Page 25 of Matchmaking for Psychopaths

Returning to work on Monday morning was like walking onto a film set.

I was pretending to be the same Lexie that I’d been before.

I had a fiancé; we were planning a wedding; we were going to buy a house.

No, I hadn’t spent my night burying an organ in the woods.

That wasn’t dirt beneath my fingernails.

Yes, I was ready to help people fall in love. First, though, I needed a doughnut.

“What are these?” I asked.

Instead of our usual pastries with sprinkles, the box in the middle of the table contained heart-shaped monstrosities that leaked some kind of dark red filling. They were the kind of food that looked good in photos posted online, but wasn’t actually edible.

Oliver helped himself to one.

“Whatever they are, they’re beautiful,” he said, snapping a picture and posting it online.

I watched as he took a bite. He appeared unperturbed. I cringed as the red jam smeared across his lips.

“I see you’re enjoying the doughnuts I brought,” Nicole said. She beamed as she walked into the room. “They’re from my favorite place.”

I let myself relax a little, though this revelation was upsetting in a new way. The doughnuts were a sign that Nicole was trying to insert herself into the director position. See? I can do it all, even bring the pastries. It upset me that I hadn’t thought of the idea first.

The lights of the office were too bright. I felt like I had a hangover, though I hadn’t drunk a thing.

“Are you all right?” Nicole asked. Someone who didn’t know her as well as I did might’ve taken the question as expressing genuine concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Noah and I had a late night—that’s all,” I told her.

Something that I’d learned at a young age was that the worse things were at home, the more important it was to act normal in public.

That was especially true when it came to things of dubious legality.

She doesn’t seem like someone who would bury a potentially human heart in the woods, I needed people to say.

Serena cleared her throat to let us know that the meeting was starting.

“Thank you, Nicole, for volunteering to bring the doughnuts this week.”

A chorus of “thank you” rang out around the table.

I kept my mouth shut. Of course Nicole had time and brain space to think about things like doughnuts.

She wasn’t spending her evenings attending meetings for children of murdered parents, trying to win her fiancé back, or hiding organs in the woods.

Women like Nicole were always given advantages in life.

Nicole glowed under the spotlight. It wasn’t difficult to imagine her in her high school cheerleading uniform—because she frequently posted photos of such on social media—doing flips through the air, while the bigger girls, the ones who supported her, were overlooked by the crowd.

“Are there any updates on the timeline for the expansion?” Nicole asked after the new clients were handed out.

I nibbled at a doughnut. The frosting was too sweet, and the dough was chewy. It was the pastry equivalent of a person who knew how to make themselves look good on a dating app and then turned out to be unappealing in real life.

“Things are coming along,” Serena said. “And before you ask a follow-up, I still haven’t made my decision about the director role.”

Nicole looked disappointed. That was the problem with being someone who got whatever she wanted—she didn’t know how to fight. She’d never been hungry the way that I had.

Rebecca arrived midmorning, to debrief about her date with Paul.

There was something illicit about bringing her back to my office, even though we weren’t sexually intimate.

Could my coworkers tell that we were more than matchmaker and client?

Could they see from the way that we walked that we were friends ?

“So, his dick is small,” I said after I shut the door.

“Metaphorically and literally,” she complained.

“Oh no. I’m sorry. Other clients haven’t given me such…

explicit feedback.” Truth be told, the two other women I’d set Paul up with had begged for a second date that never came, because he’d turned them down.

One of them cried when I broke the news to her.

Rebecca had seen things in him—or on him—that others hadn’t.

“He spent the whole night talking about himself. On and on! I don’t think that he asked me a single question the entire evening. I can see how that might be read as confidence, but I think it indicates a deep insecurity.”

“If you disliked him so much, why did you sleep with him?” I asked.

She shrugged.

“I thought he was hot. I wanted to see what he was like in bed, and the answer was disappointing.”

I laughed. The conversation felt so normal, like something Molly and I might’ve shared. Rebecca, though, had more swagger than Molly ever did.

“You know,” I told her, “there’s a reason why we advise clients to wait a few dates before engaging in intimacy.”

“If I’d waited, I wouldn’t know how much of a bore he is in bed. I saved all of us time. Besides, it’s not like anyone got hurt. I’m fine; he’s fine. We’re all fine. Now we can both go out with people we really like. Who do you have for me next?”

Aidan’s picture flashed through my mind. No, I couldn’t match them. On top of the things I’d told Aidan, the two of us had kissed. I was tired of sharing romantic partners with my friends.

“What do you think of him?” I passed her Tyler’s picture. He wasn’t as conventionally attractive as Paul, but he drove a nice car, which I thought might appeal to her.

“He’s okay. I’ll give him a chance, I guess. Who knows? He might surprise me,” she said.

“Great. I’ll send your profile his way, and if he says yes, then I’ll set up a date.”

Rebecca leaned forward conspiratorially.

I recognized the position as one that people took when they were about to share juicy pieces of gossip.

My nail beds suddenly hurt with the memory of trying to dig through frozen dirt.

What was it that she knew? I hated how my secrets ruined such a delightful rite of womanhood.

“Have you watched the most recent episode of Love on the Lake ?” she asked, and I relaxed.

“Not yet. I’ve been really busy.”

“Oh my god, you have to watch it. I’m pretty sure that Kiley and Tim are going to get divorced.”

“Really? They were doing so much better.”

“I know, but I don’t think that Tim ever really loved her. He’s so mean all the time. I couldn’t believe it when they got married. I was sure that one of them was going to get cold feet.”

“I hoped that, beneath it all, they really cared for each other. They’ve been together so long.”

“Hopefully she’ll find someone who really appreciates her now,” Rebecca said.

“As long as she doesn’t end up with Pierce. He flirts with her sometimes.”

“Oh god. That would be jumping from one psychopath to another. I guess some people have a type.”

“Yeah,” I said, meeting her gaze. “Some people do.”

Rebecca stood up to leave.

“We’re still on for Thursday, right?” she said. “The COMP meeting and dinner?”

I nodded. I ran my thumb over my fingernails and realized that one of them had broken, probably from clawing at frozen earth.

“You didn’t deliver something to my house, did you?” I asked as Rebecca zipped up her coat.

She pulled a hat down over her forehead. Her long eyelashes peeked out from underneath.

“I don’t know where you live,” she said. “Why? Did someone send you a gift?”

“Something like that. Never mind—it’s not important.”

I walked Rebecca to the door. I felt bad for even considering her as a suspect. That was Molly’s fault. It was my mother’s fault. They’d made it difficult for me to trust anyone at all.

I sent a message to Paul, letting him know that Rebecca wouldn’t be moving forward with a second date. People thought that matchmaking was all hearts and roses, but rejection was part of the process.

Unfortunately, we cannot set you up with a second date at this time. However, I’m pleased to announce a new potential match.

I included a photograph of Laura, whom I was almost certain he would reject on the basis of appearance.

Paul was a shallow man who recognized his shallowness.

That was one of the hardest things to overcome in a client.

Some clients refused to understand that looks could take a relationship only so far. Real chemistry went deeper than that.

After sending the message, I finished updating my résumé and printed it on the pink paper that I’d specially ordered.

I put a little heart on either side of my name at the top of the page — Alexandra Smith —because I knew that Serena liked touches like that.

After Nicole’s doughnuts, I knew I needed to do something to impress her.

I’d let emotionality take over my priorities, and Nicole had capitalized on that weakness, with her little meeting and her box of doughnuts.

I checked my face in the mirror, to make sure I’d properly concealed my exhaustion, and knocked on Serena’s door.

“Come in,” she called.

I was careful to close it behind me after I entered.

I didn’t want Nicole to spy on me the same way that I’d spied on her.

Nicole’s lack of decorum was one of many reasons why she wasn’t suitable for the position of director.

Unlike at a doctor’s office, there were no laws governing privacy here, but Better Love assured clients of discretion.

Oftentimes, the difference between a literal heart and a metaphorical one seemed to be a matter of mere semantics.

I passed her my résumé, and Serena nodded approvingly at the paper.

She sat in the red wing-backed chair that Oliver and I had once looked up online and discovered that it retailed for more than two thousand dollars.

There was nothing in Serena’s life that wasn’t imbued with luxury.

Even my mother, the pickiest woman on earth, would’ve approved.