped in other recliners and sofas around the room while they worked.
I set my laptop aside and stood behind Jeremy where I could look over his shoulder and read his screen. The other guys gathered around.
A headshot of a stunning woman was on Jeremy’s laptop screen. The air suddenly fizzed with excitement. Fatigue disappeared, replaced by the scent of success. There’s nothing as energizing or as empowering as a win.
“Callie Campbell,” Cam said, reading from her profile.
“Nice.” Dex whistled softly. “She’s tempting. Never met the man, but from your description of him, he doesn’t deserve that much beauty.”
Jus leaned down to take a closer look at our first glimpse of hope. “Look at that.” Justin pointed to the fact sheet our program had complied on her. “Fate has dealt us an unexpected ace. Her late father was a veteran. He was killed in freak helicopter crash while on duty.”
“Ah, yes,” Cam said. “Duty to a fellow officer. We can use that.”
“She looks familiar.” I frowned. “Where do I know her from?”
“Says here she’s a model,” Dylan said.
“A model. A model.” I squinted. I’d seen her somewhere.
“Wait a minute,” Jus said. “We have a problem. Take a closer look at her profile. Jeremy, bring up some other images of her.”
There was a collective holding of breath.
“What?” Jeremy frowned, obviously puzzled. “What am I missing? What’s the problem?”
Jus pointed to her profile. “Congenital amputee. She was born with an underdeveloped left arm and no left hand. You can’t tell from her picture there. But it’s right there in the fact sheet.”
The guys crowded around.
“You think that disqualifies her?” Dylan asked, sounding affronted.
“Me?” Jus shook his head. “I have no problem with it. I don’t think many men would. Look at her. She’s gorgeous and confident. But think about it in this situation. No matter what we do, it’s going to look like we matched two people up because they’re both missing left hands, or parts of them. Unless we play this with extreme caution, it’s going to look insensitive. We’re only going to get one shot at getting them together. We can’t blow it.”
Cam rubbed his chin. “So what do we do? Keep looking for another woman?”
Dex shook his head. “I hate to say it, men, but she’s our best hope.”
“How do we approach this? Let’s see what else we can find out about her.” Jeremy brought up another search on her, including many images. In one of them, she was wearing a wedding gown.
There air grew tense. “Look at that. Damn,” Dylan said.
The picture jogged my memory. “Bridal show. She models bridal wear. She was a model in a bridal show that Ashley dragged me to.” I pointed. “That picture. I remember that dress. And the model wearing a robotic arm. I was there.”
“Wow,” Jeremy said, scanning through more images. “She has a sense of humor. Look at her Halloween costume. She’s gone full-on cyborg.”
“Look how man
y prosthetic arms she has,” Dylan said. “She changes them like accessories.”
“Look at that one.” Cam whistled softly. “Now that’s cool.”
The guys broke into a technical discussion of how the arm worked, the software and hardware involved, and the impressive response of the prosthetic.
“You think that arm qualifies as human enhancement?” Cam asked. “It was a question we asked in the military. Losing a limb was on our minds at times. If you lost a limb and could come back into service enhanced—”
“You mean with a gun arm?” Jeremy said.
“Any kind of weapon arm. Or tools,” Cam said.
“It’s a replacement, not an enhancement—”
A lively discussion about cyborgs, what was and wasn’t a cyborg, and about human enhancement and the biological ethics of it followed.
As interesting as it was, I interrupted. “How close of a match is she, Jeremy? How many parameters does she match? Should we keep searching and see if we can find another equal, or better, match?” I was hoping for an easier option.
Jeremy flashed me an apologetic look. “Dex was soft-pedaling it. We’re not going to do better than Callie, Lazer. She’s a perfect match.”
I was stunned and momentarily speechless. Knox didn’t deserve a perfect match, but one certainly upped our odds of success dramatically. If our software was accurate and Callie was a perfect match, we had no choice. Our search was over.
I crossed my arms and looked around at my tired friends. “We’ve found our woman. Let’s take a break and meet on the deck for dinner later, refreshed and ready to tackle the next steps. Go get some rest.”
I didn’t get any argument.
Several hours later, we regrouped for dinner. I had my chef prepare the guys’ favorites. The staff fired up the outdoor fireplace and heaters. We dined on the back deck again, looking out over the infinity pool. The meal and the fresh air revived the guys.
Jeremy had compiled our work from the afternoon, made a dossier on Callie, and put it into a PowerPoint presentation he shared with us. We all sat, staring at our laptops, reading and processing the data, looking for errors, double-checking each other’s work.
“I can’t see any flaw with our methodology,” Cam said. “Unless all of Callie’s posts and profiles are total BS, we have a winner.”
“What do we do now?” Jeremy shut his laptop. “How do we play this? What lies do we tell? How do we set this up and get the two of them together?”
“I’ve been giving this some thought.” I sat up straighter, pleased with the plan I’d devised. “We have to have some way to drive them together, smooth them through rough spots, and give them the best possibility of success.
“We can’t rely on Knox to ask Callie out or give her a fair shot at a match date. He’s too set on Ashley. We have to throw them together. Force them to get to know each other. Drive them to see how perfect they are for each other. Ratchet up their desire.”
“How do we do that?” one of the men asked.
Dex grinned. “We need a power play. Something seductive. I say we take a cue from a famous seventeenth-century French courtesan and control the options. We have to get Knox to play the hand we deal.”
“Exactly,” I said. I knew the rules of power as well as anyone. “The first step is to get Callie on as a Pair Us client.”
There was a moment of thoughtful silence. Some concentrated looks. Some scratching of chins. And, finally, some nodding.
“Great,” Dylan said. “We’re in agreement. How do we make that happen?”
“Ashley’s always on the lookout for new members and clients,” Jeremy said. “She found Crystal at a steakhouse and talked her into joining. We could stalk this Callie and make sure Ashley runs into her someplace—”
“And that Ashley immediately recognizes Callie’s potential for Knox,” Cam said. “And that Callie will be receptive to Ashley and sign up. Sounds like a lot of work and leaving things too much to chance.” He frowned. “Unless we clue Ashley in on this. That would eliminate some of the uncertainty and risk. Are we coming clean with her?” He looked to me.
“Are you crazy?” I shook my head. “Adamantly, no. If she catches wind of what we’re up to, she’ll kill the plan. And possibly me.”
“Yeah,” Dylan said. “She’d definitely kick you out of bed. We don’t want to send her into Knox’s arms.”
The others agreed.
“So what do we do?” Jeremy pointed to our flowchart. “We’re back to the first input. How do we manipulate Callie into joining Pair Us, keep Ashley in the dark, and deal Knox the cards we want that lead him into Callie’s arms?”
This was where being a business major came in handy. “Guys,” I said. “Now that you’re all matched, you’re no longer useful to me as spokesmen and PR fodder for Pair Us. I find myself in the market for a new spokesmodel. A woman would be a nice change. A beautiful, poised, well-spoken women who’s had media training and is used to being in the spotlight. And I’ve been wanting to add more diversity to our client list, too. A beautiful model would certainly bring more male clients in. Sound like anyone we know?”
3
Callie Campbell
I rushed to a job interview for an important gig that could launch my career to the next level, cursing Seattle traffic for moving at a crawl. As usual, Murphy’s law applied to traffic—if anything could slow down traffic, it would. And the slowdown was proportional to the rush you were in. I couldn’t afford to be late. There was no way I was making a bad first impression for a job this important. No way. I’d get out and run if I had to.
It wasn’t often, as in practically never, that a job as a local celebrity spokesmodel opened up. Even rarer that an interview for it fell out of the sky into your lap. Even in Seattle, the home of high tech, the world’s largest online retailer, and boundless other startups and Fortune 500 companies ostensibly with spokesmodel needs. Do you know how much I coveted a job as an insurance girl on a commercial or car brand spokesmodel? I’d even take a local dealership gig to get my foot in the door. So, okay, this wasn’t a national spot, but Seattle was a major market, and now was the time to move from modeling to commercials.
The offer really had come out of the blue. I suppose most jobs do. Someone somewhere looks at the agency’s look book and requests you as a model. But this was different. Just yesterday, my agency received a call from billionaire Lazer Grayson’s office saying he was looking for a spokesmodel for his matchmaking agency, Pair Us. And he wanted to interview me. Yes, me. To be honest, I wouldn’t have put it past the agency to try to push a few other girls on him, too. In case I didn’t work out. But apparently, I was the only one he was interested in.
The job included a joint promo with another company he was invested in, Flashionista. I knew local models who would kill for a Flashionista gig. Once you got on, if they liked you, you were practically guaranteed steady work and endless access to their sample sales.
Grayson had apparently already seen me model at a recent bridal show he’d attended with his fiancée and been impressed.
I pulled into a spot in the parking garage by the Pair Us offices and hopped out to get my spare arms out of the trunk. I’d been instructed to bring a change of arms. Not something your normally abled model would be asked to do. But it wasn’t an extreme request for a congenital amputee like me.
I was glad Grayson had seen me with my robotic arm at that show and my difference was out in the open. I’d spent my teen years being told I’d never be a model, and then hiding my arm with my cosmetic prosthesis until I finally decided to just be me.
The main problem with cosmetic prostheses—they were mostly for show and had very little functionality. I could manually bend the fingers to hold a glass and that was about it. I’d been inspired to be upfront about my one-armed status by other, more famous models who were just slightly older than me and who had broken the barrier. If Grayson was asking for me specifically, it was pretty certain he wanted a model wi
th a disability. Not that I considered myself disabled in any way. I was differently abled. I was who I was.
I wasn’t sure what being a spokesmodel for a matchmaking agency would entail, but I’d been instructed to wear street makeup and style my hair casually. To look like I would on a trip to the mall. To come as myself.
I was a little nervous about that. The billionaire had seen me all made up as a bride. Everyone knows a woman’s wedding is the one day in her entire life when it’s most important to look her best ever. I hoped regular me passed inspection. And looked good enough in the inevitable quick shoot with their own photographer. There was almost always a check. They’d want to see whether I was photogenic enough and had the right look to be both spokesmodel and Flashionista model.
I took my case with my arms—I’d actually brought two spares—and wheeled it into the building. The Pair Us offices were several stories up. I took the elevator and stepped into their offices, slightly out of breath, but right on time.
Everything about the offices screamed luxury and high-end appeal, right down to the romantically perfumed, slightly floral air. Roses in vases and arrangements of all sorts were strategically placed to further the air of romance. And pictures of happily matched couples adorned the walls, beautiful portraits of love advertising their success.
A stylish, middle-aged woman smiled at me from behind the reception desk. “May I help you?”
“Callie Campbell. I have an appointment with Mr. Grayson.”
She nodded and stood. “Callie! We’ve been expecting you.” She came around to the front of the desk. “I’m Lottie, Ashley’s personal assistant. This way.”
She led me to an office and knocked on the door. “Lazer? Ms. Campbell is here to see you.”
“Show her in.” The voice was deep and sexy. Lazer Grayson had been voted Seattle’s hottest bachelor several times, I believe. If the voice was any indication of his hotness, I could understand why.
Lottie stepped aside to let me in. A devastatingly handsome man sat behind the desk in the elegantly appointed office. He rose to greet me. Another, younger man rose from his chair, too. He looked familiar. If I wasn’t mistaken, I was in the company of Flashionista founder Justin Green, also a billionaire. I’d expected Flash to send one of their photographers or maybe the head of the department, but the founder and principal owner?
Mr. Accidental Groom Page 3