Simply Sex. Dawn Atkins
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I get it.” But he thought she was dishing out a sales pitch and he didn’t buy a word. “So, back to the photo.”
“How about here?” She rushed to the table under the lace-curtained window, where a vase of fresh pink roses rested. Kylie, who’d declared live flowers too expensive, had inexplicably sent her a dozen dewy blooms.
Seth considered the scene. “Kind of a cliché, but why not?” He moved closer and snapped a quick shot, studying it for a sec in the viewfinder. “Looks great.”
“Did I blink? I don’t think I was smiling.”
“See for yourself.” He turned the digital camera for her to look in the viewfinder. In the photo she looked startled and nervous and wore a faint smile.
“Pretty eyes, nice smile, see?” he said, and she was too swamped by the crinkles around his eyes, his scent, and his strong fingers clutching the camera to object. “Just a few questions and I’ll get out of your hair.” He started toward his chair.
“But I want you to take all the time you need. The computerized personality profile would take just ten minutes. That’s your angle, by the way. I have a trademark on the software, which is unique to the industry.”
He turned to stare at her, his impatience palpable, though he was clearly trying to appear relaxed.
“I know your time is valuable….”
He studied her while the antique clock behind her desk clicked off five seconds. “I give,” he said finally. “Show me your software.” His tone was teasing and low, the way he’d ask a lover to reveal something even softer.
There was a zing of connection between them. Gratifying, but not good.
“It’ll be quick, I promise,” she said, swallowing past the knot in her throat. She went to her desk and clicked open a fresh Mate Check computer file. Seth stood behind her and looked over her shoulder, his gaze warm on her skin, that lovely mix of coconut and leather filling her head.
Keeping her voice steady, she described the six areas of compatibility and opened the first set of questions, her fingers a little shaky on the mouse. “So, how would you describe your temperament, Seth?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
“How about…?” She checked the box for I’m usually easygoing, but when I’m angry, I blow. She was being generous. He struck her as irritable and a bit gloomy.
“Close enough.”
She guessed at three more questions.
He nodded. “Okay. What if I lied?”
“Like any good psychological test, this one includes questions designed to detect inconsistencies. And the profile is only part of the Personal Touch process.”
“I get it. All very scientific.” He returned to his chair, evidently finished. “And you also make videos, right? Close-Ups? I’ve looked at your Web site. What else?” He prepared to write.
“There are networking parties, of course, and—”
“The magazine. Can I see one of those?”
She found the summer Book of Possibles and handed it to him.
He flipped through it, scanning the pages. “My favorite things are calico cats,” he read from one listing, “and the smell of the desert after a rain.” He shook his head, then flipped forward. “I can’t wait to swirl snifters of brandy with you in front of a roaring fire in my custom-built Prescott cabin.” He looked at her. Do you buy this?
“The magazine piques interest, Seth. I handpick the matches based on my analysis of all the data I gather.”
“And you’re a good judge of character?” He returned the magazine to her, holding her gaze.
“No one’s infallible, but I must be doing something right, since my success rate is—”
“Eighty percent, yeah, I read that. Impressive for a year-old business.”
“We think so.” Now they were getting somewhere. At least he’d done some advance reading.
He made a note, then raised his eyes. “So, describe your average client.”
“I have no average clients. Each and every one is special.” She smiled, pleased at her line, though Seth didn’t react.
“But we’re talking professionals, right? CEOs, doctors, lawyers. People rich enough to pay your fees?”
“I charge the same as less-customized services, Seth, and I have teachers and builders and bankers and secretaries, too.” Her reasonable fees were partly why she was in financial doo-doo. “My clients find that if they tally their expenditures on dead-end dating, personal ads and barhopping, Personal Touch saves them money.”
“Sure,” he said, a half smile lifting his lips.
“Many of my competitors merely serve as a video library. Clients view tapes until their eyes glaze and they give up in despair. We share only the videos of the top Potentials, hand selected by me.”
“For the ‘personal touch.’ Got it.”
The distance in his eyes told her she was sounding like an infomercial again and her heart sank.
“So, what do you do with the homely guy who wants a stacked blonde? Or the gold digger looking for a sugar daddy?”
“I ask them to look beneath the surface to what really matters.”
“I bet they love that.” His eyes twinkled at her, inviting her to let him in on something juicy.
“Externals are minor when you’re looking for a soul mate.”
“But you do credit and fingerprint checks, right? So externals must mean something.”
“As a measure of client integrity, yes. And at first people do look at the superficial. I mean, no one walks into a dating service looking for someone poor, fat or ugly.”
“That’s a good one.” He smiled and scribbled.
“I meant to say that you can’t judge a person by appearance or checkbook.” That had come out wrong. Her stomach tensed and her chest tightened.
“Poor, fat or ugly. Much better. Trust me.”
“But that sounds harsh and judgmental. Please don’t use that.”
“It’ll be fine.” He winked.
Her uneasiness intensified.
“So how do you keep out the married guys looking to cheat?”
“We certify marital status, of course, but most people mean well. That’s a myth, by the way, that—”
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