Page 5 of The Matchmaker

“Probably,” I say. “Remember Kaden Sineway?”

“I want to burn his name from my memory,” Genevieve groans. “As if setting off fireworks outside the agency for two days straight because we dared to decline his application was going to change our minds.”

“If we sued even one of these assholes, we could scare the others off. That’d tell them we have bark and bite,” Darcy says.

I fight back a smile. Darcy dropped out of Duke Law School after her first year. She has just enough legal knowledge to be dangerous. We met five years ago when she was still figuring out her next steps and making ends meet as a barista at the coffee shop next door. We hit it off so well, I made the best decision of my life and asked her to join the agency.

“If we were to go after him—or any of these unhinged people—we’d draw attention to them,” I remind her. “We’d amplify their message.”

“It’s the number-one rule online,” says Borzu. “Don’t feed the trolls.”

“I don’t want to feed them,” grumbles Darcy. “I want to punch them in the balls.”

But her anger’s deflating—I can see it leaking from her like air from a punctured balloon.

“Fine. Maybe you’re right,” she finally concedes. “I guess I feel bad it’s gotten this chaotic right as I’m getting ready to take my leave.”

“That’s still a few months away. Don’t worry, these trolls will still be here when you get back,” I tease. Hoping to change the subject, I ask, “How’s wedding prep going? Picked out your invitations?”

“We did.” Her eyes brighten. “I went for gold with a cream background. Can you believe these were on markdown? It’s got a henna-inspired watermark beneath it.” She pulls out her phone to show me. “Don’t they look gorgeous?”

“Beautiful.” As expected, given Darcy’s impeccable taste.

“Darcy Jacobs, our very own Piyar success story,” Borzu says.

“The perks of the job, I guess.” Darcy grins.

Numerous articles speculate about the proprietary details behind the algorithm that Borzu developed for our app (which doubles as a pool of possible matches for our personalized clients). This time last year, though, there was no algorithm. It was just the four of us eating takeout and sifting through applications late into the night. It was before any of us had any idea how big our agency profile would soon become. One evening, I noticed Darcy lingering on one particular photo. Dark, inscrutable eyes. A well-chiseled jaw. Samir Bakshi.

“CanImake a profile?” She nodded to the picture. “He’s cute. And I read his form. Seems like maybe we’d be a good fit.”

I’d hesitated at first. Khala has strict rules about thematchmaking we do. Top among them is we never match people we’re close to because it’s hard to be objective. Except we weren’t matching Darcy here, were we? She’d plucked his photo out herself. She was still smarting over her recent breakup with Andrei, a verified jerk who didn’t seem to get that their relationship was over until she’d slapped him with a restraining order. Why couldn’t she benefit from the services we provided? It turned out Darcy’s instincts were right about Samir. Theywerea good fit. They dated for only a handful of weeks before he got down on one knee on the bridge overlooking the lake in Piedmont Park.

“I love that about desi men,” she’d gushed when she flashed her rock to me. “They know how to commit.”

I’d laughed at the generalization. Darcy knew very well that commitment-phobes come in all genders, sexualities, stripes, and colors. Darcy and Samir happened to fit, and luckily they’d figured it out quickly. She’d seen her share of hardships; she deserved this happily ever after.

“We should look into setting up a match profile foryou,Genevieve,” Borzu teases her.

“No thanks. Not interested in getting high on our own supply,” Genevieve retorts. “It’s like my dad always said: Boundaries are your friend.”

“Well,Nurashould definitely give it a go,” says Darcy.

“Not this again.”

“I don’t understand how you have the best resources at your fingertips—that youinvented—and you don’t use them.”

Darcy shoots me a look and I shoot one right back at her. Why does everyone see my single status as something to fix? I’m in the business of relationships. I don’t have the time nor the inclination to go deeper down that rabbit hole myself. It’s not like I’ve never been on a date. I gave it a go in my twenties,but dating is exhausting. Not to mention the time suck it involves. And for what? Even if Ididgive it an honest go, none of them would match up to Azar. Which is just as well. The more people you love, the more you risk breaking your heart.

Darcy follows me into my office. It’s got all the outer appearances of cool contemporary with my glass desk, oversized iMac, and Herman Miller office chair. Customized floating shelves line the back wall with framed portraits of some of our successful matches through the years, but I have my personal comforts tucked away here too, like the stash of chocolate in the drawer to my left and my well-worn flip-flops from Target hidden out of sight beneath my desk to slip on between client meetings. I settle into my chair and switch out of my Louboutin heels as Darcy ticks off the day’s agenda on her iPad.

“Water guy’s coming in ten. We have Beenish this morning—the pastry order should be here any second now. I got the pistachio scones she likes. Her plane got in from Raleigh about ten minutes ago.”

“Beenish Adeel…there she is.” I pull out her dedicated notebook from my filing cabinet. I’d waffled on whether to take her on. She’d seemed stuck on her on-again, off-again ex for nearly a decade, but Khala had helped her parents find love many moons ago, and she was so sweet I decided to take a chance.

“The traffic looks clear, so I’m guessing she’ll be arriving in about thirty minutes for her intake. Last I checked, she hasn’t spoken to that abusive jerk of an ex in weeks, but she seemed a bit emotional when I scheduled her appointment. You might want to follow up on that, to see where she’s at.”

“Got it.” I jot down a quick note in my spiral notebook.

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