Page 27 of The Plus One Professional
Even though I was still confused over what that response meant, I stopped asking questions and made an executive decision. I’d take her to the exhibit, and if she were hungry, she would let me know, and I could get her something to eat.
As we made the short ten-minute drive to the warehouse, I asked, “So, have you always loved art?”
“Ilikedart when I was akid.”
“Oh, sorry, it’s just that in your profile, it says you love art.”
“I didn’t write that.”
“Oh.”
“My mom did,” she explained.
I chuckled, not because her mom writing her profile was funny, but because Trevor had written a dating profile for Olivia when she was up for partner at her firm, and he knew she wouldn’t get it if she didn’t have a husband. The date it had matched her with had not gone well.
“Why is that funny?” Carly asked defensively.
“I’m sorry.” I apologized. “It’s not. It just reminded me of my friend. Her assistant made an online dating profile for her, and she ended up going out with a guy who definitely had the wrong idea about her.”
“Wait. He just made her a profile without her knowing?” She turned toward me, seeming very interested in the subject. It made me wonder if she had someone in particular that she wanted to set up.
“I think she might have known that he was setting it up, just not what he’d written. It was actually for a matchmaking business that she owns, and they are both running now.”
“She’s a matchmaker?!”
“Now she is. She used to be a divorce attorney.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her face light up. “What? That’s crazy!”
Yes.I gave myself an internal high-five. Even though I wasn’t cool, my bestie was, and I had no problem using her to score street cred cool points. Which was probably never a sentence Olivia had ever thought of and was more evidence of just how uncool I was.
On the short drive to the warehouse, Carly asked me more questions about Olivia, and I told her that she used to be called the Maneater, which my little also seemed to approve of. As we parked, she asked, “Would I be able to sign someone up so they could matchmake for him? Like, without him knowing?”
“Um, no, I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure they have to interview everyone.”
Her shoulders dropped. The answer clearly stuck a pin in her balloon of enthusiasm and deflated it.
“Why? Who do you want to set up?” In the file the program had given me about her, I’d read that her father had died when she was six and her brothers were only five, so I wasn’t sure who the mystery man in her life would be.
“My uncle. He just does so much for us, and he never does anything for himself. He used to have a girlfriend, but they broke up a long time ago.” As she was telling me, I noticed a spark in her bright blue eyes. “What about you? My uncle’s really hot. I mean, I don’t think he’s hot, but like, everyone else does. My teachers, my friends, their moms, their dads, everyone at the farmer’s market. Literally, like, if you have a pulse and are not related to him, you totally think he’s hot. So, do you have a boyfriend? Or a girlfriend?”
“No, neither, but um, no, I don’t. I’m not really, you know, I’m really busy with work, so, yeah, I don’t really have time for a relationship.” I couldn’t help but feel flattered that Carly had deemed me worthy of being set up with her uncle, but there was no way that could happen.
Besides it probably being on the wrong side of ethical, I needed to figure out what was going on with Simon and get over this teenage crush I had on Cole. I’d dreamt about him the night before. Again. And I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I also needed to stop sniffing the handkerchiefs he’d given me. It was starting to be borderline creepy.
She sighed as we got out of the car, and I felt bad that I’d clearly disappointed her. I’d known her for less than fifteen minutes, and I’d already let her down.
We walked into the large space, and I noted that even though she’d said she wasn’t interested in art, she seemed to be taking in all the pieces as we made our way to the corner where my sister’s workspace was set up. Her back was to us as she worked on her latest piece.
“Birdie,” I said her name.
As she turned around, Carly gasped. Loudly. “Oh my god!”
“What? What is it? What’s wrong?” I asked.
Carly pointed at my sister, and I noticed her hand was shaking. “You’re Birdie.”
My sister smiled. “Yep. I am.”
