Saved By the Boss by Olivia Hayle

1

Summer

“A boss a day keeps bankruptcy away,” my aunt says. She’s perched on the edge of my desk with a wide smile on her face. “Isn’t that what we’ve always said? And Anthony Winter is the biggest boss of them all!”

“Yes, but he’s not signing on as a high-paying client. He’s our new owner.”

“No,” Vivienne corrects me. “Co-owner.”

“With a fifty-one percent stake.”

“Still an important distinction.” She walks to the gilded mirror in the corner of my office, one of two at Opate Match. We’re small, but we deliver love to New York’s elite. Started by Vivienne Davis twenty-five years ago.

Now sold by Vivienne Davis, two days ago.

And she doesn’t seem the least bit concerned the venture capitalists she’s sold it to will dismantle us.

I try a different route. “It’s your life’s work.”

“Yes,” she agrees, fixing her lipstick in the mirror. Re-arranging her honey-wheat hair, styled into shoulder-length curls. “But we’ve been close to bankruptcy for years. I hate that word. After today, let’s never use it again.”

“We have plenty of clients.”

“Not enough, Summer. You’re worrying, darling, and it’ll give you wrinkles if you’re not careful.”

I sigh. Ace lifts his golden head from the floor at the sound and flicks his ears, attuned to my moods. “I wish I could be as happy about this as you are. I know it’s a good thing, it’s just… well, there will be changes.”

“Dear, I’m the one who should worry, not you!”

“I know, I know.”

“They’re not allowed to fire any employees in the first three years, I made them put that into the contract. You’ll meet Mr. Winter when he drops by the office tomorrow. He’s the serious, grumpy type. Definitely committed to turning our numbers around.” She gives a small laugh. “In truth, I think our ability to turn a profit is the only reason he’s willing to stand me.”

I meet her smile with one of my own. My aunt is an excellent judge of character. “He’s too good for a matchmaking company?”

“He thinks he is,” she says. “We’ll see about that. But I don’t doubt his commitment to turning this ship right side up. We need some business savvy, Summer, and we need their capital.”

I sigh. “Yeah, you’re right. I look forward to meeting him tomorrow.”

“Good.” She puts her vintage handbag over her shoulder and gives me a winning smile. “I have to head out for lunch, or risk keeping the Walters waiting even longer. Did you hear they’re celebrating their twentieth wedding anniversary this summer?”

“I did, yes. That’s fantastic.”

“One of my triumphs. Suzy is out of the office too, had to run some errands. You’ll take a break, won’t you, darling?”

“Yes, I will. Ace and I will hit the park for lunch.”

“That’s a good dog,” she says, patting Ace’s head on the way out. “How about we have lunch at Olive next week? It’s been a while.”

“I’d love that,” I say.

“Then it’s a date,” she says, smiling. There’s the sound of heels on hardwood and then the decisive snap of our front door closing.

I lean back in my office chair and look down at Ace. My golden retriever looks back at me.

“Opate Match,” I tell him. “Sold, like a piece of furniture. To a venture capitalist.”

He cocks his head like only a dog can, as if he’s trying to solve a puzzle. But this is one I don’t have the answer to. Opate is Vivienne’s pride and joy. She’s poured her sweat, blood and tears into making it work for decades.

I know the decision to take in outside investors hadn’t been easy, even if we needed it. But her optimism seems unfailing.

Ace trails me as I head to the coffeemaker in the reception. Suzy’s desk is abandoned and the door to my aunt’s office left ajar. The three of us have tried to save this sinking ship for over a year, but competing with free dating apps, well… it hasn’t been easy.

I look out the window at the sun-drenched New York street and take a sip of my freshly brewed espresso. Selling out feels like the end of an era.

The buzzer rings on our front door. I frown, heading to Suzy’s desk. None of us have clients scheduled for the rest of the day.

I press down the answer button. “Opate Match, how can I help you?”

The voice is masculine and clipped. “I’m here for a meeting.”

A meeting? We don’t have anyone scheduled, but Suzy’s made mistakes before.

“Of course,” I say. “Come on in.”

I hide the coffee cup behind a steel statue of Cupid and brush away some biscuit crumbs from my skirt before opening the door.

I don’t recognize the man who enters. He’s also tall enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. Dark-haired and suit-clad, but so are most of the men who come seeking our matchmaking services. No hints at his profession there.

Early thirties, I’m guessing.

I extend a hand and give him my warm, professional smile. “I’m Summer Davis. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He looks at my hand a second too long before clasping it in his for a brief shake. “I’m here for a meeting with Vivienne Davis.”

There’s a frown on his lips, as if the prospect tastes sour on his tongue. He’s one of the more reluctant clients, then.

“Yes, that’s right,” I say. “She delegated the meeting to me, but I’m sure we’ll get off to a great start. I take it this is your first time here?”

His scowl deepens. “It is.”

“Excellent. Let’s get you sorted. You’re welcome to step into my office, just through here… would you like a cup of coffee?”

“No.”

“All righty. Just let me know if you change your mind.” I close the door behind me and motion for him to have a seat. Despite the scowl, he has a good look. Not classically handsome, I’ll admit. There’s something too rough-hewn about his facial features for that. But he’s tall and broad-shouldered, with an old-world masculine look. Not to mention he has the dark, scowling thing down pat, and there are tons of women who like that.

Yes, I think. I can work with this.

I take a seat opposite him and fold my hands together on the oak desk. “First and foremost, I’d like to thank you for coming in today. It’s the first step, after all.”

The stare he levels at me is unnerving. “Right.”

“I’m aware of how difficult it can be to try something like this, especially if you haven’t used any form of matchmaking services before. But we’re complete professionals, and I promise you that our service is always first-class. We’ll never pair you with someone we don’t believe will be a good fit.”

He leans back in his chair, hands curving around the armrests. Something flashes in his eyes. Is it amusement? This man is impossible to read, but I’ll figure out his language.

“Good to know,” he says.

“Not to mention we have complete client confidentiality.”

“Right.” His gaze travels from me to the framed images on the wall beside me. They’re wedding photographs.

A real chatty Cathy, this guy.

“All successes,” I tell him. Couples who meet through Opate often send their wedding photos to us, together with handwritten thank-you notes. I’d saved every one. “What made you approach Opate Match?”

He looks down at the sleeves of his suit jacket, re-adjusting them. Is he smiling? Offended? He’s giving me nothing to work with, and it’s not like I have access to his initial emails with Vivienne. No, I’m flying blind, but I’ll have to pretend I’m not. Is he a stockbroker or an oil tycoon? Interested in men or women?

I’m walking a tightrope over here.

“What made me approach Opate Match…” he repeats, his deep voice filling my office. “Truthfully, I’ve never had much respect for agencies such as yours. I‘ve long been somewhat of a… skeptic, you might say.”

I nod. This is not unusual. “That’s understandable when you’ve never been a client of one before.”

“Most dating services and websites seem to be quick ways for people to find sexual partners,” he says, looking straight at me, a glint in his eyes. It’s clear he thinks he’s offending me.

I lean back in my chair. If he thinks he’ll unnerve me, he has no idea of the matches I’ve brokered. Three times divorced? I’ll find someone perfect for them. Can’t date in public for fear of the press? Bring it on.

“There are certainly some who use dating services for that end,” I agree. “But Opate is not one of those services.”

“Oh?”

“No. We pride ourselves on making lasting matches, ones our clients are pleased with long-term. Naturally, what people do with their free time is outside of our hands, but once we know what a client wants, we’ll never set them up with someone looking for a different level of commitment.”

He gives a slow nod. “And the couples on the wall there? They all wanted the same level of commitment from the beginning?”

“For the most part, yes.”

“Hmm.”

“You don’t seem convinced,” I say, adding my widest smile. “I understand that blind dating can be unusual, intimidating even, when you’re not used to it.”

He drums his fingers along the armrest. “You believe in this company. In what you offer.”

“Of course I do,” I say. “I wouldn’t work here if I didn’t.”

“Many people work with things they dislike.”

“Not me.”

He gives another quiet hum and glances from me to the room around us. The hardwood floors and white walls, polished tables and expensive armchairs, filled with the elegant minimalism so common in high-end decor. “Opate Match profiles itself as a company for elite matchmaking. Matches for the rich and famous, I believe, is one of the tag lines.”

“Our clientele is well-heeled, yes.” I tip my head in his direction. “Like you.”

When in doubt, flatter a client.

The look on his face makes me think he’s fighting against rolling his eyes. “Right. Well, I understand the merits of that… but it doesn’t convince me the company deals in true love.”

I’ve had clients in my office who have cried, screamed, cursed the person they were just on a date with for not wanting to continue. This man might be obstinate, but he’s far from the most difficult case I’ve had. Has he been burned in the past?

“How so?”

“It’s prestige dating,” he says. “Trophy wives and rich men, or Upper-East-Siders who didn’t have the good fortune of meeting their future spouse at an Ivy League college. They’re not here for love, Ms. Davis. They’re here for an arranged marriage.”

My hands fall flat on the desk in front of me.

It’s one thing to be accused of being a service setting up people for the sole purpose of sex. It’s something else to be told I don’t deal in love.

“Our clients, due to their status, have a very unique set of challenges when it comes to dating. Not all of them can walk into a bar and talk to a stranger,” I say.

He inclines his head. “That can be difficult, yes. But for more people than just the so-called elite.”

“You’re right. A difficulty with dating isn’t unique to the people who hire us,” I say, smiling wide again. Whatever he might say, I’ll crack him. I’ll just have to work a bit harder. “But we always pre-vet clients before accepting them. The level of personal interaction between myself or Vivienne with each client means that the matchmaking is a far smoother process. There’s no need to spend three weeks dating someone to later learn you’re incompatible on some fundamental level.”

“You’ve turned a messy, human process into something logical?”

“In some ways, yes. But we don’t control it. We’re just facilitators. The real magic happens when our clients leave this office, ready to meet with someone who’s just as ready as they are to find a life partner.”

He gazes back at me. “I see.”

“Is it all right if I begin with some introductory questions? Just to get to know you better and round out your client profile.”

“Go ahead,” he says. Still with that half-scowl, half-amused look on his face. Like he can’t believe he’s actually here, sitting in this chair, about to do this.

I pick up a notepad and lean back in my chair, crossing my legs. Always better to have the first meeting face-to-face, to connect with a client. The computer comes later.

“Remind me,” I say, “how old are you?”

“Thirty-three.”

“Terrific.” I note it down. “Now, I understand your reticence about us as a company, but I assure you, you’re in good hands. We’ll be transparent about the entire process.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Are you looking for a male or female partner?”

There’s a smile on his face. “I’m interested in women.”

“Excellent.”

“Will you praise me after each answer?”

“Only if you’d like me to.” I lower the notepad. “Actually, how do you feel about praise? Is it a vital part of a relationship, or just good to have?”

“Knowing that,” he says, skepticism lacing every word, “will help me find a life partner?”

“Well, it will help me learn more about what kind of person you are. How you see relationships in general. Let me ask you this instead: what’s your ideal long-term relationship?”

“I’m not sure I believe in long-term relationships.”

I put the notepad back on my desk. This one has been burned indeed. He should have walked in stamped with a giant red caution sticker. “And why is that?”

“True love is a fairy tale,” he says. “Nothing lasts in life, and certainly not love.”

There’s a quick succession of knocks on my office door. I don’t have the time to reply before it’s opened, my elegant aunt on the other side. Her face turns into a serviceable smile as soon as she sees the two of us.

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,” she says, breathing fast. “I’ll be happy to meet with you in my office now. Summer, would you mind getting Mr. Winter and myself a cup of coffee?”

My heart stops as I look from her to the man in front of me, the one who never gave me his name. The one who didn’t say a word when I made my assumptions.

He rises from his seat and buttons his suit jacket in one smooth gesture. “A pleasure meeting you, Miss Davis,” he says. “It was very enlightening.”