Mr. Accidental Cowboy_Jet City Matchmaker Series_Dylan

by Gina Robinson

  “We’re confident the ball will not just be great fun, but the opportunity of a lifetime to find your soul mate. To add to the fun and mystery, even the guest list is being kept secret. All guests are asked not to reveal online or elsewhere that they’ve been invited, or to reveal to anyone outside of the Pair Us staff whether you’ll be attending or not and what costume you’ll be wearing. Anyone who posts about receiving an invitation, whether or not they will attend, or what costume they will be wearing before the event will have their invitation rescinded and revoked immediately.

  “We’re excited about the ball and hope to see you there. Let the mystery of love begin…”

  Steph held her finger over my phone as if she was about to press a button. “Do you want the pleasure of accepting, or shall I do it for you? Because there’s no way you’re hesitating or not accepting. You’re going to this thing and I’m going to make your costume.”

  Steph knew me well. Sometimes I overthought things. This wasn’t one of those times. I grabbed the phone and accepted the invitation, grinning wildly. “Happy?”

  “Ecstatic. And so are you, judging by the look on your face.”

  “I never thought I’d win,” I said. “I’m not that lucky.”

  “You are too lucky,” she said. “Your problem isn’t luck. Your problem is skepticism. You don’t enter drawings because you don’t see the point when the odds are against you, and you hate giving out your email address and personal info. You don’t have enough statistical data to say you’re unlucky.” She was throwing my own words back at me. “But this pretty much proves that you are…lucky. And soon to get luckier.” She waggled her eyebrows comically.

  I shrugged and looked at my phone again, smiling at the “thank you for your response” screen. “This is interesting—the guest responses are all hidden.”

  “That makes sense, doesn’t it? If they’re trying to keep the guest list secret.”

  I nodded. She was right. I was too ditzy with happiness to think straight. “Do you think this is a big experiment for Pair Us?”

  “You think too much like an engineer. What kind of experiment?”

  “Whether two people can find their match in a crowd. Whether two matches will hit it off better when the pressure of their identity is off.”

  Steph pursed her lips, finally shaking her head. “Maybe. I think it’s more likely it’s just a great singles mixer to augment their services and a fabulous PR move. And they’re offering those nudges, remember?”

  I nodded. “At least it’s something to occupy me and look forward to.”

  “Yeah, like the marriage market from those old romances you’re always reading. This is your season.” She knew my penchant for Regency romances.

  I laughed. “And I’m the old spinster who’s facing her last chance at love? And hoping for some old aristocrat who needs a mother for his children.”

  “You aren’t old.”

  “Not by today’s standards. But for then, I’m ancient.”

  “Let’s be happy we live in today’s world, then.” Steph was good at making up silly lyrics to existing melodies. She began softly, and teasingly, singing the billionaire is having a ball. And Laura is going to find her true love.

  “You’re full of it.” I stared at my phone again. “I don’t expect to meet Prince Charming at this thing. The odds of that are long, maybe even exponentially set against me.”

  Steph stopped singing, suddenly frowning, deep in thought.

  “What?”

  “Hmmmm…I don’t know,” she said. “I was just thinking—maybe you aren’t lucky.”

  “You just said I was.” I shook my head at her fickleness. “Backtracking so soon? Changed your mind—I shouldn’t go to this ball?”

  “Did I say that? You’re going and that’s final. No doubt there.” She raised her brow, giving me an expectant look, like I should be catching on by now. “What if you aren’t lucky—what if you were selected? Dylan is one of the eligible bachelors Pair Us is touting as a perk of this thing. Meet and marry a hot multimillionaire. Has your matchmaker given up so easily?”

  I laughed. “You’re full of it. Dylan will stay far away from me, believe me. He’s already proven he’s leery of me. And there’s no way anyone would go to these lengths, and this expense, to get us together. That’s crazy.”

  “No one’s saying they’ve done it all just for you. But if it’s a perk of the plan…” Steph gave me her smug, knowing look. “Has Dylan given up?”

  I rolled my eyes at her ridiculous question. She knew our past history, the full story, every embarrassing and emotional detail. “He hasn’t gotten in touch, and that’s probably wise. Why revisit that particularly painful time?”

  “Maybe he’s curious,” she said. “Maybe he’s still waiting to hear why you apparently shunned him. You should still tell him why and what really happened.”

  “He won’t be hard to avoid. I’ll just stay away from tall guys dressed as cowboys.”

  Steph frowned. “Laura—”

  “Don’t.”

  She sighed and looked sympathetic. “You like tall men. You liked Dylan.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t have to like cowboys. Cowboys were the problem.”

  “Don’t sabotage yourself.” She wagged her finger at me. She knew how much I hated when she did that.

  I grabbed her finger and grinned. “I’m not worried. How many tall guys will dress as cowboys?”

  She leaned toward me. “How do you know he’ll be dressed as a cowboy?”

  “Maybe because that’s what he was every Halloween,” I said. “I think it was a compensation thing, or maybe wish fulfillment. Dylan was always way too large and stocky to be a cowboy.”

  “Well, if you want to know what I think…” she said.

  “Do I?”

  “You should put the past behind you and go after any hot guy who catches your fancy—cowboy or Dylan or not. There are worse things in the dating world than getting a second chance with a guy you blew it with when you were young.” Her eyes narrowed as she looked me over. “We are going to make you so hot that no one will be able to resist you.”

  “Stop it,” I said. “Wipe that look off your face. I’m not in college anymore. I’m not going as slutty anything.”

  Yeah, in college, we were slutty everything—from slutty witch to slutty kitten and even slutty crayon.

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh ye of little faith. I’ve come a long way, baby, with my costume design skills since then. And you have a much larger budget for supplies.”

  “True,” I said.

  “This should be a spare-no-expense outfit.” She leaned toward me. “I have connections now, too. I can get some pretty hot clothes and accessories at one of our Flashionista sample sales for almost nothing. And we’re in luck—Flash is having one this Friday. I was going to ask you if you want to come.”

  She was my costume jewelry, handbag, clothing, and shoe connection. We regularly hit the sample sales together. What we couldn’t find at a sample sale, I bought off Flashionista’s website. They were a flash-sale fashion site with wonderfully steep discounts on up-and-coming boutique and designer clothing. Steph had an eye for what was trending and would become popular. She was always game for helping me put together a fashionable outfit. I was one of the best dressed engineers around. And very affordably so, thanks to Flashionista.

  “What do you want to be?” Steph said, eyeing me as if she was already taking my measurements and plotting a costume in her mind.

  “Guess.”

  “No.” She shook her head.

  I raised an eyebrow and gave her my optimistic look.

  “Only if you give me free rein.”

  5

  Ashley

  Love may look random, but a matchmaker can’t leave everything, or even most things, to chance. Love must be carefully cultivated, gently nurtured, and nudged to the point of shoving when necessary. Love is blind, but not always in the way the famous saying means. Some
times it’s blind to the possibilities in front of it. Sometimes it’s blind to the right person. Sometimes it’s just meandering blindly in the dark.

  A matchmaker must be cunning. She must use guile. You might even say there are times she must manipulate the situation and the people in it. Being a matchmaker is not for the timid or the faint of heart. While not generally considered a profession that relies on intrigue, there are times when resorting to clandestine techniques is called for. Dylan and Laura’s case was one of those times, which was why all the subterfuge around the ball.

  Lazer was sitting with me in my office when the first wave of email invitations to the ball went out. I had my laptop open. We were perched like expectant parents. We had our eyes glued to the response sheet, amazed as the responses rolled in.

  “It doesn’t look like we’re going to be snubbed. Or have to resort to our auxiliary list.” He leaned over my shoulder as I watched for Laura’s name.

  “There.” I pointed, slumping in relief.

  “That’s the one, huh? Dylan’s soul mate.” He leaned close, his breath hot in my ear. “Laura—kind of a common name, isn’t it?”

  “I’ll talk to her parents about it.”

  He laughed.

  “I hope she’s the one for him,” I said. “I think so.”

  “Now that we don’t have to convince her to accept our invitation, what’s our next move?”

  “We wait for her to tell us what she plans to wear to the ball and make sure we have at least half a dozen other tall women dressed as whatever she is in attendance.”

  “You’re as diabolical as you accuse me of being.”

  I looked at him. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” I glanced at the screen and back to him. “I hope we have adequate protections on this. You know people will be trying to hack into it. To see who’s on it. To add their name. To take out a rival.”

  I laughed. “This really is more fun than a matchmaker should be allowed to have. And more nerve-racking than I imagined.”

  “I have my best men on it.”

  I made narrow eyes at him. “Not Dylan and Cam, I hope. I’m trying to keep them out. You know they’ll be trying to hack in just for the sport of it.”

  Lazer laughed. “Yeah. But they won’t succeed. Austin’s on top of it. Jeremy’s helping him.”

  I nodded, satisfied. Austin was the best cybersecurity guy among them. If he couldn’t keep them out, no one could. “All right then.”

  I had several more windows open on my computer, monitoring news and social media for leaks. Sure enough, a tweet from our local celebrity gossip Sheri Carmichael popped up. I laughed when I read it.

  “What?” Lazer leaned in for a closer look.

  I pointed to Sheri’s tweet. “Somehow Sheri got hold of some of the text of our invitation.”

  “Gee,” he said, way too innocently. “I wonder how that happened?”

  I laughed with him, knowing he was the king of well-placed PR leaks. “Sheri thinks she’s so smart. Does she really believe she’s pulling one over on us?”

  He just shook his head.

  I pointed at the screen. “Did you read that? You’re getting a reputation as being eccentric.”

  “About time,” he said. “Normal-guy billionaires are boring as hell. If you can’t think of interesting and fun ways to spend your billions, why have them? All the best billionaires are eccentrics at heart.”

  “As long as you don’t become like Howard Hughes.”

  “No worries there. I’m not the reclusive type.” He put his hands on my shoulders. “And I have you to keep me semi-grounded.”

  “Only semi?”

  “You went along with this ball idea. Your hands aren’t clean. You have some eccentric tendencies, too.” He rubbed my shoulders. “Besides, you can’t be completely grounded and still be considered eccentric. Those two things are at odds.”

  “So what would be going too far?” I was genuinely curious.

  “I don’t know—an exotic zoo on the estate grounds?”

  “All right,” I said. “If I see you starting to acquire exotic pets, I’ll put a stop to it.”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “One or two exotic pets is nothing to panic about, is it?”

  “Depends on what they are.” I leaned my head on his shoulder. “What do you think Dylan will be for the ball?” I started to answer my own question.

  “Space cowboy,” we said together, and laughed.

  “What’s your guess for Laura?” he said.

  I thought about it. “I don’t know that I know her well enough to venture a guess.”

  “If you had to?”

  “If I had to—something with a nod to technology. Something urban fantasy or steampunk.”

  He nodded. “Steampunk, that’s good. Gears, gizmos, wild inventions. That sounds like something an engineer would come up with. Care to wager on it?”

  *

  Laura

  Steph rolled her eyes at me. “You want to be a swan? Again? Will you never get over that costume and be something else? What is it with you and swans? How about giving me a creative challenge for once? How many swan costumes have I helped you with over the years?”

  “What?” I said, trying not to get defensive. “I like swans. If I were an animal, I’d be a swan. They make a deep, throaty trumpet sound. They’re elegant, graceful, and have tastefully long necks.”

  My neck was long, which had been the subject of ridicule at times, and part of the reason I thought swans were cool. They were admired for their necks.

  “Swans are beautiful. No one wants to be an ugly duckling, but everyone wants to turn into a swan. In costume, I feel beautiful, like a real swan. It’s pure fantasy for me. Isn’t love a fantasy, a real-life fairytale?”

  She was still looking highly skeptical.

  “Swans are perfect in a romantic setting. They mate for life. I want to mate for life. I want every guy who sees me to be clear on that—I’m looking for a mate, a guy for the long term. Fly-by-nights need not apply.”

  Steph shook her head through my soliloquy. She’d heard most of it before. “Mate for life. Low, sexy call. All right. I’ll give you that. Once you explain it, it makes a certain sense. Realize, though, that most people aren’t going to make the connection on their own.” She got a twinkle in her eye. “Just what are you going to mate with, that’s the question. Any idea what kind of costume the guy of your dreams will be wearing?”

  I waggled a brow, which made her laugh. “Nah. No idea. As long as he looks hot in it, I’m not picky.

  “Be careful what you say. Fate may come back to bite you. What if your one and only comes dressed as a pile of shit?”

  “I think I’m safe. Ashley will screen out any piles of shit.”

  Steph relaxed and laughed. “Okay, so you want to be a swan for the umpteenth time. We need a brand-new, fantastic design for this ball—that will be my challenge. You know how we play this design game. Time for twenty questions—black swan or white?”

  “White.”

  “That was quick and decisive.”

  “May as well make the bridal connection obvious,” I said. “I’m looking for a man, a mate, a groom.”

  “All right,” she said. “I’m getting the picture—bridal. As in a big princess-style ball gown?”

  I shook my head. “No, definitely not. I want to look a little dangerous.”

  “Okay,” Steph said. “Now the challenges come out. A dangerous, bridal-looking swan in white. So, no stuffed felt swan head covering one shoulder and boob like that Icelandic singer wore a while back? The dress that got so much attention?”

  “Definitely not.” I frowned. “Way overdone at the time, for one thing. Even babies were wearing it. And two, despite the thrill of hoping a boob pops out from the beneath the swan’s head, too frilly and princessy. I want to look hot and grown up, passionate, but not slutty. Ready to give a man a thrill, but only if he’s mine.”

  “Wow.” Steph took notes on
her phone. “The list of weird, and yet somehow stringent, requirements grows. So far we have a list of no-goes and a theme, or maybe more a feel for the costume. It’s really a message to the men.”

  “Definitely. I’m done messing around.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You could take that two ways.”

  “That was purely intentional.”

  “Swan ballet costume?” she said. “That’s the real root of this, isn’t it? You always wanted to be a ballerina.”

  “Sigh,” I said. “Dashed dreams. I was always too big and tall.”

  She’d hit a nerve with me. Yeah, when I was young, I wanted to be a ballerina. I was pretty good, too. But way too tall. Ballerinas pretty much have to be within a certain range, which is about six inches shorter than I am, maximum. And they have to be thin enough to be tossed around by an equally thin male ballet dancer. Most guy ballet dancers would take one look at me and run, if they were smart.

  “The ballerina costume is the easy way out. And good for a laugh,” I said. “We’ve done that one too many times before. I need a swan costume that speaks to who I am now.”

  Steph took a deep breath and got a faraway look that meant she was thinking as she muttered to herself. “No ballerina, no swan heads, white and bridal, something that speaks to who you are.” Suddenly her eyes went wide and her face lit up.

  “What?” I leaned toward her.

  “I have an idea.”

  “Tell me.”

  “It involves a pair of thigh-high suede high-heeled boots I saw in the Flash sample room just this week when I was rummaging around looking for a prop for one of the photographers. At the time, I rued that they weren’t my size. They were yours. I bet I can persuade the powers that be to let me make a donation in advance of the sample sale so I can have those gorgeous boots.”

  “Okay. Intriguing. What else?”

  “Plenty of feathers, sequin appliques, silver brocade, arm-length gloves, and silver and white brocade.”

  “All of that popped into your head right now?” I was amazed by her talent and creativity.

  She laughed and looked a bit sheepish. “Yeah. Well, I have to admit, the genius isn’t completely mine. I saw an awesome outfit when I was in Bellevue last fall during the steampunk convention. I really admired it. I think I can modify it and make exactly what you’re looking for.”