Page 1 of First Comes Orc, Second Comes Baby
1
MATCHMAKER
“Matchmaker,your three o'clock consultation is here,” a voice came through the intercom.
She turned from the window overlooking a busy New York street and approached her couch.
“Excellent, she’s punctual. Send her in.”
Rather than a desk and chairs, the office where she consulted with clients was meant to balance style and comfort, to set them at ease while offering subtle reassurance they were receiving the highest caliber service.
So her laptop sat open on an antique coffee table and when a client entered, they would sit opposite Matchmaker in a plush loveseat, the arrangement conveying warmth and friendly intimacy.
But her admin, instead of ending the comm, hesitated. These hesitations were usually warnings. Frederick had grown up in a household where speaking directly was considered gauche. It made communication interesting.
“What is it, Frederick?”
He cleared his throat. “She has a puppy with her.”
She rested a hand on her knee. “We don't allow animals in the office. Is it a service animal?”
“She said it's an emotional needs pet and she. . .I’m not quite sure how, but she talked to me into allowing it. I'm sorry. She’s really woo positive.”
Good Lord.
Matchmaker tabbed over to the 3:00 PM's file.
Charlotte Alexia Trainor beamed through the photo, sandy brown hair in one of those artfully messy ponytails—or maybe it was just careless and the artful part was a fortunate accident—with cheerful blue eyes and a dimple. On one cheek. The physical bio read Charlotte was 5’8, a classically trained dancer, so Matchmaker wondered that in the picture her posture was slightly slumped.
The sheepishness, combined with the thousand-watt smile and the alluringly graceful physique, bemused Matchmaker. But she didn’t think she would have any trouble making Charlotte a solid match. Orc males appreciated spirit, but they also adored a touch of wholesome sweetness.
“I’m allergic to dogs, Frederick,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am. I agree pets shouldn't be let in the offices. But she’s so cute. Charlotte has her in a purse.”
“A purse?”
“Well, like one of those puppy purses. With proper ventilation.”
Matchmaker pinched the bridge of her nose. “Send them in.”
Considering the consultation fees she charged, on a case-by-case basis she sometimes relaxed certain rules—but not often. Charlotte Trainor had better charm.
In the Orc/Human matchmaking business, every client was a personality, and every personality demanded to be catered to. Well—mostly the Orcs. Humans only had to be themselves, and the males tripped over their feet to please them.
The office door opened, and a woman. . .bounded in. No, really, it was as if her toes didn't touch the ground. Matchmaker stared.
Charlotte aimed a blinding smile at Matchmaker, holding out a hand to shake after she'd crossed the room in three ground eating strides. She wore a denim jacket over a wispy summer dress, and strappy flat sandals. Matchmaker noted toned calves and a short, business like manicure. Charlotte’s makeup was minimal as well, a refreshing change from the stream of Instagram baddies wearing a full face of Kardashian tutorial.
“Oh my god, it's such an honor to meet you!” Charlotte exclaimed. “I stalk you on every social media profile, and of course I've been following your YouTube serial since it started. Your insights are inspired. I've been saving up for years to pay your fees.”
Stalk was an unfortunate choice of word. “Well, I'm glad to meet—”
“Oh, not like you don't deserve every single penny of your exorbitant price,” Charlotte interjected. “You absolutely deserve it. Especially with your hit and recidivism rates.”
Matchmaker slowly released the Human’s hand. “I am a matchmaker, not a hit woman.”
Charlotte laughed. “Wouldn't that be a fun movie to watch. Anyway, I've never done this before. What do we do?”
