Page 106 of Intoxicated
Epilogue
DREW
“Of course, there are no guarantees when it comes to love.” I show my client the six-sided dice I keep on hand for these brilliant explanations. “Are you familiar with Dungeons & Dragons?”
This man, Mr. Jeffrey Klein, has to be at least fifty-five. Yet he’s that self-assured and rather sophisticated fifty-five. You know, three-piece suit, groomed hair and nails, and the right scent on his person that doesn’t completely overwhelm everyone around him. He’s as likely to drive himself in his Bentley as he is to hire a driver for the day. When he walks, it’s with those careful steps that turn every lady’s head.
You’d think he doesn’t need dating help. If anything, he’d usually be coming to me for help with anex,but here Mr. Klein is, having heard about my new, unique dating services.
And I’m over here dropping nerd shit on his head.
“I may be familiar with it,” he diplomatically says, as if that tells me anything. Was he part of the satanic panic in the ‘80s? Because that won’t help me. “Role-playing in your sunroom while the dungeon master rolls a twenty for charisma?”
“Right. Sunroom.” All right, I admit, I wasn’t expecting him to actually know that much. Let alone… sunroom? At least he didn’t say basement. I wasn’t ready for those flashbacks to my high school days. “Then you’re familiar with the roll of the dice, so to speak. Every time you interact with a woman you have your eye on, there’s a chance that things will go really well…” I tip the six-side up. “Or really poorly.” The one appears. A discerning gentleman will imagine snake eyes, of course, but we’re talking nerd magic here. “Of course, there are ways to up your chances of success. Like you wouldn’t invest in a company that can’t prove itself, a woman looking for the right husband won’t go for someone who doesn’t prove his worth. You have to create your character, so to speak.”
He taps his chin. There are only a few white hairs there. Enough that a woman would be inclined to drape her fingers against them and giggle. But I get a feeling that our older friend here isn’t looking for a sugar baby. Based on what Mr. Klein has said to me so far, he’s completely over women who are only into his money. He’s been burned a few times. Not ungrateful enough to hire a professional heartbreaker, but jaded toward the dating scene. He doesn’t want to hide his wealth, but he also doesn’t want to advertise a big target on his back. These waters can be tricky to navigate if you’re a man like him.
That’s where I come in.
“You seem to know much about this, considering your age.” He sits back in his chair. A waiter in a tie and tails comes forward to offer us refills of refreshing cucumber water. Mr. Klein flashes him a genial smile before the man is on his way again. All around us is the refracting sunlight of a Seattle’s autumn day. Probably the last one we’ll get for the rest of the year. Then again, when you’re this high up in a well-to-do restaurant that offers you a whole room to yourself – and your client – the sun is always within your reach. “Forgive me. I’m not used to younger men such as yourself having this all figured out.”
“To be fair, Mr. Klein,” I say with one of my characteristic, devil-may-care shrugs, “sometimes it’s easier to take care of other people’s lives than your own. A healthy distance, you know?”
“Too true. It’s why I’m so good at investing in other people’s businesses, but often lack the mind to start my own. Besides, I hear you’re not doing too badly for yourself these days. Am I correct in saying that you’re dating a certain Ms. Lieberman?”
I should let my little smirk do all the talking. Instead, I open my big mouth and say, “She’s practically my wife, sir.”
I don’t know his history with Cher. For all I know, he’s one of her exes. Or he knows one of her exes. Either way, he definitely knows her name well enough to remember that I was dating her. That’s probably a mark against me. Openly dating Cher hasn’t exactly been… easy. Only because her reputation fiercely precedes her. When you’re with a woman who has a history of breaking hearts and pilfering the heavy wallets around the region, men either look at you with great envy orgreatpity.
“I’ve known a few men who have said that before,” Mr. Klein says, “but you’re certainly different from them.”
“Let me guess. I’m a bit younger?”
He laughs. “The proof will be in your relationship’s pudding, it seems. Well, I won’t say no to help from a young couple who know a thing or two about dating in this age. You know my parameters. You know that, even with my money, the men in my family tend to age early and leave this world earlier. Perhaps genetics will be kinder to me, but I don’t desire to spend the last couple of decades of my life utterly alone, if I can help it. Nor do I want them to be flittered away on someone who is only biding her time until I’m gone. I want a proper family, Mr. Benton. I would like a partner who understands that concept well.”
“I understand. I think you’ll find you’re hardly alone in that sentiment, Mr. Klein.”
“Ah, well, the company I keep there isn’t the kind that can help me. Unfortunately, I don’t swing that way.”
It takes me a moment to realize that’s a joke. When I finally laugh, it’s with an unfortunate snort that echoes in our little room. He must be pleased with my reaction, though, for he reaches his hand across the table for a shake.
Mr. Klein becomes the first official client of Benton & Co. Matchmaking Services. Naturally, it’s been a hard sell, since many of my would-be clients are aware of what I used to do. Those who didn’t know are not expecting to see a thirty-year-old man sitting behind the desk. If they catch me unawares, it’s in a trucker hat, flannel, and jeans. But if there’s anything I’ve learned in this gig, it’s that sometimes being the last thing a client expects works for you. They’ve already worked with the people they’re expecting. Maybe it’s the wild card who will finally get some results.
Since he’s the first client, however, he’s paying me a comparably small retainer fee. For the low cost of five grand a month, I’ll be on the lookout for potential matches. You see, part of this gig is networking with menandwomen who are looking for their forever soulmates. (Or forever enough to get me a good review.) In theory, we will eventually have enough women in our roster of “potential mates” that we can start referring from the moment a male client makes his first payment. Which will be much higher than what Mr. Klein is paying now.
