“I don’t know, Tay,” she said with a sigh as she let herself fall against the couch. “What if this blows up in my face? I’ll look even more pathetic.”
“What’s your alternative? Tell the truth and step down when too many clients leave? I intercepted Sebastian Brio’s call. He’s convinced the reason you haven’t found him a wife is because you don’t know what you’re doing. He was ranting about getting his past membership fees back.”
Libby swallowed hard to keep from getting sick. If all the unmatched clients did the same, it would mean more than just losing her future. There would be nothing left for anyone to rebuild.
Without a word, Libby stood, leaving Taylor perched on the edge of her seat. With each step toward the mini fridge in the corner of her o ce, she was less sure she knew what to do. Crouching, she pushed passed water bottles and expired yogurt to reach for a tiny bottle of rum a client sent her as part of a thank you basket after his honeymoon. Cracking the top of the bottle open, Libby closed her eyes and poured the coconut flavored alcohol down her throat in one go. As it burned, she tried not to gag or spit it out.
Running through all the ways Taylor’s idea could make a bad situation worse, Libby tried to come up with an alternative that wouldn’t mean stepping down in disgrace or
damning Cassanova Matchmaking. Nothing appeared before her brain felt a little hazy.
“If you’re going to pull the trigger, I need to let Janice know ASAP. I figured time is of the essence here, so I made sure our sta went home. She’s got her talent in a holding pattern.”
Taylor’s voice shook Libby out of her trance. With a sharp inhale, she straightened her back and smiled. “Let’s do this.”
C H A P T E R 2
FOUR HOURS and two bottles of supermarket wine later, Libby sat in the conference room surrounded by forty-five headshots taped to the floor-to-ceiling windows. Using the speed dating questions she’d been developing since high school, they’d narrowed the list of possibilities to three, the only candidates sitting right on the border between too much chemistry and not enough. Libby wanted to be believably in love, not put herself in actual jeopardy of actually falling for someone.
After prolonged debate, Libby was less and less sure Taylor’s idea could work. How would she ever sell the ruse?
She’d never tried to use what she learned in acting classes; it was just a way to learn about nonverbal communications to read the things people weren’t saying.
When Taylor stepped out to take a call, Libby reminded herself that the alternative was disgracing her family’s matchmaking dynasty. Time was ticking, and come tomorrow morning, she’d have to make a decision one way or the other. She stared at her three candidates and tried to pinpoint why she was resisting making a choice.
“I just got o the phone with Janice,” Taylor announced as she rushed back into the conference room.
Libby looked up from the glossy 8 x10 with her notes scribbled on the back, something she’d done a thousand times when evaluating possible matches, but never for herself. “Is she sending more guys?”
“Not exactly,” she replied in a tone that made Libby shift in her seat and drop the photo onto the table. “She has someone she thinks is really perfect for you, but she didn’t initially send them over because she wasn’t sure how you’d feel.”
Crossing one leg over the other as she picked up her water bottle, Libby furrowed her brow. “Why? What’s wrong with him?”
“He,” Taylor grinned as she handed her a tablet, “is a she.”
“A she?” Libby echoed, glancing at the image of a striking woman. She looked a little like Cara Delevingne if she had darker features.
“Reagan Soto,” Taylor read o her phone. “Twenty-seven, born and raised in Miami, Cuban parents, full-time ceramics artist who just recently joined the talent agency.
She’s been called out for some local print work but hasn’t booked anything yet, so there’s little risk anyone will recognize her from that.”
Libby studied the image on the tablet as Taylor spoke.
There was no chance she’d end up romantically involved with a woman, and it would explain why she hadn’t gone public with it yet. Part of her wasn’t sure that her story would hold water in the gossip blogs. Davis had no problem being in the public eye, and judging by his giving up his law practice to start a band, he hadn’t become shy overnight.
“Let’s call her in,” she decided, returning her gaze to Taylor’s startled face.
“Really? I didn’t think you’d go for it, but Janice insisted,” she admitted with a relieved laugh.
Libby cocked her head to one side. “Why wouldn’t I go with it? Because she’s a woman?”
“I mean, coming out is a big deal, right? People are going to think you’ve been closeted this whole time. Maybe even question whether Davis was your beard.”
Libby laughed. “I’m pretty sure there are bisexual people in the world. And I don’t care who they think I’m with, as long as no one thinks I’m a loser at love.”
“How modern of you,” she quipped. “What do you think Mrs. Cassanova is going to say?”
Taylor’s question evaporated the tiny bit of hope that had lifted her spirits. “I have no idea,” she confessed. “My Great Uncle Rolando is gay, and he and my grandmother are thick as thieves. I mean, he still has to call her Mrs. Cassanova, of course,” she laughed, “but maybe she’ll understand how I got into this mess if the love of my life is another woman.”