I frown. "Were you aware of him before you went on a date with him?"
"Okay, I admit I wasn't. But I Googled him before, of course. Did you know his family owns Winter Hotels? You know, the giant chain?"
I didn't. I clear my throat. "Well, we do pretty extensive interviews with clients when they join."
"Oh, that's right. Of course you know." She sighs, a tad dreamily. "He wasn't very talkative, but that's okay. There are more important things. Would you be so kind as to give Anthony my number and let him know I'm available? That'd be lovely. Oh, I have to go."
I open my mouth. "I'm not sure if-"
"Thank you! Ciao!" Ciara hangs up before I can let her down. It's always a tricky thing to do, but I've learned to do it with tact, reminding clients that not every connection is a hit on both sides.
Now I'll have to write her an email.
But first, I type Winter Hotels into the search bar of my computer. Contrary to our normal clients, I have nearly no information on Anthony Winter.
Pictures of a familiar sky-rise emerges. It's one I've walked past multiple times in New York, a proud staple of Park Avenue. With over a century of history, the hotel is a veritable New York landmark. An institution.
He's not just any old season. He's a Winter.
Which means Anthony is as old money elite as they come. He hadn't spoken out of ignorance or dislike when he derided our clients for being elitist or status-seeking.
He'd been speaking from experience.
I lean back in my chair and stare at the imposing image of the Winter Hotel, a pre-war building on Manhattan's most expensive address. So I have to set him up with someone… well. He'd want someone not of that world, judging by his comments.
But I've learned a thing or two about what people think they want, and what they actually do.
They're rarely the same thing.
Anthony needs someone he can take home to that old money family of his, but not someone who takes it too seriously. Someone with one foot in and one foot out. A woman who appreciates his sarcastic sense of humor and can draw him out of his shell. A woman comfortable with money and prestige without placing undo value on it.
In short, he needs a female client we don't currently have at Opate. How am I going to pull this off?
Ace rises from his sprawl half an hour later and heads to my closed office door. Three sharp knocks sound a few seconds later.
"Come in!"
Ace's tail wags softly as Anthony Winter takes a step inside. He looks down at my dog, a frown on his face.
"He's always here, isn't he?"
I turn away from my computer. "He's good for business."
Anthony doesn't comment, but he runs a hand over Ace's head, his fingers smoothing over one of the floppy ears. "A matchmaking company with a mascot," he mutters.
I straighten in my chair. "Can I help you with something?"
"Yes," he says. "I came by to speak with your aunt and wanted to ask you about the bet. Do you have someone ready to accompany me on Friday evening?
I meet the solid, dark gaze across the room. What did I agree to? Finding a woman this man will approve of is impossible.
"Soon," I lie. "I think I've found the perfect woman for you."
His lips tug. "Right."
"I'd also like to apologize for Ciara. I admit that you were right about her not being a good fit for you. I've noted it down as another data point, and your next date will be much better."
This time, he has to look away to hide a smirk. "Well, I'm glad you acknowledge that I can make my own decisions about partners."
Damn. I make my smile wide and serviceable. "You certainly can, Mr. Winter. All I ask is that you keep an open mind."
"I will," he says. "You'll send me details regarding whoever you choose?"
"Excellent." Anthony returns to my office door, his gaze on Ace. "I'm looking forward to seeing how this bet ends, Miss Davis."
"So am I, Mr. Winter."
His eyes flash, as if I've made a joke only he understands, and then he closes the office door behind him. I stare at the empty space and regret every decision I've made that's brought me to this point.
I do not have the perfect woman for him.
I'm starting to doubt she exists.
"Looks good," I say.
Tristan gives an approving hum, glancing down at his phone. "Imagine it filled to the brim with people, too. We'll be packed in here."
The giant ballroom is a bit gaudy, perhaps, but it's just what the clientele will expect. People who attend charity auctions in mid-Manhattan on a Friday evening aren't going because they expect Louvre-level class. "It'll do."
Tristan snorts. "So enthusiastic."
I glance down at my watch. It's nearly ten in the morning, the day of the function, and Miss Davis hasn't gotten back to me with my date for the evening.
I don't know what I'm hoping for most-that she does, or that she doesn't.
The idea of walking around here in the dim lighting, with all these people, having to make idle chitchat… I'd rather suffer through one of my migraines.
"I'm not sure why Victor needs us here at all," I say.
Tristan slides his phone into his suit pocket. "Of course you are," he says dryly. "He wants the pizzazz we add."
I raise an eyebrow at him. "The pizzazz?"
"Yes. We'll bid highly and it'll give us a chance to mingle. Carter has some executive at a multi-media company he wants us to meet." Tristan waves a hand. "We're here to see and be seen."
"And you'll stay for exactly fifteen minutes," I accuse, "before escaping back to your beautiful girlfriend and your son."
Tristan's smile is shameless. "Yes, but I'll bring as much pizzazz as I can for those fifteen minutes."