Page 4 of Billionaire's Matchmaker

“I’m sorry.” Arianna wrung her hands. “I hate this, and I didn’t want to be part of it. It’s awful that we have to coerce you into doing something you’re not ready to do.”

He believed her. Unlike him, she was a romantic, a dreamer shattered by her second divorce.

“Arianna and I will leave you to it.” Rebecca stood.

“I haven’t agreed to anything.” He refused to be railroaded.

“You’ll do what you need to.” His mother wasn’t backing down.

She closed the door with a decisive click, sealing him in with the enemy. Hope was a beautiful, seductive temptress, but the enemy, nonetheless.

“You’re a matchmaker.”

“It’s an honorable profession.”

“Is it? Much like operating an escort service. I hire you. I will end up paying to fuck a woman, one who’s interchangeable with any number of other candidates.”

“That’s as insulting as it is crass.” She set her chin and didn’t sever the connection of their gazes, meeting the heat of his anger with cool, aloof professionalism.

He wanted to shake it from her, strip her bare, discover what lay beneath the surface to leave nothing but aching, pulsing honesty between them.

Either not noticing the tension or ignoring it, she continued. “Throughout history, families arranged marriages all the time. In parts of the world, it still goes on. Today, there’s a bigger need for my services than ever before. I have clients all over the world, from all sorts of backgrounds and of all ages. Often, men in your position don’t have time to meet women in the traditional way. You’re far too busy, important, insulated.”

“Spare me the sales pitch.”

“It makes sense to select someone I’ve interviewed, a woman who suits the needs of a man such as you. A woman of the right temperament, with the same interests, goals, morals, outlook, political leanings, religious preferences. A woman who understands what is expected of her and is willing to assume those responsibilities.”

“A business arrangement.”

“If you like.”

Rafe took his seat and left her standing. It was undoubtedly rude, but justified. His mother had hired Prestige, but Hope had been part of the early-morning intervention. She could have refused, but she hadn’t. That made her complicit. “So that’s what’s in here?” He flicked a glance at the folders. “A money-hungry bride-to-be—I beg your pardon, candidate—who understands what she’s getting herself into?”

“These women all deserve your respect.”

“And an expensive engagement ring?” He leaned back. “Why should I trust you?”

“Five years of success. Thirty-seven marriages.”

“Divorces?”

“Two.”

“Much better than the national average. Yet five years in business means your experiment hasn’t made it to the seven-year itch yet.”

“Whether that exists or not is a matter of debate. There’s a study that suggests there’s a four-year itch as well as a seven-year one. Oh, and a three-year one. And most couples who divorce tend to do so after a decade. So that means there’s a twelve-year flameout as well.” She lifted one delicate shoulder in a half shrug. “Whatever your bias, you can find a study to support it. The truth is, each individual is unique, and so are their relationships. People divorce for a lot of reasons and after any length of time.”

“Fair enough.”

“There are, however, a number of factors that enhance chances for success. I call them the Three C’s—compatibility, chemistry, and commitment.”

“Define success.”

She tipped her head to one side. “I suppose that’s in the eye of the beholder.”

“Take my parents. They’ve been victims of wedded bliss for thirty-three years.”

“There are financial and legal benefits for people who are married.”

She’d sidestepped his point neatly.

“Couples who are wed, versus those who cohabitate, tend to live longer.”

“Or perhaps it only seems that way.”

She smiled, and it transformed her features, making her no longer standoffish and professional, but warm and inviting. No wonder lemmings turned to her for matrimonial advice. “Have you always been a cynic, Mr. Sterling?”

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