Page 19 of Howling Mad
“That’s refreshing.”He sounds genuinely intrigued.“Where did you have in mind?”
“Chez Duval, at a corner table near the jazz trio.I booked it for Thursday at seven, but I can reschedule if that doesn’t work.”
“Thursday works.”He pauses.“This one really sounds different from the others.”
“She is.”I try to ignore the twinge in my chest and the irrational desire to find fault with Talia’s perfect-on-paper profile.“I think you might actually enjoy her company.”
“I appreciate you not giving up on me.”His voice drops slightly.“Most matchmakers would have written me off as a lost cause by now.”
“You’re not a lost cause, Michael.”My voice comes out softer than I intended.“You just haven’t found someone who appreciates who you really are.”
Another pause, this one charged with something I can’t quite name.“Thank you, Finley.”
“For what?”
“For seeing me.”The simple honesty in his words steals my breath.“Not many people do.”
I swallow hard, trying to maintain professional boundaries that feel increasingly flimsy.“Just doing my job.”
“If you say so.”I can hear the smile in his voice.“I’ll let you know how it goes with Talia.”
“Please do.And, Michael?”
“Yes?”
“If your father gives you grief again, remember, being different doesn’t mean being wrong.Some wolves aren’t meant to run with the pack.”
“Some wisdom from your own experience?”he asks gently.
“Let’s just say, I understand what it’s like to be the wolf who doesn’t fit the mold.”
After we hang up, I sit staring at the phone, trying to ignore the quiet voice inside me hoping that somehow, against all professional ethics, this date will fail, too.
Talia answers my email to confirm her interest a few minutes later, and I make the reservations for Chez Duval at seven p.m.on Thursday, specifying a corner table near the jazz trio, tucked away enough for privacy but with a clear view of the stage.I chose it specifically knowing how Michael appreciates both fine dining and live music, which are details I’ve obsessively memorized from his profile.
Red watches me fidget with the confirmation email, a knowing smile playing on her lips.
“This’ll do it.Right?”I tap my pen against the desk, pretending this is just routine matchmaking and not a slow-motion panic attack.
“Indeed.”Her eyebrows lift suggestively.“Talia certainly has the cultural interests to match our Michael.Though perhaps too much...personality?”
I shrug, aiming for nonchalance.“He needs someone who appreciates refinement.She’s perfect on paper.”
“Many disasters look perfect on paper.”Red winks, sashaying to her office before I can respond.
Thursdaycomessomehowwithagonizing slowness and suddenly, far too quickly.By six, my nerves have reached a fever pitch.I should go home.I should trust my matchmaking skills.I should definitely not drive to Chez Duval and lurk in the shadows to see if this date turns out better than the sneezing disaster, the humiliation at the organic café, or the corporate espionage fiasco.
Yet…
At 6:45, I find myself adjusting a pair of ridiculously oversized sunglasses in my car mirror.I’ve added a scarf around my hair for extra anonymity, making me look like a 1960s movie star trying to avoid paparazzi or possibly an escapee from a mental institution.Either way, it’s not my most professional moment.
“Just a quick peek,” I tell my reflection sternly.“Quality control.Client satisfaction.Totally normal.”
I’m the worst liar in the world.
The restaurant glows under tasteful golden lighting.Crystal chandeliers hover over white-clothed tables, and the soft strains of jazz filter from a trio on a small stage.It’s elegant without being intimidating and exactly the atmosphere I hoped Michael would appreciate.
I slip past the hostess during a moment of distraction, half-hiding my face behind a menu snagged from a stand by the door.Scanning the room, I spot them immediately.Michael looks devastating in a charcoal suit, his profile sharp against the candlelight.Talia sits opposite him, svelte in a midnight-blue dress, leaning forward with practiced interest.
