Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
“ F ernsby, won’t you join us?”
Michaela was such a lovely young lady, and Fernsby appreciated lovely young ladies. But he was quick to answer. “Thank you very much, but no. I must get back to Dane Harrington’s pied-à-terre here in San Francisco. Lord Rexford will require feeding and a walk.”
“Lord Rexford?” she asked with one pretty eyebrow raised.
But it was Troy who answered. “The dog.”
Fernsby was tempted to say that Lord Rexford was far more than just a dog . He was a Lord . He was also a convenient excuse to send the couple off on their own. Fernsby glanced pointedly at his watch. “Lord Rexford will be ravenous by now.”
Troy added with a smile, “I hope he didn’t piddle on the hardwood.”
Allowing himself to sound somewhat affronted, Fernsby drawled, “His restraint is as legendary as mine, sir.”
With a gesture, he shooed the two on their way, which, he had a feeling, the dear boy wanted very badly.
Fernsby had seen those sparks flying.
He headed in the opposite direction, away from the crowd of Mathilda Sullivan’s fans.
Turning a corner, and once he was alone, he collapsed against the building.
“She remembered me.” He actually said it aloud.
He hadn’t truly thought it possible. But she had remembered.
He’d damn near fainted right there in front of her.
And he felt faint even now. Just thinking about his first sight of her after so many years, he had to slap himself on both cheeks, one after the other, to bring himself back to his senses.
Then he remembered the book under his arm. She had signed it, and he was compelled to read her words again. He could barely breathe as he fumbled with it, almost dropping the book, which wasn’t like him at all. Fernsby never fumbled. After all, he was Fernsby.
But somehow, he didn’t feel like himself right now.
He felt like… Rolly. He managed to open to the title page bearing her lovely handwriting.
He didn’t even realize he was reading aloud until he heard his own voice.
“Dearest Rolly, I’m so happy to finally see you again after all these years.
” His blood rushed in his ears as he said the last line. “Love, Mathilda.”
He was feeling faint again. He’d tucked her personal card into the book.
The one on which she’d written her mobile number.
But he could never presume. She didn’t truly mean for him to use it.
And then, still talking to himself, he said, “Certainly, she meant nothing by any of it. She was just being polite.”
But his blood was rushing, and his heart was racing. It wouldn’t do to faint here on the street.
Because he had a mission. Michaela and Troy.
She was a delightful girl. Perfect for Troy.
The air had been sparking around them with all the sexual tension.
It was his duty to bring them together. He knew about the bet between Gabrielle and Troy regarding who would fall in love first. He also knew Troy had hired Michaela to matchmake for Gabby.
And he knew those two delightful ladies had turned the tables on Troy, forcing him to accept matchmaking as well.
Of course he knew all this. He was Fernsby, and he knew everything. Especially things no one else did.
Troy Harrington had definitely met his match. Fernsby would make sure of that.
Then, inexplicably, he couldn’t help clutching the book to his chest once more.
She remembered me.
Troy had asked for a corner booth at the back of the restaurant, and it had suddenly been vacated. Really, all a billionaire had to do was think a thing, and it happened.
Michaela didn’t even resent it. It was perfect.
Perfumed flowers surrounded the dimly lit booth in the elegant Thai restaurant.
Diners didn’t chatter—they spoke in soft voices as the waitstaff moved silently among the tables.
And now, the scent of sizzling meat and enticing spices from the dishes on their table filled the air.
Or maybe the enticing scent was Troy.
He’d been on one date. And now he’d asked her to set him up with someone else. What did that mean? And why hadn’t things worked out with Alice?
Though, in her heart of hearts, Michaela had been happy to hear that very thing.
And nothing, not even the apocalypse, could have stopped her from saying, “Tell me what didn’t work between you and Alice. That way, I’ll know what to consider for your next date.” That sounded reasonable. And she sounded quite cool. Even though she was dying for all the details.
His smile was almost wolfish in the dim light. “We didn’t have anything in common. She’s a dinner-and-dancing kind of woman. She loves Broadway shows. I like hiking and anything sporty.”
Michaela could only think, I’d rather hike than go to a show . She wanted to slap her hand over her mouth as if the words might slip out.
“But I’m here with you,” Troy said. “I don’t want to talk about another woman right now. I want to talk about you. How’d you get into matchmaking?” His smile was like a physical caress. “Were you always a matchmaker, even when you were a kid?”
The man had it so right. Was she that transparent? And yet, she wanted to tell him everything. That’s what he did to her—made her want to spill her guts rather than think about matching him with some other woman.
“You make me laugh because you’re uncannily spot-on,” she said.
“I was always matching my friends in middle school and high school. Boyfriends, yes, but also new friends I thought they’d like, or even hairstyles or clothing styles.
My mom has always been an amazing seamstress.
That’s how she put food on the table back when I was growing up and we lived in Modesto.
” She enjoyed telling this story because it made her realize all over again how remarkable her mother was.
“We’d go to rummage sales and thrift stores and find all these incredible bargains.
My mom could make the simplest thing into something cool that all the other girls loved.
I’d find something that was perfect for a friend of mine, and then they’d start asking me to find other things for them.
Being a budding businesswoman, I’d add a markup, since Mom always made adjustments to whatever we found.
Bringing home a little cash made me feel like I brought something to the table too. ”
His head tilted slightly, and she could almost read the thought bubble above his head.
“I know what you’re wondering. How did I get into Stanford?” She’d seen him check out the diploma in her office.
“Actually, I was thinking what an amazing young woman you must’ve been.”
She blushed and rushed on, “I got a scholarship to Stanford. A full ride.”
His gaze was so penetrating, so brilliantly blue. “And I bet your grades were astonishing. All while you were finding the perfect outfits for your friends, and the perfect boyfriends too.”
She felt a sudden chill. “Are you making fun of me?”
He dropped his spoon onto his pad thai. “I mean every word. You don’t get to be the billionaire matchmaker without being awe-inspiring.”
It took her a couple of seconds to find her voice. “Thank you.”
He couldn’t know how hard it had been, watching her mother work late into the night to put food on the table and clothes on their backs.
Once she was old enough, Michaela had done everything she could to help her.
Then she’d worked toward that scholarship with everything in her in order to give her mother a better life.
Her scholarship essay had been about Flo—her tenacity, her can-do-will-do attitude.
And Michaela had been accepted. In a way, her mother had even gotten her into Stanford University.
“I couldn’t have done any of it without Mom. She’s my rock.” She took a moment to taste the delicious pad thai, then a bit of the chicken satay with peanut sauce, concentrating on the food because, somehow, the way he looked at her made her heart beat faster.
“And I bet,” he said, “that you did exactly the same thing at Stanford. You matched your friends.”
“Yes,” she had to agree. “I’d pretty much match anything. If one of my friends needed something, like a TV or a bike or whatever, I’d hear about someone else who was trying to get rid of a TV or a bike. And I’d match them.”
“You needed to have your ear to the ground to know all that.”
“I was always a good listener.” Her friends had always said she had a real knack for matchmaking.
When someone needed something, she was the go-to person.
“When people started coming to me, it was a lot of fun to match them up with whatever they needed.” But it wasn’t only things.
It was business ventures too. “I helped to launch a company by getting two of my friends together.”
“Tell me more.”
She’d never talked so much about herself, but Troy put her at ease with his rapt attention.
“My friend Gloria was a great programmer. And another friend of mine, Ivan, made money by rushing out to get food from restaurants for students who were bogged down with studying for finals or whatever. I helped them see that their skills complemented each other. And they started their own company even before they graduated. It was pretty amazing.”
His gaze on her turned intense. “Do you mean Gloria and Ivan Madden?” Before she could add anything, he snapped his fingers. “FoodFast. Is that the company you’re talking about? One of the first apps to provide food delivery service?”
She nodded. “Right. Instead of having individual restaurants deliver to you, they worked it so you could have any restaurant deliver.”
He slapped the table. “Holy hell, that’s a billion-dollar company now.”
“Like I said, their skills complemented each other.”
“So you started your matchmaking service right there at university.”