Matchmaer 10: October

Brooklyn

I slammed the phone down, the muscles in my jaw working. I prided myself on being able to meet my clients wants and desires, no matter how outrageous, but Barrett Quillon was trying my patience. He was a pampered man-child, used to getting his way because nobody would tell him no. I shoved my chair back from the desk and stomped into the kitchen, pulled a wine glass from the cabinet, and poured a healthy splash from the bottle in the 'fridge.

It was a little early to be drinking wine, only three in the afternoon, but that was the nice thing about working out of my home office. Nobody was around to disapprove if I wanted a glass at an inappropriately early hour to calm my nerves enough so I didn't tell a client to go fuck himself.

I'd been struggling to find Barrett a companion and an acceptable location for almost a year. Every time I thought I was getting close, he'd demand some change or reject my suggestion for the stupidest reasons. He wanted to go somewhere warm in the winter, but he didn't want to go anywhere in the south or west, nor did he want to leave the country. He wanted to be near an ocean during the summer, but he didn't like sand. He wanted a tall, blonde, blue eyed woman with big tits, but her breasts had to be natural and couldn't sag, and stupidest of all, at one point he demanded her first name start with an S because he thought it would sound good with his name. In short, he was fucking idiot.

I drained the rest of the red from the glass with a swallow. I thought about pouring another but decided against it. One glass was enough. I rinsed the glass and placed it in the dishwasher before I turned and walked back to my office, trying to let my annoyance go.

During the short walk from the kitchen to my desk, I decided on his companion. Lydia was tall, didn't have blue eyes, wasn't a blonde, her first name didn't start with an S, and her breasts, while ample, were not unusually large. I'd interviewed her initially for another candidate but had rejected her as not a good fit. I hadn't selected her then, but I'd kept her on my list of likely candidates for someone else.

While she wasn't a good match for Barrett's requested physical attributes, what she did have was a strong personality, and I suspected she wouldn't take shit off anyone, even Barrett. That was the companion he needed, otherwise he'd piss off or drive away everyone else unless she was a total sycophant or a simpering submissive. Lydia struck me as a kind, levelheaded woman, and I almost hated to pair her with Barrett, but I was at my wits end with him.

I dropped into my chair and glared at the phone as I made another decision. They were going to Bar Harbor, Maine, one of the many locations I'd suggested, and one Barrett had rejected because it was too crowded during the summer. By the time I could get everything set up, it would be at least October, and the summer crowds would have left. It wouldn't be warm, as he demanded, but he'd be near an ocean, and there was no sand.

I smiled at the phone, but it wasn't a happy smile. I was going to set it up and present it to him as a done deal. He could either take it or leave it. If he didn't like it, he could torment someone else with his whims. I quickly looked up Lydia's number and dialed.

"Tuxedoes Kennels."

"Lydia Bryant, please."

"Just a moment."

I waited on the phone for a long moment as I listened to dogs barking in the background.

"This is Lydia, how may I help you?"

"Ms. Bryant, Brooklyn Lancaster. I spoke to you approximately four months ago about an opportunity. Do you recall?"

Lydia was quiet for a moment. "I'm sorry, Ms. Lancaster, you'll have to remind me."

"You signed up on my dating app, and I paid you a visit to discuss your interest in being a companion... "

"Oh, yeah! Now I remember! I thought since I'd been rejected I'd never hear from you again."

"Sometimes it's a slow process, and I apologize for that. The reason I'm calling today is to find out if you're still available and interested in being a companion."

I waited a long moment for her answer. "Yes," she finally murmured. I could sense there was a lot of meaning hidden in that one-word response.

"Excellent. I need to warn you, the man I want to pair you with can occasionally be... difficult. He's a celebrity and is sometimes self-centered and temperamental."

"Swell," Lydia muttered. "Just what I need. Another asshole."

I smiled to myself. "What this man needs is a strong woman, someone like you, who's willing to stand up to him and call him out when necessary."

"So he needs training?"

I snickered. "That's one way of looking at it."

She sighed. "I just got out of a relationship with a jerk. I'm not sure I want to get into another one."

"I understand, and you're under no obligation to accept. If you choose not to accept my offer at this time, I'd still like to keep your information on file for the future, if that's agreeable?"

"I suppose."

I could sense she wasn't interested, and I never,

ever

, coerced. "Thank you for your time, Ms. Bryant."

"Wait!" I brought the phone back to my ear. She sighed. "Who is he?"

I normally didn't give out information on my client until the companion agreed to the meeting, and even then, I released only their first names, leaving the client and companion to discover everything else on their own, but this was hardly my typical client or situation.

"Barrett Quillon."

She was quiet for a moment. "

The

Barrett Quillon? The guy that starred in

Lover's Reach, Mourning Mountain, Trenches,

and

Kidnapped

?

That

Barrett Quillon?"

"Among others," I confirmed. She grunted. "I don't want to unfairly malign Mr. Quillon. He can be very charming."

"But he can also be an asshole?"

"I wouldn't put it quite so harshly. I think a better way to put it is he's spoiled."

Lydia was quiet, and I remained silent as well, letting her think it through. "And it will be for a month?"

"That's correct?"

"Where?"

"Bar Harbor, Maine."

"When?"

"I don't know that yet. If you agree, I will work with you to try to fit it to your schedule."

"And you said it was all expenses paid?"

"Yes."

She was quiet for another long moment. "I guess the worst that happens is I get a few days' vacation in Maine and can snap a few pictures of me with Barret Quillon to make my friends jealous, right?"

I smiled. She sounded like she was trying to talk herself into going. "Yes. You're free to leave at any time."

She chuckled, though it wasn't really a happy sound. "Sure, why the hell not? What have I got to lose?"

"You're sure? You understand that you're under no obligation to accept my offer?"

"I understand. I haven't been on a date in over a month. It's not like I have this active social life with all these prospects prostrating themselves at my feet."

"Very well. Let me start working on the details and I'll get back to you. Plan on leaving sometime in October or November, but as plans develop, I'll be able to give you exact dates."

"Brrr! Maine in November!"

"Do you have another suggestion?" I asked. Maybe she had an idea I hadn't thought of.

"No. Maine's fine. I hear it's beautiful up there."

"I've never been myself." There was a short and awkward pause. "I'll begin work on this, and as soon as I have information, I'll pass it along to you."

"Thank you, Brooklyn. I look forward to hearing from you."

I hung up the phone and turned to my computer. I had a lot of work to do.

.

.

.

Lydia

I crept along in my rented Chevy, my phone telling me I was getting close to my destination. It was hard to believe I would be spending a month with Barrett Quillon, but here I was. Barrett was supposed to be here already and was supposed to pick me up at the airport, but like everything else about this adventure, nothing had gone as planned.

Brooklyn had called me yesterday to inform me that Barrett wouldn't be arriving until later this evening, giving me the option to cancel the trip entirely, reschedule my arrival to the next day, or go ahead as scheduled and meet him later. I could hear the annoyance in her voice, and I had the distinct impression that Barrett got on her nerves.

You have reached your destination,

my phone said. I turned into the wide, gently curving, cobblestone drive and crept through the lush landscaping before stopping. I checked my phone again and compared the address I entered for my destination to the one Brooklyn had included in my itinerary. Swallowing hard, I took my foot off the brake and allowed the Equinox to creep forward. Barrett and I were supposed to stay in a house, but even with the GPS's assurance I was in the right place, still I expected a concierge to appear and offer to take my bags.

I pulled to a stop in front of the six-car garage beside the white Tahoe. Up close, the house appeared even larger than it had when I'd first seen it. An attractive older woman opened the door of the Tahoe and stepped out. I did the same.

"Ms. Bryant? I'm Lillian Colby. Nice to meet you," she said, extending her hand as she approached.

"Uh, nice to meet you too," I murmured as I took her hand. Since she knew my name and seemed to be expecting me, I assumed I was at the right place.

"I have your key along with a packet of information and phone numbers for any issues you may encounter... plumber, police and fire, and the like."

I smiled to myself, her Maine accent sounding so strange—

numb-ah, plumb-ah

and

fi-ah.

I took the packet. "This is one house?" I probably sounded like the Oklahoma hick I felt like, but I was overwhelmed. I'd stayed in hotels smaller than this house.

Lillian smiled. "Yes. Magnificent, isn't it? It's for sale, if you're interested."

I couldn't contain my laugh. Five years prior I'd bought my first house, a slightly run down 1980's, 1,850 square foot, rambling ranch, in Totlenville, Oklahoma. "I think this is a little beyond my price range."

She smiled. "Yes. Mine too. Let me give you the quick tour, and then I'll let you get settled in."

I followed Lillian to the front door and into the house. The house was huge, and as I followed her around, Lillian prattled on about the details. With over 18,000 square feet, the house was ten times the size of my home, but beyond that, it had everything. Huge rooms, breathtaking views, and stone, wood, and glass everywhere I looked. With ten bedrooms, twelve bathrooms, gym, sauna, game room, theater, and a kitchen that could service a restaurant, the house wanted for nothing.

"I have to ask how much?"

"The owner just cut to the price to forty-six, nine."

It took me a moment for the number to register. "Forty-six

million

?"

Lillian nodded. "Yes, for the house and the ten acres it sits on."

I felt sick. "Are you sure there hasn't been some mistake?"

"What do you mean?"

"This place. Are you sure this is where we're supposed to stay? Lydia Bryant and Barrett Quillon?"

Lillian smiled again. "Yes, this is the place. You're scheduled to stay here from today until November third, correct?"

"Yes..."

"Don't worry, Ms. Bryant. The property is fully insured, and since the owner no longer uses it, he rents it to select clients while waiting for it to sell."

I swallowed again. "Okay, but why would..."

Lillian's smile spread. "Nasty divorce," she said, answering my unasked question.

I exhaled slowly, trying to relax. "Okay. I'm just worried I'll accidentally break a ten-thousand-dollar vase or something.

Lillian smiled again. "As I said, the house is insured, and the really valuable items have been removed. As long as you don't plan on knocking holes in the walls, I suggest you relax, enjoy yourself, and treat the property as you would your own home." Her smile widened. "Cleaning and ground maintenance are taken care of, but if you'd like a personal chef, I can recommend one."

I waved my hands in front of my face. "No, no, that's okay. I think I can manage."

Lillian nodded. "The grounds keeping and cleaning crews are here Monday and Friday at ten. They are normally gone by two." I nodded. "Anything else?"

"No, I don't think so."

Lillian handed me her card. "I'm managing the sale of the estate, so if anything comes up, feel free to give me a call."

"Thank you. I promise not to finger-paint on the walls or anything."

"I have no worries. You and Mr. Quillon were thoroughly vetted before the owner agreed to rent the property. If there's nothing else, I have to show another house in..." she glanced at her phone, "an hour."

"No. Thank you again for the tour."

"Enjoy your stay."

After Lillian was gone, I walked through the house again, still in awe, but not so much so that I didn't peek into all the nooks, crannies, and closets. I found it amusing that the house had four huge, commercial washers and dryers, presumably so the staff could do the laundry four times as fast. The house also had four master suites, and in each of them, the closets were bigger than my entire bedroom. I couldn't imagine having the kind of money it took to build and maintain a house such as this.

After my second tour of the home, I unloaded my bags from the car and carried them into my room. The smallest of the bedrooms was twice the size of mine at home, but I took one of the master suites with the commanding view of the North Atlantic beyond.

After I unpacked, I poked through the kitchen. It was well equipped with high end pots and pans, but nothing edible. Brooklyn said it was all expenses paid, but I didn't begrudge buying enough food to tide us over for a few days since Barrett was footing the bill that allowed me to spend a month in such luxury.

I had to drive to Bar Harbor to find a market, and since I had no idea what Barrett would eat, I bought plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables, along with a couple of very nice steaks, and some chicken in case he didn't eat red meat. Parking my Chevy in one of the garage bays, I hauled the bags into the kitchen and put everything away.

I didn't know when Barrett would arrive, it was already dark, and I was hungry, so I began preparing my meal. I was cooking enough for two, but since he wasn't here to tell me what he wanted, if he arrived and wanted something to eat, he was either having seared chicken served with garlic potatoes because that's what I wanted, he could fix his own meal, or he could go buy something. I was willing to do the cooking since I did it at home anyway, and it wasn't often that I could use such a magnificent kitchen, but I'd be damned it I was going to be his servant.

I was loading the dishwasher when deep, resonant, chimes echoed through the house. When the chiming began, I thought it was church bells but realized it was probably the doorbell. I quickly wiped my hands and hurried to the front door. Apparently, all the outside lights were on some sort of sensor or timer because the house and grounds were ablaze with light. I peeked through the leaded glass window of the door. Beyond was Barrett Quillon, heartthrob of millions of women worldwide.

After taking a deep breath to calm myself, I unlocked and opened the door. "Come in." I wanted to roll my eyes. I was inviting the man providing this vacation into the house he was paying for.

"Hi! Are you Lydia?" he asked as he stepped in and closed the door behind him, pulling me to him and kissing me quickly on the lips before letting me go.

There was nothing overtly sexual about the kiss, but it caught me completely off guard. I took a quick step back, desperately trying to gather my wits. "Uh... yeah. Lydia Bryant. Nice to meet you," I said, extending my hand.

He glanced at my hand before grinning at me with his megawatt smile. "Sorry I'm late. Got held up by a producer's meeting," he said, ignoring my offered hand. "You know how it is."

Actually I didn't, but I didn't say anything. "I've already eaten, but there's some left, if you'd like."

"No, but thanks. I ate on the plane." His gaze swept the entry. "So, this is the place, huh? It's okay."

I glanced around.

Okay? If this is okay, what's he used to?

"Uh, do you have some luggage you need help with?"

"No. It'll be along later. What is there to drink in this place?"

"There's a bar in the game room."

"Where's that?"

"Follow me."

I led Barrett through the house to the large game room with the beautiful oak bar tucked into the corner. Barrett stepped behind the bar like he owned the place and looked through the bottles before taking one, pulling a glass off the shelf, and pouring himself a splash of brown liquid.

"You want one?"

I shook my head. I was having a hard time adjusting to his boldness. I was afraid to touch anything, but he was drinking the owner's liquor like it was his and he'd kissed me without any warning or permission, as if it was expected. Most off putting of all was his general attitude. He reminded me of some of the guys I knew in high school, teenagers full of self-importance because their daddy had money or they happened to be good at sports. Their entitlement annoyed me then, and his annoyed me now.

He took a swig from the glass, his face twisting with the burn as he swallowed and then gestured at me with the glass. "So, tell me about yourself?"

"What do you want to know?"

He shrugged. "What do you do?"

"I own a kennel and breed Old English Sheepdogs."

He grinned. "So you're the head bitch, eh?"

I forced a smile. "You could say that."

"Where are you from? I'd say, based on the accent, north Texas, maybe Oklahoma?"

Despite myself, I was impressed that he'd gotten that when I'd spoken so little. "Totlenville, Oklahoma, about twenty minutes outside of Oklahoma City."

He grinned at me. "I love accents. They can make a character a cowboy," he said with a deep Texas twang before he switched to a slow Georgia drawl, "a hayseed hick," he changed his voice again, "or a cultured businessman," he finished in a rich British voice.

I couldn't help but smile. Brooklyn was right, he could be charming. He was also stunningly good looking, as anyone would expect from one of the hottest leading men in Hollywood.

He was tall, easily six two or six three, and assuming what I'd seen on the screen was real, amazingly well built. Interestingly enough, seeing him in person, though he was an incredibly attractive man, he wasn't perfect, and I wondered if his straw-colored hair was his natural color. On the big screen his features were flawless, but in real life, his face was slightly softer and not as angular. He had a slight blemish on his right cheek, the type of thing that could come from an almost healed pimple or a scratch, and a few laugh lines around his eyes. Compared to his on-screen presence, he wasn't perfect, but compared to normal, mortal men, he was still a ten out of ten.

"If you want to practice your central Oklahoma accent, I'm your girl," I replied with a smile, slathering on the accent.

He chuckled and saluted me with his glass. "Old English Sheepdogs? Isn't that like the dog in Walt Disney's

The Shaggy Dog

and the sequel

The Shaggy DA

?"

I shrugged. "I couldn't say. I haven't seen the movies."

He grunted. "Doesn't matter. What do you do with the dogs you raise?"

"Sell them." His eyes narrowed slightly and he grunted again. "What?"

"Nothing. I just think it's terrible that you're breeding dogs when so many are destroyed. And the conditions of some—"

"Not every breeder is a puppy mill," I interrupted. "I have eight dogs, six females and two males, and they live in the house with me. They have almost an acre of fenced yard to play in, and I don't keep them in cages. Tuxedoes Kennels is an AKC certified breeder, and we're starting to gain a reputation of producing excellent, championship quality dogs." I pinned him with my gaze. "I take good care of my animals, I don't overbreed them, I vet every person before I'll sell them one of my dogs, and I won't sell to pet stores or brokers, so I'd appreciate if you'd keep your preconceived and incorrect notions to yourself."