Brooklyn
I entered the opulent offices of Legato Real Estate Development. There were no windows for a view of the Manhattan skyline, as the office was in the center of the building, but that didn't detract from the impact. Marble floor, expensive wood on the walls, and the whispering splash of a waterfall front and center behind the receptionist.
"May I help you?" the pretty brunette behind the sensuously curved Rosewood desk asked with a smile.
"Brooklyn Lancaster. I have an appointment with Mr. Legato."
"Yes, Ms. Lancaster. Mr. Legato is expecting you. Please have a seat and he'll be with you in a moment."
I smiled pleasantly and moved to one of the dark red leather chairs that dotted the reception area. It was obvious that LRED, pronounced 'L-Red' by most who were familiar with the firm, had money. Good thing because I didn't work cheap. This meeting alone was costing Mr. Legato twenty to twenty-five thousand, plus expenses, but I was worth it.
I provided a unique service to my rarified clientele, the one percenters, the people that didn't bother to look at my fees, and if they did, if I were charging less, they'd be suspicious of my claims.
"Ms. Lancaster?" a handsome man said as he strode silently across the thick wool carpeting. "So good to finally meet you in person. Care to join me?" he asked as he gestured past the granite wall behind the reception desk with the perpetually flowing, softly burbling waterfall.
He led me down a corridor, the walls made of furniture grade mahogany, until we entered a large corner office with panoramic floor to ceiling glass on two walls overlooking the Manhattan skyline. Mr. Legato's office was on the fifty-second, and top, floor of the Legato building. It took a lot to impress me, but the view was... impressive. The large room was tastefully decorated, the rich mahogany wood walls framing expressionist paintings perfectly.
"Can I get you anything to drink? Please, have a seat."
"No thank you, Mr. Legato. I—"
"Please, call me Bryant. Mr. Legato sounds so standoffish, especially considering our arrangement."
"Brooklyn," I said with a smile. I settled into the small conversation group of four brown leather chairs surrounding a cherrywood table. The light flooding in from the windows kept the rich dark woods of the walls and furnishings from making the room appear gloomy and depressing.
Bryant had an easy sophistication about him as I studied him, and he was he wasn't hard on the eyes either. It was hard to imagine him needing my help, but attracting women wasn't the same as finding the perfect woman, and that's where I came in.
I offered an exclusive, and more importantly, discreet introduction service. A few who knew of my service claimed I was little more than a madam, whoring out women despite my high prices and five-thousand-dollar suits. I didn't care what people said. I was providing a service, nothing more, nothing less. It was completely legal and above board, and my clients were the cream of society worldwide.
My clients were predominantly men, but occasionally a woman would ask for my services. I conducted a brief interview with the client to determine if I thought I could help them. If I believed they were legitimate, and I could help, as I did with Bryant, I'd conduct a more detailed interview and use my knowledge and resources to attempt to find my client the perfect companion.
I wouldn't accept clients if I thought they were simply looking for another notch on their belt, and sometimes I decided the client would be impossible to successfully match because of personality issues. I'd turned down more than one man who was so arrogant, controlling, and self-centered, no woman would want to remain with him for long, no matter how large his bank account. If someone was looking for a bimbo they could control and dominate, male or female, they'd have no problem finding that on their own by flashing money around.
I wasn't perfect, and sometimes I had to take more than one stab at the problem, but eighty-seven percent of the people I paired were still together five years later. I'd take that statistic, and everyone else could kiss my ass.
"So, how do we begin?" he asked.
"I'm going to ask you some questions. The more open and honest you are with me, the more likely I'll be able to match you with someone to your liking. I'm going to record our meeting, with your permission, so I don't miss any details. The recording will be destroyed after I've matched you. My questions may sound vaguely insulting, like you're buying a car or a horse, but it helps me narrow in on what you want, or think you want, so please, be honest. Nothing you say will ever leave this room."
He waved his hand dismissively. "Your reputation speaks for itself, so you must be doing something right."
I bobbed my head ever so slightly in acknowledgment. "So, tell me a little about yourself."
"Bryant Legato," he began. "Twenty-seven-year-old real estate tycoon, playboy, and cad. Heir to the Legato Real Estate Empire and face of the company."
I smiled again. So many of my clients were arrogant assholes, but Bryant didn't take himself too seriously. That would help tremendously. I waited for him to continue but he remained quiet. "That's it?"
"That's it," he confirmed.
"What are your interests, your passions?"
"Skiing in the winter, tennis in the summer. Closing a billion-dollar deal is a lot of fun too. I enjoy good wine, good food, and conversation with intelligent people. I like shopping and have a weakness for expensive trinkets."
My face remained perfectly serene. I'd noticed his Rolex. I hadn't gotten a good look at it, but as it was a chronometer model, it likely cost between fifteen and twenty thousand dollars. Men like Bryant typically liked to talk about themselves. They generally had egos as large as their bank accounts, but Bryant played it close to the chest.
"What do you want in a companion? Any specific types? Tall? Blonde?" I probed. I'd really begin to bore in later in the interview, but for now I was getting a baseline and a place to start.
"Intelligent," he said without hesitation. "That's most important. The rest," he shrugged. "Beautiful, of course, but I don't have a type. No smokers and no drugs," he added after a pause.
I pulled photos from my portfolio and spread them on the small table between us. There were fifty photos of women, all beautiful, in various shapes, sizes, colors, and styles of dress. All the women were professional models I'd hired specifically to create a cross-section of looks. Each woman was photographed twice, once dressed for success and once casually. I had an equal number of photos of men for my occasional female clients.
"Any of these catch your fancy?" I asked.
He glanced through the photos methodically. I gave him about a minute to look before I spoke again. I didn't want him studying the photos too closely. This wasn't a beauty contest. I was simply looking for a general guide to his taste in women.
"What's a no go?" I asked to pull his attention back to me.
"No go?" he asked.
"Anything you would find a problem. Political or religious views, anything like that."
He began sliding the photos around. He seemed to have a preference for women with a soft, round face and full figure.
