Set Up in SoHo (The Matchmaker Chronicles) Page 28
“It all seems a little bleak to me,” Cybil shrugged, “but, apparently it works; business does seem to be booming.”
“Yes. Although I still think we were better as a team.” Althea shot a pointed look in my direction, and I busied myself looking for something in my purse.
“Vanessa’s doing fine on her own,” Cybil said, jumping to my defense. “And your business isn’t hurting either.” She pointed to the newspaper, the Walski wedding headlining the society page.
“I suppose you’re right.” Althea sighed. “But think how well we’d be doing if we’d stayed a team.”
How well she’d be doing is more like it. I owe Althea a lot, don’t get me wrong. But being her minion had definite drawbacks. Most of them financial. And since I have a weakness for Versace and Prada, money is essential. Hell, even if I didn’t have a thing for Italian leather, money would be essential. This is Manhattan.
“Did you see who’s over there?” I asked, pointing to a table in the corner, more for diversion than from actual interest. “It’s Mark Grayson.”
Well, actually I suppose there was some degree of interest. A person would have to be brain-dead not to know that Mark Grayson was a cut above the rest when it came to wheeling and dealing.
“I saw him when we came in.” Cybil tipped her head so that she could see him better. “That’s Tandy Montgomery he’s with.” Cybil was always in the know, but was so used to the fact she sometimes forgot that the rest of us aren’t hardwired for the latest buzz.
“A new poptart?” Althea asked, apparently as out of the loop as I was.
“No, she’s the latest winner of that modeling contest. You know, the one on cable.” The last word explained why I hadn’t heard of her. Keeping up with the boob tube’s latest flashes of fame is more work than it is worth. The minute you catch up, their five minutes in the spotlight are over and you have to start all over again. I had better things to do.
“Well, she’s certainly not the right woman for him,” Althea said, her eyebrows disappearing into her perfectly sculpted hair.
Mark Grayson was new money, but he’d come by it the old-fashioned way. Hard work. And I wouldn’t have pegged him for the flaunt-the-starlet type. Still, he was a man—and given half a chance the gender tended to gravitate to vacuous, breast-enhanced types. All the better for me, really. I mean, if the right people came together on their own, I’d be out of business.
“Well, he seems to think so,” Cybil said. All three of us were now staring over at his table. Not the most polite thing to do. Especially in Bemelmans. But copious amounts of gin tend to blur the line a little when it comes to social behavior. And it was sort of interesting, watching him make his moves. Like a sort of sexual science experiment.
“So what else do you know?” Althea and I both leaned toward Cybil expectantly.
“About Tandy or Grayson?” Cybil asked.
“Both,” we said almost in tandem.
“Well, I don’t know much about her. And I’m pretty certain she’s not a permanent fixture—if you know what I mean.”
“Does he always pick the same type?” Althea asked.
“Redheads?” Cybil asked, frowning over at the would-be model. “I don’t think so. I know I’ve seen him with blondes before.” The martinis were clearly clouding her brain.
“No, I meant the empty-headed-girl-of-the-moment type.”
“You were expecting him to step out with flat-chested fortysomethings?” I quipped, but they weren’t listening to me, they were too busy watching Wonder Boy and his latest girl toy.
“No,” Althea said, shaking her head. “Of course not. I was just. . .”
“Sizing him up?” Cybil grinned, just managing to swallow her laughter. “So what did you decide?”
“Truth?”
Cybil nodded
“He’s not the marrying type.” Althea studied the man, her look calculating. “Of course, with proper persuasion . . .”
“He certainly seems the ideal candidate for your concept of marriage. Merger is his middle name,” Cybil agreed.
“Hey, I’m sitting here, too.” I frowned at them both, waving my martini glass at them. Not a good idea as it turned out, since the liquid also went flying. Fortunately no one seemed to notice except our still hovering waiter, who immediately produced a fresh napkin. “And, anyway, I found him first.”
“Darling, no one found him. He was here before we were. And besides, if anyone can land him, you know it will be me. I simply have more experience.”
Of course she was right, but I’d had three-plus martinis and I hated to be bested at anything. “Experience isn’t everything. There’s technique involved. And you always did say I have amazing instincts.”
“Instincts, yes. Technique, not so much. Besides, I’m the one who landed Walski as a client.” She sat back, crossing her arms as if she’d trumped me. But I wasn’t about to go down without a fight.
“Walski practically had ‘marriageable’ tattooed on his forehead. Anyone with half a brain could have hooked him up.”
“Maybe,” she acquiesced with a shrug, “but not with Susannah Barker.”
“How about John Pollard? He’d been notoriously single for years. And I managed to snag him almost right out of the gate. And marry him off, happily, I might add, three months later.”
“Pollard could be Pierce Brosnan’s twin. There’s not a woman alive who wouldn’t marry him if given the opportunity,” she countered, tossing back the rest of her martini.
“Yes, but he wasn’t quite as easy to please. And yet,” I paused for effect, “I did it. Which means that I am more than up to the task of convincing Mark Grayson that it’s time for him to take the plunge. And if we’re really rolling out the big guns,” I paused again for effect, “there’s always Franklin Pierpont.” Despite my subsequent defection, Althea knew I’d saved her ass on that one.
“Maybe you both should give it a go.” Cybil’s seemingly offhanded remark had exactly the effect she’d intended, both our heads turning in unison in her direction.
“How do you propose we do that? We can hardly share a client,” Althea said.
“I’m not saying that you should.”
“But you said . . .” This was getting interesting.
“I said that you should both try. I frankly don’t think either of you will succeed. But a little competition might be interesting. You’ve got to admit, Althea, that Vanessa has become quite successful. And, Vanessa, you’re always complaining that Althea gets all the attention. So why not prove who’s the best by seeing which of you can snare Mark Grayson. And once there’s a winner, I’ll announce it in my column. That way everyone will see it. The verdict will be final. And one of you will be crowned the ruler of matrimonial Manhattan.”
The idea had definite appeal. I mean, Althea might be mentor and friend but, let’s face it, she was big-time competition as well, and the idea of proving myself once and for all was almost irresistible. Not to mention the idea of having the fact touted before most of the free world. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said that Cybil’s column was an international must-read.
I glanced over at Althea, who was trying to appear uninterested, but I could see the calculation in her eyes.
“So the first one to sign him as a client wins?”
“No way.” Cybil laughed, idly rubbing her finger around the rim of her glass. “That would be too easy. In order to win, you have to dance at the man’s wedding. I mean, marrying him off is the whole point, isn’t it? Signing him as a client is only half the challenge.”
“I don’t know.” Althea shook her head, her eyes on Grayson, who had paid his check and was now ushering runway girl out of the bar. “Matchmaking isn’t an exact science.”
“Oh, please.” Cybil sighed. “You just spent half an hour telling me how marriage is nothing more than a business deal. Are you saying now that you’re not up to the task?”
I popped an olive into my mouth, all the better to keep it shut
. This wasn’t a task to enter into lightly. I mean, this public an endeavor could very well backfire, leaving my newly flourishing business deep in Chapter 11. A matchmaker who fails doesn’t get a lot of repeat business.
But the olive apparently had not gotten the message. It slid blissfully down my throat and my mouth seemed to open of its own accord. “I’m in.”
There was silence for a moment, but I knew it wasn’t going to last. Althea wasn’t the type to ignore a gauntlet, and I had just thrown one.
“Then so am I, darling.” What can I say, I know the woman well.
Cybil raised her glass. “May the best woman win.”
We clinked and drank, and something akin to sheer terror settled in my stomach. Or maybe it was the martinis. Either way the contest was on.
It was me or Althea.
Winner takes Manhattan.
Keep Reading!
And watch for a new Matchmaker novella coming this spring!!
Check out these books by Dee Davis:
Romantic Suspense:
Last Chance Series:
Endgame
Enigma
Exposure
Escape
Liar’s Game Series (coming February 2014):
Eye Of The Storm
Chain Reaction
Still of the Night
Women’s Fiction:
The Matchmaker Chronicles:
A Match Made on Madison
Setup In SoHo
Paranormal:
Time Travel Trilogy:
Everything In Its Time
Wild Highland Rose
The Promise
Devil May Care Series (coming April 2014):
Hell’s Fury
Hell Fire
About Dee Davis
Award winning author Dee Davis worked in association management before turning her hand to writing. Her highly acclaimed first novel, Everything In Its Time, was published in July 2000. Since then, among others, she’s won the Booksellers Best, Golden Leaf, Texas Gold and Prism awards, and been nominated for the National Readers Choice Award, the Holt and two RT Reviewers Choice Awards. To date, she is the author of twenty-two books and five novellas. When not sitting at the computer, Dee spends time exploring Connecticut with her husband and daughter.
Visit Dee at http://www.deedavis.com or catch up with her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/deedavisbooks or follow her on Twitter at http://twitter.com/deesdavis
Photo: Marti Corn
Table of Contents
Also by Dee Davis
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Sneak Peek at A Match Made on Madison
Check out these books by Dee Davis
About Dee Davis