Unmatchable (3 page)

“
It's called common courtesy, Mister Barnes.”

“
It's common courtesy not to waste someone's time,” he fires back.

“
There were more tactful ways to end the date. You could have told her you didn't feel well or that you had a sudden urgent appointment.”

“
Lying. Nice. Great way to establish trust.” He offers me a fake smile.

“
Anything is better than what you did.”

“
Whatever. Still, that wasn't entirely my fault. You guys are supposed to be the matchmaking experts. You matched me with someone who I was physically incompatible with. That's not on me. That's on you.”

“
You were obviously physically compatible with the next woman.” I gesture to the file. “She said you were practically trying to crawl down her pants.”

“
When I'm interested, I'm interested.”

“
Well, she obviously wasn't interested. You made her uncomfortable. And after she shut down your advances, you continued to hit on her. That's unacceptable behavior, Mister Barnes.”

He leans forward, glancing around as if to make sure that no one is listening in. “Tell me the truth, Miss Washington. If I were hitting on you, would you shut down my advances?”

All I can do is sit there and blink at him. The way he's looking at me makes me want to blush, but thinking about who he is makes me want to slap him. I'm speechless, and that's a rarity.

Without another word, I pick up the receiver of my desk phone and dial the number for security. The guard picks up before the first ring even has a chance to finish.

“
Hi Brian, I need for you to come escort a client out of the building for me.”

CHAPTER TWO

COLTON

Unacceptable.

No wonder this company is floundering. Instead of doing what they can to save problem clients and gain more profits, they're purposely trying to scare them away. It's a rookie mistake. A rookie mistake made by a rookie business owner. How Freddie Montanez was able to be successful for as long as he has, I'm not sure, but it's obvious by his desire to sell his matchmaking company that he can't seem to figure out where he's gone wrong.

That's where I come in.

A business in a booming market with low overhead and high-paying clients is just up my alley. All I need to do is remove the major kinks in the system, get my PR people on it, and I can add another successful business to my empire. Dating is an industry I didn't see myself getting into, but I never shy away from an opportunity to make easy money.

Freddie is paying his employees next to nothing, so I can keep most of them, send in my own management team and have things up and running in no time. From what I saw during my undercover internal investigation, only a few people need to go: two under-performing sales associates and The Beast.

I roll my eyes and lean back in my lounge chair, looking out over the Houston skyline while I swirl the brandy in my glass. The Beast. I snigger to myself.
More like The Chihuahua.
So much bark in such a little thing. There was bite in the end too. Ember Washington took care of business. I have to give her that much. Brian, the security guard at Full Hearts Matchmaking Service, walked me all the way down to my car and waited outside until I had driven out of sight. Little does he know that I'll be his boss soon.

It's a Tuesday night, and I'm bored as hell but too lazy to go out. Sometimes I jokingly think that I should hire someone to dress me. I have someone who drives me around. Someone who cooks my meals. Someone who cleans my loft. Why not hire someone to dress me too? I could simply lie on my bed like a child while they lift up my limbs and slide my clothes on. That would take indolence to an entirely new level. Maybe another business venture in the future. I doubt that would catch on, though. There's being lazy, and then there's being an entitled twat. Next thing you know, people would want an ass wiping service too.

With nothing better to do, I head back inside and fire up my laptop. Briefly, I think about looking at porn, but it seems too early for that. Having a few drinks has my dick itching to be stroked, but I know that as soon as I masturbate, I'll get tired and want to go to bed. I glance at the corner of the screen and look at the time. It's only 8 PM. Definitely too early to be going to bed.

I spend a few minutes reading some local news and political articles before I find myself just sitting there staring at the screen, bored again. It's one of those nights where I could be doing a thousand different things, but nothing sounds appealing. Submitting to defeat, I type in the URL for my favorite porn site. All of the typical preview videos pop up, the newly uploaded stuff. What catches my eye, though, is an ad on the side for an adult dating site.

Without putting much thought into it, I click on the link. Immediately, I'm whisked away to a page with a scantily clad woman standing next to the sign-up form. She stares at me like she's just begging to be fucked, and I can't help but smirk. This website probably has a ratio of about thirty men to one woman. The majority of the female profiles are probably fake. The photos of women scrolling across the bottom of the screen are a pretty good confirmation of that. Only two out of the ten displayed weren't taken in a professional photo studio.

This is not the business I'm buying, I remind myself. People on this site aren't looking for love; they're looking to get laid.

I close out of the two open websites and go to Google to do a search for online dating sites. Then I click on the first link that pops up. Now that's more realistic. The photos meant to lure me into signing up are much more believable, though there are still a few modelesque females in the mix. Since this particular site is free, I decide to sign up for shits and giggles. Lord knows, I don't need help getting girls. They practically flock to me. When you're as wealthy and attractive as I am, you can have a different woman every night of the week if you want. Sometimes, I do.

I type in all of my basic information, pick a screen name, and then give pause when it comes to the part where I have to upload a profile picture. This takes some of the fun out of things. I really want to stay anonymous, but I doubt I'll get any responses if I leave my picture blank. Everyone knows that you're ten times more likely to get a response if you have a profile picture. We're all visual creatures, after all. Sure, personality matters, but it's not what attracts us to someone at first.

The next best thing would be to use an image of a cartoon character or something random. I decide to upload a stock photo of some guy holding a puppy. Well, the image is mostly just of the puppy. The camera is zoomed in on the puppy, so the only thing that's showing is the guy's lap and his hands.

With that done, the website forces me to fill out a brief survey so that its algorithm can match me with other members. Then I'm taken to my profile where I'm finally free to browse around as I please.

I spend the next hour looking at profiles and playing with the website's rating system. While I've never used a dating site before, I can definitely see the appeal. It makes everything so easy. You simply pick out the people that you want to interact with and send them a message or a flirt, hoping that they'll respond. In the course of an hour, I end up sending out about twenty emails to women I've found attractive. Some of them are currently online; some of them aren't. That's another thing I like about this site. No waiting. If you want to talk to someone, it lets you know whether or not they're online or how long it's been since they last visited the site.

By the time I start getting bored, I still haven't received any responses. Maybe the puppy isn't doing it. I thought women loved animals—thought that would be enough. Guess not.

I decide to go watch television for a while, but I can't seem to get into anything that I'm watching. The urge to go back and check the dating site for responses is strong. No wonder the dating industry is such a profitable market. I'm half-tempted to sign up for a premium account just so I can see who has viewed my profile, something that's not available to free members. The website has to make money somehow, after all.

I can't help but wonder if members of Full Hearts Matchmaking Service get the same rush thinking about who they'll be matched with. Already, I'm seeing ways to expand the service offerings. Right now, the service matches members based on a small set of criteria which does include physical preference, but they don't allow members to see their match until the date is already set. While I understand why they do this, I can definitely see the benefit of offering a service where the member can see who they'll be matched with before the date is set so that they can decide whether or not, based on physical attraction, the date would be a waste of time for them or not.

Professional matchmaking is different from the online version. A game for the patient. The clientele is different. Online, people are looking for a variety of relationships: dating, long-term, casual sex. Members of the Full Hearts Matchmaking Service are looking for one thing only. Marriage. That's why they're willing to pay so much. Not just to find someone serious but also for all of the screenings that person has to go through. Online dating seems more like Russian Roulette.

After an hour of thinking more about business than the entertainment before me, I hop back online to check my profile. My heart flutters with excitement as I see two emails in my inbox. One is from a woman I messaged earlier, a gorgeous brunette with huge tits. I smirk to myself, feeling pretty cunning about my puppy picture. The wind is taken out of my sails, though, when I open the message and read it.

Buttercup92: Get a face, creep. No one wants to date your dog.

I scowl, my excitement turning to anger in the blink of an eye. I'm not sure why I'm so pissed off. Maybe because the response was rude. Maybe because I know that if this bitch had seen my face, she'd be drooling all over my cock.

It's a reminder that people are different online. There's less of a filter between the brain and the fingers. They become less human—tend to forget that they're interacting with someone who has thoughts and feelings.

I try to blow it off, deciding to move on to the next email. This one is unsolicited and a lot more pleasant.

BlazeGenie: Hi there. Cute dog. Is that a Shiba Inu?

I click on her user name, expecting to be underwhelmed by her photo. While it's a dick thing to think, I am not expecting anyone who messages me first to be the least bit attractive, especially considering that I don't show my face in my profile picture. Well, the model doesn't show
his
face. More than likely, anyone who sends me an unsolicited email is going to be of the looks don't matter, overweight and wanting to be accepted variety.

The picture that pops up, though, makes a breath of laughter pass my lips. You've got to be fucking kidding me.

A shit-eating grin spreads across my face, and I relax back against my chair staring at the profile picture in front of me. I couldn't forget that face if I tried. Those large brown eyes. That smattering of freckles that makes her look far more adorable than vicious. That long, fiery auburn hair. When I was sitting in her office earlier, I just wanted to grab her by it, throw her over my lap, and give her a spanking for being such an unbelievable tyrant. I'm honestly not surprised that she's loveless. Pretty face. Horrible personality. Much like myself.

I scroll through the rest of Ember's pictures, wanting to see her out of work attire. Holy boobs. It appears she doesn't own a single shirt that isn't low cut. Her cleavage goes on for miles. Just looking at it makes my dick swell.

With an attitude like hers, I imagine she's a knockout in the sack. Not one of those lay there and do nothing type of girls. I bet she can ride it like she owns it.

I lick my lips as I scroll through the pictures twice over. All of them are selfies, but they're all gorgeous. There's one where she's sitting in a chair, her head tilted to the side, the camera looking straight down at her breasts in a purple tank top. There's another where she's standing in front of a mirror wearing a floral cocktail dress. And a third that's just a head shot of her gazing up at the camera with an adorable smile plastered across her face. That picture, in particular, makes me curious about what it would be like to kiss her.

“
Well, this is interesting. What to do now?” I stroke my chin like a comic book villain.

There are so many approaches I could take. If I weren't an asshole, I would just leave it. Delete the email like I never received it. Pretend that I never saw her profile.

But I am an asshole, and that means I have to fuck with her, if only for a little while. She deserves it for what I'm sure she has put countless clients through.

What to do? What to do? I tap my fingers together while thinking of a response. Part of me wants to keep her engaged, but another part of me just wants to have fun with this. Let's see how long I can keep her on the hook as I transition from normal to creepy.

BoxPup: Thanks. His name is Box. He died two days ago. I made this profile in his memory.

I snigger to myself, wondering how well my wierdo vibe got across.

BlazeGenie: That's so sad. I'm sorry. It was sweet of you to name your profile after him.

Wow. She actually has a heart. Who knew?

BoxPup: It only seemed appropriate. I really love box.

BlazeGenie: Do you have any other pets?

She missed the sexual reference completely. Maybe she'll get this one. Gotta be careful. I don't want to chase her off just yet.

BoxPup: No. I've been wanting a pussy, but I'm too lazy to go out and get one.

BlazeGenie: You're not talking about a cat, are you?

BoxPup: Of course, I am. Don't tell me you're a pervert! I've heard that dating sites are full of them. That's why I haven't used one up until now.

BlazeGenie: No, I'm not a pervert. Is that why you don't have a face pic?

I smirk.

BoxPup: I don't have a face pic because I'm a bridge troll. Fucking hideous. If you saw my face, you'd turn to stone.

BlazeGenie: I'm sure it's not that bad.

BoxPup: It is. You have no idea. When I was born, the doctor took one look at me and tried to push me back in.

BlazeGenie: :-/ I'm sure you're exaggerating.

BoxPup: I'm not. The only reason he didn't is because I'm blessed in other areas.

She doesn't respond. I wait for five minutes, keeping her profile open in one window. I hit refresh every minute or so to make sure that she's still logged on. Looks like I lost her already. Bummer. Oh well.

Even though I've had my fun, I feel a strange need to get more responses. Knowing that I have so many women right at my fingertips is something that I've never felt before. Well, not like this. Going to a club and walking up to talk to a woman is easy. But this takes easy to an entirely new level. I don't even have to leave the comfort of my own home. Of course, that also means that the journey to get into a woman's pants is a lot more arduous. I can probably change that if I update my profile picture to something more alluring. While I still don't want to show my face, I am curious how many women I could net in with something else.