His lips do that twitching thing again. “You’re right. A neck wound would produce a lot of blood. You could push me out the window.”
“I would, but we’re on the ground floor.”
“Good point. Rat poisoning?”
“Tempting. However, I have no interest in going to prison.”
His smirk makes a reappearance. “Too busy doing single lady things, hmm? And who would take care of all the cats while you were away?”
I take a moment to consider how long I would go to jail for murdering a famous athlete, but decide he’s not worth the trouble. “I don’t own cats, but thanks for that zinger. You must be very proud of yourself. Was there something you wanted to say to me, Mr. Spark?”
His smirk fades. For a moment, he seems hesitant. A crease forms between his brows. He chews his lower lip. I can almost imagine how he looked as a boy, sweet and shy.
But then he folds his big arms over his chest and stares down his nose at me, and the illusion of sweetness vanishes.
He says accusingly, “Aren’t you supposed to meet your clients before you start setting them up on dates?”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“Today’s the first time we’ve met.”
Hello, Captain Obvious. I take a breath and square my shoulders. Dealing with this man requires the patience of a saint. “Normally, yes. However, Dick made it clear that you weren’t available to come in for a personal—”
“You didn’t even call me.”
I look at him askance. Where’s he going with this? “Dick informed me he’d be the liaison between us. But you filled out an extensive personal profile—”
“So you thought you knew me from some questions I answered?”
I open my mouth, close it, then take a moment to compose myself. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re getting at.”
He says deliberately, “You knew who Mason Spark was before today. Right?”
I’m not sure why he’s pushing this particular point, but I decide to proceed with caution. He’s got more money than God, and I can’t afford to defend a lawsuit. Business is going well, but I don’t have a spare hundred grand lying around.
And we all know how litigious people are these days. Even though my client contracts are thorough and I make no guarantees about outcomes, nothing is bulletproof. This man could ruin me if he really wanted to.
I say carefully, “Many of my clients are successful business people who don’t have the time to meet me in person. Or they live out of state, and an office visit would be inconvenient. But we complete full background checks, verify identities, and confirm—”
“Answer the question.”
Interrupt me one more time, and you’ll never be able to father children. I count to ten, reminding myself of all the reasons slicing off his testicles with my new scissors would be a bad idea. “I was aware of the name Mason Spark, yes.”
“You’ve read about me in the tabloids,” he says flatly.
“I don’t read the tabloids.”
“Online gossip sites?”
I stifle an exasperated sigh and stare at him. “No, Mr. Spark. I’m far too busy looking after my two dozen cats to have time to troll gossip sites.”
I can tell he wants to smile at that, but he doesn’t. “How’d you hear about me, then?”
“Because I don’t live in a cave?”
His expression sours.
Folding my arms across my chest to mirror his posture, I say, “I grew up in a home with five males. I’ll let you guess what was on TV every week between September and January.”
He pauses for a beat, staring at me skeptically. “You’re a football fan?”
I chuckle. “That’s much too generic. I’m a Patriots fan.”
Mason looks as if he’s physically ill and is about to barf all over my desk. “Lemme guess. Because Tom Brady’s just so dreamy.”
The amount of condescension in his tone could flatten entire city blocks.
If this meeting ends without the police being called, it will be a miracle.
“No, because Bill Belichick’s philosophy of stressing team work, preparation, strong work ethic, and lack of individual ego has led to six Super Bowl victories, eighteen consecutive winning seasons since 2001, a record for most wins in a ten-year period, the longest winning streak of regular season and playoff games in NFL history, the most consecutive division titles won by a team in NFL history, and the most Super Bowl appearances by a team in NFL history.”
When Mason only stands there gaping at me in disbelief, I smile. “Plus, Tom Brady’s just so dreamy.”
After he’s recovered from what appears to be a brain aneurysm, Mason says accusingly, “I think you had pre-conceived notions about who I am and set me up with the wrong women.”
Dear Lord, please grant me the patience to deal with this man without resorting to violence. “I went strictly by the information filled out in your paperwork, nothing else.”
“What about chemistry?”
“That’s why you have an initial phone call with the ladies you’re matched with, and then a lunch date if the call goes well.”
“As we both know, the calls didn’t go well. So there weren’t any lunch dates.”
I take a moment to assess the situation. Then finally my patience comes to an end. “I believe you have a point. Feel free to make it before we both die of old age.”
Now I know he’s trying not to laugh, because a dimple flashes in his cheek, there then quickly vanished. I get the sense he’s suppressing it with sheer force of will and feel sorry for that dimple. It’s probably going to get a beating later on.
Sounding like a teacher reprimanding a misbehaving student, he says, “I’m very disappointed in your service.”
When I open my mouth, he holds up a hand. “No—don’t tell me again about refunding my money. We’re past that. What you have to do now is make it up to me.”
My eyebrows decide now would be a good time to climb up my forehead and disappear into my hairline.
Seeing my expression, Mason gifts me with his signature smirk. “We can work it around your busy cat grooming schedule.”
It’s a few moments before I can get my tongue to work. “And how exactly do you propose I make it up to you?”
He hesitates again. Eyes burning, he shifts his weight from one enormous foot to the other. He seems to be struggling to put something into words, but then he startles me by throwing his hands in the air and thundering, “How the hell am I supposed to know? You’re the damn matchmaker!”
He turns around and storms out of my office, throwing the door open so hard it slams against the wall and rattles all the windows.
After a moment, Auntie Waldine pops her head around the threshold of my door. Her blue eyes are as big as saucers. The color in her plump cheeks is high.
“Land’s end, Maddie, what did you say to the poor man? He ran outta here like his tail was on fire!”
“Pfft. I should have set him on fire, I’ll tell you what. Never in all my life have I met a man so…”
“Good-looking,” says Auntie Waldine, sauntering into my office with her hands propped on her ample hips. Nodding, she clucks her tongue. “I hear you, child. That man was—”