Harte Strings: The Billionaire Matchmaker, Part Two by Gina Robinson

been that he was marking his territory. Which was what I liked to believe.
    “Ashley is going to find you eternal happiness with your soul mate. And make us all a boatload of cash.” He whispered out of the side of his mouth to me, “No pressure.”
    “Yeah. Thanks for that.” I smiled warmly at the men. Let the games begin. Whether they were aware of it or not, this was test night. I always began evaluating clients the moment I met them. And since I was playing the game of love on the professional level, everything was fair.
    “Pay no attention to Lazer’s obvious cynicism.” I rolled my eyes toward him. “I’ve made hundreds of successful matches in my career. If you really want a spouse, I’ll find you one.”
    The redhead approached me first, taking my hand in his large one and pumping it enthusiastically. “I’m Austin.”
    He grinned and bumped Lazer with his shoulder. “You’ve been holding out on us. Why didn’t you tell us our matchmaker was hot?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned to me. “You’re much younger than I was expecting.”
    I laughed. “I get that a lot. People are expecting a bubbe or a yenta.” I leaned forward, cupped a hand around my mouth, and whispered to him. “I’ll let you in on a secret—I’m not Jewish, either.” That was another common misperception, that all matchmakers were Jewish, particularly in New York.
    His answering laugh was booming. “Neither am I.”
    “Well. Now that we’ve got religion out of the way.” I liked Austin.
    Beside me, Lazer stiffened. As if I liked Austin a little too much on sight. I hadn’t expected Lazer to be insecure.
    Dylan was the big man, Jeremy the slightly built brown-haired guy with a slight stutter…
    Cam was the last to introduce himself. “Welcome to the group, Ms. Harte.”
    “Please, call me Ashley. We’re partners now,” I said.
    Dylan made a show of looking around and behind me. “Where are the women?”
    I laughed. “Not so fast, cowboy. I’m not bringing a random selection of women out here for you to meet. The odds of a good match in that are no better than random chance.” And they needed coaching. “Before there will be any women, you have to go through my boot camp.”
    It seemed to me like they shuffled nervously at that.
    We spilled into the lodge, the men carrying their bags and talking excitedly, ribbing Lazer.
    “Usual rooms?” Cam asked.
    Lazer nodded. “Dinner on the patio at six. Meet there.”
    On cue, the men dispersed.
    Lazer beamed at them and turned to me. “They’re a motley crew. But you get used to them. First impressions?”
    “Eminently suitable,” I said. “Completely matchable.”
    “That’s what I like to hear. I hope you still think so when you get to know them better.”
    “How are they in the programming and business partner side?” I said. Turnabout grilling was fair play.
    “Eminently suitable.”
    “Good. I’ll see you at dinner,” I said. “I need a minute with the staff.” I hoped I hadn’t been lying about how suitable they were. I was about to find out how they treated people that had less power in the situation than they did. I was about to see how Lazer handled his staff, too. You could learn a lot by that.
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    W hen we returned to the pool area, the drinks had been cleared away, the built-in barbecue had been fired up, and the table artistically set. As if an interior decorator had been hired just for this casual event. The kitchen staff had gone into full swing with dinner preparations. A waiter brought out plates of appetizers, vol-au-vent piled high with savory fillings of Northwest fusion flavors. Salmon and shitake mushrooms. Mini crab puffs with wasabi aioli.
    Lazer’s friends helped themselves to the bar. They appeared comfortable and completely at home at Lazer Lodge. Which was as it should be, and another big point in Lazer’s favor. Friends should feel welcome and comfortable in your home, no matter how much or how little you