“Oh! Oh, wow, hi! Nice to meet you. I knew Des had a brother, but…” I caught myself before I finished the sentence. Aside from me rambling like an idiot, Desiree kept very quiet about her brother, even though she claimed they were close. But, one of the few things I knew about Avery — from Des — was that he was private, so it made sense that he wasn’t a regular topic of conversation. Still, maybe Des could have mentioned her brother was the Avery Anderson, owner of the largest black-owner auto-repair chain in the south and Midwest.
I recognized him from the feature pages and websites of several business magazines I frequented. Many of his interviews reeked of arrogance, and he had a reputation for being blunt and demanding, but sometimes, in some fields, that’s just what it takes to get past the hurdles and become successful. His company, Ignition, was youthful and modern; a niche I never would have thought of for car repair, but it worked for him. Avery was wealthy, successful, and if I remembered correctly, he wasn’t even 35.
He gave me a slow, sexy grin, making my heart flutter a little. “But… what? Hey, don’t believe anything my sister said about me— unless it was good.”
I cut my eyes toward the ceiling, pretending to think about it with a grimace. “Ummm… unfortunately, that means I don’t have anything to believe about you.”
Avery broke into carefree laughter, and the sound tugged at the tightness that had been laying on my chest since I signed the final divorce papers two days before. “Nothing, huh?”
“Nope, sorry,” I teased, even as I nervously chewed my bottom lip, still trying — and failing — not to be drawn in again by his eyes. Avery still had me by the arm, and I was reluctant to pull away from the warmth of his touch even though something about this whole conversation felt too close for comfort.
“Well, even though everything you know about me is bad, can I still escort you to Des’ room? That’s actually why I was looking for you, Des is freaking out a little because she didn’t know where the maid of honor was and you weren’t answering your phone. I kinda promised her I would find you. And … maybe I can tell you some good things about me on the way.”
Before I could respond, Avery placed a hand against the small of my back — which was bare, due to the style of the soft coral dress Des had chosen for me to wear— and turned me in the direction of her dressing room. He let it linger there as we walked, a liberty I usually would have politely rebuffed, but the weight of his hand felt comfortable, warm, and just good. It was a little crazy that this was the most intimate touch I’d experienced — and enjoyed— in the last several months, and this would need to hold me over for the next… lifetime.
Prior to the short-lived disaster of my marriage, I’d concluded that I was one of ‘those’ women who were just meant to be single. I had abandoned that because of a teensy tiny spark of hope, but my plan now was to go back to the resolution I made before my now ex-husband Rafael had entered the picture. A forever relationship just wasn’t in the cards for me, so I had to be content with making the successful love connections for others that I couldn’t make for myself.
I enjoyed matchmaking. I’d taken my knack for finding romantic chemistry between others and paired it with science and logic to create Matched, a concierge-style service that coupled young, upwardly mobile professionals from all over the United States. I focused on that group because they were my peers, and I saw and felt the struggles they faced in finding compatible partners with whom they could spend their lives.