Billionaire's Matchmaker

by Sierra Cartwright

  Hope’s scowl deepened. As long as she refunded Rebecca’s money, Prestige was under no obligation to the Sterlings.

  “I know he’s challenging—”

  “That’s not the word I’d choose.”

  “This is delicate, Hope.” Celeste was direct to the point of bluntness, so her sudden vagueness was surprising.

  “His tastes are unusual,” Hope said.

  “It’s more than that. Finding Rafe a wife will open avenues that you can’t imagine.”

  Instead of cruising through a yellow light, Hope stopped so she could concentrate on what Celeste was saying.

  “There are others…”

  Like Rafe? “Listen, Celeste…” She’d accepted Rafe’s challenge. Pride alone wouldn’t allow her to walk away. “I will find him a suitable wife.”

  “I knew I could count on you.”

  The car behind her blasted its horn. Without her noticing, the light had turned green. Before she could respond to Celeste, the call ended.

  A few minutes later, Hope pulled into her spot in the parking garage. Although it was April, the humidity was oppressive, the sky a milky, churning gray. She slipped out of her blazer as she took the stairs to the third floor.

  This morning, she was the first to arrive, and she unlocked the suite before walking into her office. After dropping her belongings on the credenza, she sank into the white utilitarian leather chair behind her glass-topped desk.

  Her desk phone’s light flicked on and off, indicating waiting messages. Since Skyler, her assistant, wasn’t in yet, Hope listened to the first voicemail, from a potential client who preferred to talk rather than use email.

  The second was from a woman she’d talked to last week at a business mixer, hoping to meet an older gentleman she’d seen listed on Prestige’s website.

  Rafe Sterling not withstanding, the week was off to a promising start.

  A knock on her doorjamb made Hope look up.

  Skyler stood there, carrying a tray that held two extra-large cups bearing the logo of their favorite shop. She also held up a small pastel-pink bag. If there was a God, there would be a chocolate cake doughnut inside. Without waiting for an invite, she sashayed in. “I come bearing gifts. A quad latte for the Matchmaking Maven.”

  Four shots of espresso? “Are you a mind reader?”

  “You were still emailing me at midnight, and I know you had to get up before five to meet Mr. Sterling.”

  Greedy for the gift, Hope held out her hand.

  “I want the details.”

  “Anything. Even my firstborn. Just hand it over.”

  Skyler held the cup just out of reach. “You have to promise not to leave anything out.”

  Except for the ones about the collar, the kiss, or how impossible it was to banish the image of waiting for him at the end of the day. “What’s in the bag?”

  “Exactly what you’re hoping is in there. You just have to share the details in return.”

  “Anything you want to know,” Hope lied. All was fair in love and doughnuts.

  With a grin, Skyler handed over the latte, then shoved the bag toward Hope before dropping into a chair. “How did that colossal piece of McHottie sexiness take the news that he’s getting married?”

  “McHottie? You didn’t just say that.”

  “His picture’s in his file.” Skyler flipped her long blonde braid over her shoulder. To Skyler, hair was the ultimate accessory.

  Hope took a sip before exhaling a deep, thankful sigh. The coffee was still hot, and Skyler had opted for whole milk instead of the fat-free version that Hope usually selected. It was heaven in a cup. “We don’t refer to clients that way.”

  “Of course we don’t.” Skyler popped the lid off her cup and blew on the contents, sending foam skittering over the rim. “My question remains.”

  “He was less than enthusiastic.” She’d expected that, however.

  “He looked at the candidates, though. Right? And did you slide my folder in there?”

  “You’d miss working with me too much.”

  “Yeah. Working is so much better than shopping and having spa days on an unlimited credit card.”

  Hope captured the corner of the small pink bag and dragged it toward her. If she ate the pastry, she would have to hit the gym before she went home. Suddenly that seemed like a reasonable choice.

  “Who did he like the best?”

  Hope broke off a chunk of the doughnut and popped it in her mouth. “No one.”

  “Are you kidding me? What man wouldn’t want a former pageant winner?” Skyler took a drink. “Maybe he is waiting for me.”

  How had she managed her business without Skyler? Since she’d joined the team, business had doubled. She showed up with a good attitude, worked as long and as hard as Hope did, and she could be trusted with all their clients’ secrets, which was why Hope added, “He has certain…requirements that we weren’t aware of.”

  “Oh?” Skyler scooted back in her seat. “Do tell.”

  Until now, Hope thought she was unshockable. Their clients were from all parts of the globe, men who had the means to be as discriminating and unique as they wished. She’d had requests that a woman have a soft nature or that she wear heels at all times, even in the house. Other clients specified that any potential match had to be fluent in a specific language—French, Spanish, Arabic, Mandarin. Several had requested advanced degrees, including PhDs. A memorable octogenarian had been in search of a voluptuous twenty-something-year-old who was willing to read him bedtime stories. “He is into BDSM.”

  “He’s into…” Skyler’s coffee spilled over the side of her cup.

  Praying her voice didn’t waver, betraying her conflicted emotions, Hope continued. “He expects his wife to drape herself across his lap to have her ass spanked when she makes mistakes.”

  “That’s hot. I’d fuck up all the time.”

  Hope raised her eyebrows.

  “What? You wouldn’t want Hottie McHottie to light up your butt?”

  “No!” Hope guzzled the burning-hot latte to cover the fact that she was flustered at wanting just that. Then she leveled her gaze at her assistant. “You would?”

  Skyler squirmed. “Oh, yes.”

  “And greeting him on your knees at the end of the day?”

  “Yum. Bonus points if I get to be naked.”

  Hope’s hand shook. “Are you serious?”

  “Why not?” Skyler placed the lid on her cup. “Variety being the spice of life, right?”

  Skyler’s reaction was reassuring.

  “Do you want me to ask the candidates if they’re willing to be tied up and spanked by their future husband, or are you planning to call them?”

  “Jesus.” Hope shook away her thoughts and forced herself to focus on the problem at hand. Should she come right out and ask the women if they were amenable to a BDSM relationship? Or should she paint a vague picture? After all, she would have said no way until his compelling voice had wrapped around her and his touch had all but incinerated her.

  Too bad she didn’t have more time to craft a strategy. “He has a—I’m not sure what you’d call it—some sort of form for the potential women to fill in.”

  “Limits list.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a great way to talk about where each person is. The submissive can redline certain things—like humiliation, or an implement such as a paddle or a cane.”

  Hope shivered. “And you know about this, how?”

  “Sorry to interrupt.”

  Tony Kingston, her new associate—and Prestige’s lone male employee—stood in the doorway.

  “Looks serious,” he said. “Is this private?”

  Most mornings, they all gathered in Hope’s office or the conference room for an impromptu meeting to catch up and set the day’s agenda. “Come in,” Hope replied.

  “You look as gorgeous as ever,” Skyler said. “The purple tie is fabulous. Brave. Confident. Inviting without being too decadent.�
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  “Uhm…thank you?”

  “It was a compliment,” Skyler assured him.

  Tony did some modeling on the side. He stood a couple of inches over six feet tall, had well-defined biceps that came from lifting weights, and he offset his weakness for M&M’s with grueling runs each night after work. His inherent fashion sense ensured he complemented his golden-brown good looks with the perfect attire.

  When he’d first applied for a job, Hope had shied away from the idea of hiring a man, but Celeste had convinced her it was a good idea. Hope’s mentor had been correct. With his wardrobe full of gray suits and bold-hued ties, he exuded class in an old-world way. His soothing tone invited intimacy, and his eyes promised trust. His quiet confidence appealed to men and women both. Since he’d come on board, Prestige had begun accepting female clients.

  “All this coffee and sugar. Carbs. What’s up?” He pulled back a chair, then sat in it with legs outstretched.

  “We’re just talking about the Sterling Worldwide heir and his kinky demands.”

  “God, Skyler!” Hope waved her hand. “Show some restraint.”

  “Sounds like my kind of conversation.” Tony grinned.

  “Not you too.” The discussion spiked Hope’s blood pressure

  “Catch me up.”

  “He has a limits list,” Skyler said.

  Tony pressed his palms together. “He’s twenty-four seven?”

  Both of her employees looked at her, and Hope shifted. “Yes. Collars and…” She broke off another piece of doughnut to cover her discomfort. “He wants his wife to call him Sir.”

  “We’re trying to figure out the best way to talk to the candidates,” Skyler finished.

  “It’s delicate.” He thought, then shrugged. “Our general nondisclosure should cover this.”

  Hope hesitated to even run this past the firm’s lawyer.

  “I suggest we talk to each candidate, see if she’s at all interested in that type of relationship. If so, invite them to a mixer. He’s adept at handling his own negotiations. We stay out of it as much as possible.”

  Hope nodded. “Skyler?”

  “I think we should let them know as much as we can in advance.”

  “I disagree.” Tony leaned forward. “As long as the woman is open to BDSM, it’s up to Sterling to handle it.”

  Decision made, Hope nodded. “I agree with Tony. Skyler, after nine, start making the calls.”

  “To the women we’ve already presented? Or should we expand it to the next set of ten?”

  “Let’s start with the original five.” Even though he’d professed not to like any of them.

  Assignment understood, Skyler and Tony headed toward the door.

  “Wait.”

  They stopped.

  “See if we have anyone who likes kayaking or mountain biking.”

  “Mountain biking?” Skyler asked. “In Houston?”

  “I hear Memorial Park has some trails. And we’re not that far from Hill Country. There has to be someone who enjoys it, right?” Who also wanted to wear the collar of one of Houston’s most eligible bachelors. And have his baby. She wasn’t certain why those thoughts made her uncomfortable.

  After Hope fled from his office, Rafe had crossed to the window and placed a palm on the wall as he looked down. He’d replayed their conversation, and he struggled to vanquish the thought of her as his submissive. He scened with women who were experienced, but he was captivated by the idea of instructing her in the joys of surrender. He wanted her mouth to part from his caress of pain, gasp with the sting of pleasure.

  Proving he already had power over her, she’d stopped on the sidewalk and glanced up. He stayed in place until she hurried off, as if frightened by what she saw.

  She had reason to be.

  When he crossed his office to return to his desk, he inhaled the scent of lilacs, and he wasn’t certain whether or not he’d imagined it.

  After shaking his head, he emailed her his limits list. Though she intended to use it to screen his candidates, he wondered which things she’d cross out and which she might be willing to try.

  Those unanswered questions made his cock hard, so he shoved them away to concentrate on business. Getting his father reengaged with the business would settle the issue with Noah, take the marriage pressure off Rafe, and allow him to pursue the curvy little matchmaker.

  Resolved, he’d called his father again. Annoyance flashed through Rafe when the call went straight to voicemail. He left a message before rolling the gnawing ache from his shoulder.

  When the phone rang sometime later, he snatched it up, expecting his father.

  Instead, it was Celeste.

  “You met with Hope.”

  Like him, she rarely wasted precious moments on pleasantries. “If that’s what you would call it.” He sat back.

  “Don’t blame her.” And before he could say anything, she added, “Or me. We were tools for your mother’s use.”

  As if Celeste would ever be a mere tool for anyone. “Which makes both you and Ms. Malloy complicit.” He reached for the mug of coffee that Jeanine had brought a while ago. He’d ignored it until now. “Your input might have made their task a little less burdensome.” He took a drink. The contents were tepid, but caffeine was caffeine and maybe it would help ward off the headache grinding at the back of his skull. “All beautiful. All…goddamn perfect.” It was a glimpse of his ideal woman and make-believe life. No wonder he was pissed off.

  “There’s another matter…”

  Celeste was a master of the expectant pause. In fact, she had studied theater along with psychology and business. A shrewder woman he’d never known.

  While he waited for her to speak, he traced the logo on the cup. Instead of the Sterling crown, this one was emblazoned with the golden Titans logo, a laurel wreath cradling Athena’s owl.

  “You’ve had this thrust on you. So much responsibility. You’re capable of it, no doubt.”

  “Get to the point, Celeste.”

  “I’ve just gotten off the phone with Gideon.”

  Judge Gideon Anderson was the chairperson of the Zeta Society, nicknamed the Titans by an enterprising young reporter sometime during the 1930s.

  “Noah has been in contact with him, and the judge wanted to know if I’d spoken with Theodore. There’s a steering committee meeting at the Parthenon on Saturday to finalize plans for the annual gathering. There’s also some executive business that requires a quorum. Your father hasn’t said he will be there. We can assume he won’t.”

  “Christ.” He stared at the owl representing wisdom. Was it a coincidence the paint was peeling from the edges?

  For more than a hundred and fifty years, a Sterling had been seated at the board table.

  “Noah offered to attend in his stead.”

  Tension gripped Rafe’s shoulder, making pain from the bicycle crash jackknife through his body.

  “Find a woman who will best suit your needs and take away any doubt or potential challenges to your role as the leader of Sterling Worldwide.”

  It was a warning, not a suggestion.

  After Celeste rang off, Rafe pushed redial on his father’s number.

  “Ahoy, Rafe!”

  In relief, he loosened his tie. “When are you coming home, Dad?”

  “Not anytime soon. Lillibet wants to go on an around-the-world cruise for our honeymoon.”

  “Listen…” Rafe plowed a hand through his close-cropped hair. “A honeymoon happens after a wedding.”

  “I’m aware.” Impatience clipped Theodore’s words.

  “As far as I know, you already have a wife.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Rafe. Don’t burden me with your details.”

  “That you haven’t taken care of. Bigamy is against the law. You’ll need to file for a divorce if you’re serious. Have you even spoken to a lawyer?”

  “Lillibet wants this trip, and I’ll damn well ensure she gets it.”

  “Whether or not yo
u’re still married to my mother?”

  In the background, a female voice called out to his father, “Teddy! Teddy Bear!”

  “She’s always wanted to see Casablanca.”

  “Morocco?”

  “So romantic.”

  “She does know it doesn’t end well, right?” When his father didn’t respond, Rafe prompted, “The movie. Bogart doesn’t get the girl.”

  “I’m not sure she’s interested in the details. We’re leaving in May.”

  Next month?

  “We’ve hired a crew for the Lunar Sea, and we’re planning to be gone something like ninety days, maybe a hundred.”

  “Ted-dy!”

  “Goddamn it, Dad. You need to think about the business.”

  “Ted-dy!”

  “Coming, my love!” His father was laughing as he ended the call.

  Rafe lowered his phone. Then, uncharacteristically, frustration overtook him, and he slammed it onto the desktop.

  “Problem?”

  He looked up to see Noah on the threshold.

  This was turning into Rafe’s lucky day. “What can I do for you?”

  “Jeanine’s not at her desk, so I took the liberty of seeing if you were in.”

  He wouldn’t put it past Noah to have waited until Jeanine left. How long had he been there? How much had he overheard?

  “I’ve been trying to reach Uncle Theodore.”

  “Have you?”

  “There’s a piece of property that might be become available in Hong Kong. High-density area. Looking at it for a boutique-type of operation.”

  “Send me the information.”

  Noah adjusted his tie. “It’s not your particular expertise, is it?”

  It wasn’t. Rafe had spent a lot of his career at Sterling in the financial department. In addition to oversight and compliance, he’d been focused on expanding the company into new areas, muscling into parts of the hospitality industry that were ripe for disruption. But in his father’s absence, he’d been sleeping less than usual as he juggled all the various arms of the conglomeration, adjusting to a steep learning curve while pretending his father was still in charge.

  Aware of Noah waiting for him to snap, Rafe countered with, “Is there a reason you’re not confident in your own opinion?”