Bruno (Family Ties Book 4)

Chapter 1

Bruno Santana would rather be anywhere else but on this date, at this time, with this woman.

“May I take your plates?” Reuben, the waiter, asked the question.

Bruno nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

“Can I interest you in dessert?” The young man rested the dishes on his forearm.

Bruno dropped his cloth napkin on the table. “Just the che?—”

“Oh, I would love dessert!” Teresa, his date, interrupted. “I had my eye on the red velvet cheesecake. I love red velvet cake and cheesecake, and that combination is too enticing to resist. You should try it.” Her eyes were bright and excited.

Normally Bruno loved to see a woman enjoy her food, but he longed for the evening to end. “You know, I?—”

“Or we could share,” Teresa prattled on. “That’s what we’ll do. We’ll share. That’s so romantic. Us sharing cheesecake on our first date.”

No way.

“You should get it to go,” he suggested.

Her mouth fell open, as if he’d made a suggestion worthy of a Nobel Prize.

“What a great idea! Can I have two to go? You don’t mind, do you? My roommate loves that combination, too, and I want to take one for her.”

Bruno forced a smile to his lips. “No, I don’t mind,” he said evenly.

Teresa had ordered appetizers, multiple mixed drinks, and the most expensive dish on the menu. Now she wanted two desserts. He could afford the meal, but was making a good first impression no longer a thing? Not for Teresa and the handful of women he’d taken out in Atlanta, apparently.

He drained his glass of water, listening to her drone on, oblivious he barely participated in the conversation. Objectively, there was nothing wrong with her. She was attractive and physically fit, with a hearty appetite—a characteristic that as a chef he appreciated. She was college educated, having earned a civil engineering degree from Kennesaw State University.

Yet he felt nothing. Nada. No spark.

She kept talking until the waiter returned with the bill and rescued Bruno from the incessant gibberish. He placed the bill beside Bruno’s arm and handed a paper sack to Teresa.

After Bruno paid for the meals, he escorted her toward the exit of the restaurant with a mounting sense of relief. The date was almost over.

As they neared the door, he sent a text to the chauffeur of the hired car to meet them at the front. They didn’t have long to wait before a silver SUV pulled up, and they both climbed in.

Placing her bag of cakes on the floor of the vehicle, Teresa crossed her shapely legs toward Bruno. Her silky black dress, more like a slip with spaghetti straps, rode higher on her thigh.

“I had a really good time tonight,” she purred.

“Good.”

He couldn’t bring himself to lie and say he had enjoyed himself. The goal at this point was to get rid of her as quickly as possible.

When the driver pulled in front of Teresa’s apartment building, Bruno helped her down from the vehicle and escorted her to the front door with her cakes in hand.

“Would you like to come in? My roommate’s spending the night at her boyfriend’s place, which means we’ll have the apartment to ourselves.”

“No, I?—”

“I’m not taking no for an answer, Mister.” She tapped the middle of his chest with one finger. “Spend the night, and I’ll make my famous French toast for you in the morning.”

Bruno bit down on his molars. Time to wrap this up. “Teresa, I’m sure your French toast is delicious, but I am not interested in your version, nor am I interested in spending the night. This was our first and last date. I wish you the best in finding the right man, but you and I—we are not compatible.”

At first, she seemed stunned speechless, which was amusing, since she’d dominated much of the conversation all night.

Then she shot a knowing smile at him. “You’ll change your mind, and when you do, you can call me. Don’t worry, I’ll take your call.”

Unbelievable.

She raised up onto her toes to kiss him, but he blocked her with two fingers pressed to her lips.

Her eyes widened in surprise as he slowly pushed her head backward away from him.

“Good night, Teresa.”

Her mouth fell open in shock. With a huff, she swung around and marched into the building, muttering something that sounded very much like Asshole.

Once she was safely inside, he returned to the silver SUV.

The driver had a thick gray mustache and wore a chauffeur’s uniform, complete with the cap. He stood with the door open.

“Home please, Orson,” Bruno told the older man, and slid onto the plush leather of the interior.

They pulled away from the curb.

“Consider yourself lucky that you’re happily married. You don’t want to be out here like me, struggling,” Bruno said.

Orson met his gaze in the rearview mirror, amusement in his eyes. “I count my blessings every day.”

Bruno grunted and lowered his eyes to his phone, busying himself with checking messages he’d missed while on his fiasco of a date. He spent most of the ride on the phone with his vice president of restaurant operations, discussing a supply problem that had cropped up yesterday.

The time passed quickly, and soon the SUV was easing its way up the long paved driveway to the front door of his home outside the city limits of Atlanta.

Bruno wrapped up the conversation. “Your best bet is to reach out to them first thing on Monday morning. Call me by noon and give me an update.”

“Yes, sir. Have a good night,” his vice president said.

The driver parked on the side of the house and rounded the vehicle to open the back door.

“Good night, Orson,” Bruno said, as he descended the vehicle.

“Good night, Mr. Santana. Maybe you’ll have better luck next time.” He tipped his hat.

Bruno grunted again. He wasn’t sure about that. He hadn’t had much luck thus far and had been optimistic about tonight.

He and Teresa initially struck up a conversation at the farmer’s market. Blown away by the beautiful blonde and pleased with the way conversation flowed easily between them, he had asked for her number. However, the thirteen year difference between them reared its ugly head in their conversation this evening. They simply didn’t have much in common, and she talked too much.

On the walk to the door, he turned off the alarm through an app on his phone and entered the house.

Standing in the entryway, he listened to the loud silence. It would be nice to have someone to come home to after a day at work or a business trip out of town. Someone to unwind with and tell about his day and listen to their day. Have a damn conversation. A real one that was interesting.

The phone in his hand vibrated, and he glanced down. Ignacio, his actor brother living in Los Angeles.

“Hey, what’s—” Bruno grimaced when loud music poured into his eardrums.

“Did you get my text?” Ignacio yelled in Spanish.

Bruno flinched and pulled the phone away from his ear. “No, I was on a date and haven’t had a chance to check all my messages yet. Where the hell are you? Sounds like you’re at a rave.”

“Hold on.”

The phone went silent, and Bruno strolled into the kitchen. When Ignacio returned to the line, there was no background noise.

“How did your date go?” his brother asked.

Bruno flipped the switch on the wall and illuminated the chef’s kitchen. The top-of-the-line stainless steel appliances reflected the overhead lights. “I’d rather not say.”

Ignacio chuckled. “Still on the prowl. Are you having a hard time finding a girlfriend in Atlanta?”

“You make me sound like some kind of animal on the hunt.”

“Dating is akin to hunting. You size up your prey—women—and then go in for the kill. Hopefully, you’ve chosen good meat.”

“Remind me never to ask you for dating advice,” Bruno said in a dry tone. He opened the refrigerator and removed a bottle of water.

“You’re a thirty-six-year-old somewhat attractive man?—”

“Somewhat?”

His brother laughed. “Compared to me—yes, somewhat. But anyway, you’re in your mid-thirties, no children, never married, with a net worth above a billion dollars. Yet you don’t have a serious girlfriend, and you don’t have any prospects. Why do you believe that is?”

“I can’t find a good woman,” Bruno muttered, taking a sip of water as he leaned against the nine foot waterfall island in the middle of the kitchen.

“Good women are everywhere. Do you even know what you want?”

The question made Bruno stop and think. What did he want?

“I need a wife.”

“A what?”

“I need a wife,” Bruno reiterated, leaning into the idea. “I don’t want to waste time on dates and suffer through mundane conversations with women I have nothing in common with.”

“You’re serious?”

When he first spoke the words, he’d been speaking out of frustration but realized that he meant what he said.

Bruno nodded as if Ignacio were standing before him. “I am serious. With a wife, I’d have a regular companion. A solid plus one for events. Someone to travel with…and eventually I want to have a child or two.”

“Consider yourself lucky I called, because I might be able to help you.”

“How?” Bruno asked slowly, suspiciously.

“This is a good idea, I promise. Do you remember Roman? He owns several clubs out here.”

“Yes, I remember you talking about him.”

“He’s engaged.”

Bruno frowned. “Who in the world is marrying him?”

“He had a hard time finding women who matched his personality and energy and understood his lifestyle. Until he contacted a matchmaking service—Executive Match, Inc.”

Bruno groaned. “So you think I’m desperate.”

“Matchmaking has nothing to do with desperation. It’s a business. They provide a service. Executive Match caters to high end clients—basically, people like you.”

Bruno pulled out a sleek leather stool and sat at the island. His brows furrowed tight as he mulled the idea in his head. Why not hire someone to prune the weeds? Slowly, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Perhaps Ignacio was right. A matchmaking service wasn’t a half bad idea.

“Hello, Bruno. Are you still there?”

“I’m here. I’ll think about it.” He drained the water bottle.

“What is there to think about? You didn’t enjoy your date tonight, the second date in the past two weeks that didn’t go well. Try Executive Match. They have an office in Atlanta. Roman is here at my place, and I can find out if his matchmaker could recommend someone in the Atlanta office. Don’t worry, I won’t mention the request is for you.”

Bruno tossed the empty plastic bottle across the room and it landed squarely in the recycling bin. The matchmaking process couldn’t be any worse than the tedious hamster wheel of dating he was on now.

“All right, ask him.”

“I’ll talk to him as soon as I hang up with you. Now, about the text. What was the sweet and spicy sauce you put on the wings that time that everybody loved?”

“Simple, Sriracha and honey. A one to one ratio and mix well. If you want to elevate the flavor, add melted butter and salt.”

“Got it. I have a bunch of hungry people in my house and two trays of naked wings. You saved the day. I can whip up your sauce in a few minutes. Talk to you later!”

Bruno hung up and strolled into his bedroom, stripping off his clothing and the frustrations of the night. As he climbed into bed, his phone dinged. He glanced at the device and opened the text Ignacio had sent.

Lying back against the pillows, he read the information. Executive Match, Inc. had offices in New York, Beverly Hills, and Atlanta, and the referral was to someone named Marissa Liburd.

He clicked the link to the website and skimmed the details about the membership fee, how long they had been in business, and watched a short video by the Director of Marketing about how they operated.

After years of dating all manner of women, the video convinced him that a matchmaker was a viable option.

What did he have to lose?