Matchmaer 11: November

Brooklyn

I walked into the beautiful but informal offices of ECA, or East Coast Airlines, as they were once known. I'd flown into Concord, North Carolina, on one of ECA's Boeing 737s to meet with the owner of that airplane, William Raymond Ogden, more commonly referred to as Billy-Ray.

At twenty-four, Billy-Ray had taken over the airline his grandfather had started after he'd returned from bombing raids over Germany in World War II, and over the next four years, he'd built it into a regional powerhouse. ECA owned the low-cost routes east of the Mississippi River, from Portland, Maine, to Miami, Florida, and now he was expanding west, adding routes to Las Vegas, Dallas, Houston, and, fortunately for me, Chicago, among other places.

Other low-cost carriers were quaking in their shoes because Billy-Ray had hit upon a potent combination of low cost and quality service. He'd taken what most considered a disadvantage, his small airplanes and out of the way airports, and turned it to his favor by catering to the casual and vacation traveler. Without the ability to spend a huge amount of money to upgrade his equipment or relocate to major airports, he'd instead focused on the quality of service. While ECA didn't offer the number of flights and options of the big, national, full-service carriers, ECA was renowned for its friendly customer service and its on-time arrival and departures.

My flight had been surprisingly pleasant for a budget airline. With no first or business class sections, ECA's plane was comfortable enough, using the extra room to provide slightly larger seats with more room than most airlines have in their main cabin. Having flown ECA for the first time, I could see the appeal, with everyone from booking to the flight staff exceptionally friendly, cheerful, and eager to please. I'd flown out of Rockford, Illinois, outside of Chicago, into Concord Regional, near Charlotte, and it was refreshing not having to battle the crowds of larger airports.

I found it interesting that when Billy-Ray traveled, he flew on the same flights as his customers, often walking up and down the aisle, chatting with passengers and asking for feedback. At twenty-eight, with his down-home southern charm and an acute business sense, he was becoming a media darling with the likes of Bill Gates, Steve Bezos, and Mark Zuckerberg, and his name, Billy-Ray, was becoming his moniker. If someone said 'Billy-Ray,' everyone who heard it assumed you were talking about William Raymond Ogden.

I approached the pretty receptionist sitting behind an elegant but simple desk. "I have an appointment with Mr. Ogden."

"Yes, Ms. Lancaster. Billy-Ray is expecting you. If you'll please wait just a moment." The woman touched something out of sight behind the desk. "Billy-Ray? Ms. Lancaster is here to see you." Her attention returned to me. "He's on his way."

"Thank you," I replied, impressed that the woman knew who I was on sight. The corporate culture at ECA really did seem to be focused entirely on making their customers feel welcomed.

I glanced around the office. The reception area wasn't large, but it was well appointed with deep red leather chairs that complimented the polished concrete floors, white walls, and tasteful artwork. The room was flooded with light from the large windows at the front, with another glass wall at the side that overlooked a much larger room full of busy employees with telephone headsets. Etched into the glass was the ECA catch phrase,

We Love to Take You Flying!

"Ms. Lancaster?" I turned in the direction of the voice. "Nice to finally meet you. I'm William Ogden, but you can call me Billy-Ray."

I took the offered hand. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Ogden."

"Billy-Ray," he corrected.

"Billy-Ray," I amended.

"Won't you come on back?" he asked, waving his hand to the back of the building. "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water? Need to use the restroom?"

"No thank you."

He escorted me to his office. I had to force myself not to smile as I entered. The office matched the man. Billy-Ray was worth more than three billion dollars, and though his office was well appointed with quality furnishings, it was no larger than mine. He closed the door behind us and gestured to one of the comfortable guest chairs that fronted his desk, canting the chair slightly to the left and then standing with his hands on the back until I settled. I expected him to move behind the desk, but instead he turned the matching chair toward me slightly and took a seat.

"So, how does this work?" he asked.

"I'm going to spend the next several hours asking you a lot of questions. Some may seem very shallow, but the more honest with me you are, the better fit your companion will be."

"Shallow how?"

I smiled. "For example, do you prefer women with large breasts or small, brunettes, that sort of thing. I'm going to show you a selection of photos to help determine what body types, hair color, breast size, etc., you find attractive."

He blinked at me a couple of times. "I'm not sure that it matters."

I nodded. "If it truly doesn't matter, then that's fine, but if you do happen to prefer women with small breasts or large, then you should tell me so I can factor that into my selection process." I paused, and he looked decidedly uncomfortable. I smiled to try to put him at ease. "What you tell me will be totally confidential, and I'm not here to judge you. We all have our preferences. I like men who are taller than me, but not a lot taller, somewhere between five-ten and say six-one. I like them in this order, redheads, brunettes, and then blonds." I smiled again. "So, you see, we all have our preferences. If it makes you feel any better, I select companions based on your preferences from strong to weak. In other words, if you care more about a companion's personality over their appearance, I won't reject companions solely based on how they look."

He seemed to relax slightly. "That's good." He smiled. "Medium sized, and real."

I smiled again. "I can assume you'd like your companion to be female?"

He chuckled. "Yes. Let's get that right out in the open. If the companion is a dude, that's a deal breaker." He paused and became more serious. "Do you have a lot of demand for that... for same sex companions?"

"No. Occasionally it happens, and so far I've been successful in making a match, but by far my largest client group are men looking to be paired with a woman."

He sighed softly. "Understood. I'll be as honest with you as I can, but I've never done anything like this before."

I nodded. "Few have. The best advice I can give you is to not overthink things. If I ask a question and you have an immediate reaction, good or bad, you should probably go with that. Ideally, when you meet your companion for the first time, you should think she's one of the most beautiful women you've ever seen, and by the end of your time together, you'll be thinking she's perfect. Because I vet my companions as well, asking many of the same questions I'll be asking you, she should have the same reaction to you."

He nodded slowly. "I understand."

"Are you ready to begin?"

He nodded again. "I guess."

"I'd like to record our conversation, with your agreement, so I don't forget anything."

"And what happens to the recording?"

"After I've selected your companion, I destroy it because it's of no further use to me."

"Okay. I agree then."

I placed the recorder on the desk, nearer to him, because his answers were more important than how I asked him the question. "Okay. First, tell me about a woman you admire."

"Any woman?"

It was my turn to nod. "Any woman. Tell me what you like about her."

He paused for a moment and began to speak. "A few years back, we hired this woman. She was fresh out of high school and begging for a job, any job. She was the first person we hired after I took over. After only three weeks on the job, she asked to see me. She had a long list of complaints about how the call center was run, but she also had an equal number of solutions, and some ideas of her own." He smiled with the memory. "We made changes based on her recommendations and our customer satisfaction rating almost immediately started going up. She's the first shift supervisor of the call center now, and before long, I'm going to have to start looking over my shoulder or she'll be after my job."

I smiled while I did some quick math. This nameless woman might only be four years younger than Billy-Ray, but he was beaming like a proud parent. "What do you like about this woman?"

I listened as Billy-Ray told me the story of a young woman making good. She was a rape survivor and raising a little girl that had resulted from it. She'd come to ECA hat in hand begging for a job. He'd had no hand in hiring her, but she'd taken the opportunity and never looked back. As he talked, I made notes.

Willing to give people a chance to prove themselves

and

Likes people who don't see problems, but opportunities.

I spoke to Billy-Ray for a little over four hours. By the time I shook his hand and made my leave, I had a good sense of the man. He would be an easy fit. He was a true southern gentleman and a good man. Despite his homey ways and slow southern drawl, I knew he wasn't only a good businessman, but he also had a keen intellect and was good at reading people. It was hard to believe he needed my services, but sometimes even the best people needed a little help.

.

.

.

Sage

I strode through the terminal with the other passengers on my way to baggage claim. When I'd found out I was going to fucking Duluth, fucking Minnesota, I was surprised I was on a regular airplane and not stuck flying on some World War II relic sitting among the goats and chickens with a bunch of inbred rednecks.

It wouldn't have mattered if I had. I wanted this. I wanted this badly, and I was willing to do whatever it took, including flying into the middle of God forsaken nowheresville. I knew William had to be rich to afford Brooklyn's services, and that was all I cared about. She assured me he was handsome, but I didn't care if he looked like Jabba the Hut. I could always get a little on the side from the pool boy if he was a fat, greasy-haired bastard.

What I couldn't figure out, though, was if he was so damned rich, why the fuck were we way out in the middle of fucking nowhere? Why couldn't we go somewhere like New York, San Francisco, or anywhere with some culture? We could have stayed at home in Chicago, but

no,

he had to drag me way the hell out in the boonies. I shoved my annoyance down. If this was where he wanted to meet, then he'd never know how much I hated being out in the fucking sticks.

I was a good actress. I might be a personal injury lawyer, but I could cry on demand, play the outraged every-person, or be personable and winning, choosing whatever persona I thought would most sway a jury. I was good at my job, very good, but I didn't want to spend my life arguing cases of car accidents and slips and falls. I was looking for the big score, and I was keeping my options open as I waited for the big negligence suit to arrive on my doorstep.

I'd heard about Brooklyn's services through the grapevine, along with the clientele she serviced. There was surprisingly little information about her or her services available on the internet, but what I could find was tantalizing and I'd signed up on her dating app. I wasn't looking for happily ever after, I was searching for money and the power that came with it. I could stand anything for a month, and I couldn't see him being worth millions and living some place like Pigfuck, Arkansas, so it would all be worth it in the end.

I'd had to apply three times, over the course of eighteen months, before she contacted me. During the initial phone interview, and later the personal interview, I'd played every card in my hand to win her over. I'd gushed over wanting to find true love and how I'd scrimped and sacrificed to put myself through college so I could defend the little guy against injustice. The best lies were those that had kernels of truth in them, so I'd carefully worded my responses to make the most of my situation. Yes, I'd had to pay for my college because Mom couldn't afford to send me to school, but she was always there to back me up if I got myself in a pinch. I'd had a couple of scholarships that helped, and I worked part time in a bar waiting tables, plus I'd helped myself along by dating older men who didn't mind lavishing attention and money on me. It wasn't exactly pay to play, but I could lie on my back with my legs in the air while I moaned for them if they wanted to help me with my books and tuition.

I rode down the escalators to baggage claim, forcing a smile on my face. I had no idea what William looked like, but he was supposed to meet me here. I saw a man in his fifties holding a dozen roses and forced my smile to widen. He wasn't bad looking, if a little paunchy around the waist. I'd fucked worse. I began to angle in that direction when his face lit up, but he wasn't looking at me. He handed the roses to a dumpling of a woman close to his age as she melted into his arms for kiss.

My brows wrinkling in confusion, I scanned the area. Off to the side stood another man, glancing around as if he were looking for someone. I hadn't noticed his sign, my attention immediately captured by the flowers, but it had my name written on it. My smile became genuine as I adjusted my path toward him.

His gaze met mine as I approached, and he smiled. "William?" I asked as I coasted to a stop in front of him. "I'm Sage Piper."

He tucked the sign under his arm and extended his hand. "Billy-Ray Ogden. Nice to meet me you, Sage."

"Billy-Ray? The Billy-Ray?"

He glanced away in apparent sheepishness. "Yeah, probably."

He might sound like Colonel Sanders, but he sure as hell didn't look like him. Standing at least eight inches taller than my own five-five, he wore his dark hair in a short but stylish business cut that complimented his strong jaw, narrow nose, and deep set, dark eyes. Better than his face, however, was his body. Even under his sheepskin coat I could see the power of his arms and the broadness of his chest before it tapered to a narrow waist. He was wearing jeans that were nicely filled out by thickly muscled legs, and I didn't miss the bulge in front either. If he had the skills to back up the promises his body made, laying on my back and moaning for this guy would be no hardship.

"Nice to meet you... Billy-Ray," I said, his very name grating on my nerves. Didn't he know how hillbilly that name sounded? It didn't matter. If he wanted me to call him Billy-Ray, then that's what I'd call him.

"Shall we get your luggage?"

I nodded. "I didn't bring a lot. Brooklyn said you'd provide new clothes?"

He nodded. I was from Chicago, where it got plenty cold, but if he was willing to buy me a new wardrobe, I was willing to let him.

"Sure. You have enough for a day or two, until we can figure out what you need?"

Now it was my turn to nod. I didn't want to put him off by pressing. "I have a lot of suits, but not much else."

"Oh? What line of work are you in?"

"Lawyer."

"Oh," he grunted, and his tone worried me.

"I do personal injury work. You know, sticking up for the little guy."

"That's good," he murmured, but his body language and voice said something else entirely.

I was afraid I wasn't making a very good first impression, but I didn't know what to say to extract myself from the situation. I decided to go on the offensive.

"You don't approve?" I asked, my tone carefully neutral as we glided to a stop to wait for my bag to appear.

"It's not that I disapprove of what you do, more of the people you end up representing."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing."

"Come on," I encouraged, injecting as much teasing enthusiasm into my voice as I could. "This is no time for secrets."

He sighed and looked at me. "So many people now days seem to be looking for a payday and take no responsibility for their own actions. We were just sued because a family's pet died on their flight."

"That's terrible!"

"Yes, it was, and I'm sorry the family lost their dog, but in discovery it came out their vet warned them that the dog was in ill health and the stress of flying could kill it.

They

made the choice to bring the dog on the plane despite their vet's warning, yet somehow it was our fault the dog died." He sighed. "We take great care with animals, and we have procedures in place to make sure the luggage compartment is heated and pressurized when we transport them to make them as comfortable as possible. I made a promotion video where I flew in the cargo hold on one of our flights to prove the animals would be safe and comfortable, and while the view wasn't great, the flight itself wasn't bad. But even if we'd been negligent, which we weren't, no dog is worth twenty-million dollars. I suspect they put the dog on the plane

hoping

it would die so they could sue us. As soon as their lawyer heard about the vet, the case was dropped, but we'd still spent tens of thousands of dollars in legal fees."

I had my out. "That case should have never been filed. I don't accept cases like that unless there is clear negligence."

I smiled to myself. That was the truth because I didn't like to lose, so I made sure my case was solid before I filed, as most lawyers did, but we couldn't stop a client from lying to us or leaving out vital information that made us look like money grubbing idiots. My sympathy was with their lawyer because he was out hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars for a case he had no chance of winning in court. So, it was true I wouldn't have filed, if I'd had the whole story, but now was the time for the little white lie.

"Most of my work is helping people who can't help themselves. People having to live in substandard conditions because a landlord won't make necessary repairs and keep their property up to code, or people injured because a company forced them to work in unsafe conditions... things like that."

He nodded. "Yeah, I get that, and some people need to be sued, but it still bothers me that someone would, for all practicable purposes, intentionally kill their dog on the hopes of a big payout."

"You don't know that's what happened." He looked at me in the way I looked at my clients when I knew they were lying out of their ass. Besides, while I didn't mind suing the ass off someone who needed it, I couldn't condone the killing of an animal in the hope of making money. "Maybe," I amended with a smile. I felt like I'd managed to talk my way out of a tight spot, and I didn't want to get back into it.

He grunted again as a horn began blaring and a red light flashed over the baggage carousel. "That's not the only time something like that has happened," he said as we began working our way to the carousel. After a moment, bags began to appear. "We've been sued over peanut allergies, even though we don't serve snacks or drinks because our routes are so short, refusing to allow exotic 'emotional support' animals in the cabin, and my personal favorite, being sued for emotional trauma because we don't serve alcohol on our planes, and therefore one of our passengers suffered debilitating emotional injury because he couldn't relieve his anxiety over flying." He looked at me, his eyes hard. "If you're that damned afraid of flying, maybe you should take the train."

"Yes, well, it's not the lawyer's fault people are stupid. We just provide a service, and if one lawyer doesn't take the case, another will."

He nodded. "I know. That's why I said it was nothing. You can't help what people want to sue over."