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“I wonder, though, if it tells your entire personal one?” she wondered idly.

“You must forgive an old woman, Mr. O’Rourke.

But if your company is as wonderful as your adverts here claim, why is the president and CEO himself not married, or at the very least, have a serious relationship under his belt?

” Before he could answer, she charged on, “I’ve done my homework, Mr. O’Rourke.

I am well aware of the number of no-name women on your arm at social events.

You may be discreet, but I found no less than seven different Colin O’Rourke and guest captions on various pictures of you with beautiful, if rather thin, women.

They were all the same—model types, an air of vapidity around them, happy to bask in the glow of your money. ”

“You overstep yourself, Miss Emsworth,” Colin warned.

“I’m a columnist, Mr. O’Rourke. If you didn’t bare your teeth at me today, I wouldn’t be doing my job.”

“I didn’t realize matching your niece was your job,” Colin shot back, thoroughly done with the circles she tried to run around him.

“Miss Emsworth, thank you for your time. If your niece agrees to this, I ask that she present herself to me at my London office before the news conference I’m holding this week. ”

Miss Emsworth pursed her lips. “What will you do if she doesn’t appear?”

He smiled grimly. “Damage control. Because as certain as you seem to be of the Brits’ love for you, I’m equally certain that I have the best PR team in the world, and the best product to back up their words.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and Colin sat back, feeling as though he may have won at least one of these roundabout verbal battles. She looked at him fully for a moment, then a small smile curved her lips. “Oh, yes . I believe you’ll do perfectly, Mr. O’Rourke.”

“Beg your pardon?” Colin asked, cautious.

“You’re a very strapping and handsome man.”

Colin choked. “Are you always this blunt with people you’re blackmailing?”

“Blackmailing. How ridiculous and vulgar. I’m not blackmailing anyone,” Miss Emsworth replied loftily. “I’ve merely written an article that resonates with the people of the United Kingdom. And we all look forward to the results of your first client.”

Finally, we get to the point , Colin thought with exasperation. The woman was a master at the art of mental exhaustion.

“My requirements for you, in regards to my niece, are simple. You will be the one to match her.”

Colin merely raised an eyebrow. Though he’d already determined that he would handle this assignment, he was surprised this woman was confident enough to demand that the owner personally match her niece.

“Her match will be from Ireland or the UK only.”

He sat forward suddenly, his eyes narrowed. “Is that her requirement, or yours?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It absolutely does,” he shot back. “You can give me a list of requirements, but it will be hers that I adhere to. And if I find her perfect match, and he lives outside your specified area, that’s on your niece, not me.”

“Passionate about that, Mr. O’Rourke?” she replied, her expression bland. “Well, we’ll see what kind of candidates you come up with.”

He remained silent.

Her tone changed to a warning. “But do know this. I want my niece to experience love. Real love. The kind that sweeps a girl off her feet and never puts her down. However, if your match ultimately removes her from the UK or Ireland, I will do all in my power to ensure your business fails most spectacularly. Selfish of me, absolutely. But there are plenty of eligible men here. Are we clear?”

“And I thought you believed blackmail to be vulgar,” he retorted.

“One more requirement. She is not one to open up to those she does not know. So I’ll fund thirty days of time where you can both get to know each other. It will most likely have to be in London, as she is a very busy shop owner, but I expect the two of you to have contact at least once per day.”

“No.”

Miss Emsworth blinked owlishly. “I beg your pardon?”

Colin shrugged and sat back. “No. I do not accept your demand. I have a business to run, Miss Emsworth, and a life to lead. Putting both on hold because your niece isn’t easy to get to know is non-negotiable.”

“Those are the terms, Mr. O’Rourke. And they stay between you and me, or this entire deal is off.” She opened a drawer in the side table next to her and withdrew two sets of papers. “I wrote this for publication if you succeed.” She handed it to him, and gave him a wave. “Go on, read it.”

He skimmed the article, noting her adept retraction and humble apology to the people of Britain for her error in judgment. His company was painted in a glorious light, and gave a glowing review with blank spaces for what he assumed would be examples of said success.

He handed it back to her. “Let me guess. The other article is the one you’ll publish if we are not successful?”

She wordlessly handed it to him, and he began to read. And by the end of the third paragraph, he was seeing red at the slander and outright lies.

“If you publish this, I will sue,” he threatened.

“People sue the paparazzi every day,” she remarked. “Yet somehow, the story always lives on.”

He bit his tongue so hard, Colin tasted blood. He stood stiffly. “I cannot say it was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Emsworth.”

“What a shame. I thoroughly enjoyed meeting you , Mr. O’Rourke. As I’m certain my niece will, as well. I believe this to have been a most productive meeting. Alan? Will you show our guest to the door?”

Alan appeared as if by magic, and Colin turned on his heel, steam coming out of his ears. He sincerely hoped the niece was nothing like the aunt. Otherwise, he was guaranteed to fail.

Colin had a sudden jolt of pity for her poor niece. Imagine growing up with that kind of manipulation…he promised himself he’d call his parents and thank them for being wonderful.

Alan reentered the room, a cup of steaming tea in his hands. He handed it to his employer, who smiled at him.

“Thank you, Alan,” Winnie said, taking a sip. “I think Mr. O’Rourke will do nicely for our sweet Eleanor, don’t you?”

“I’ve yet to meet a gentleman worthy of her,” Alan replied frankly.

Some of his stuffiness disappeared as he sat on the chair vacated by their recent visitor.

“He was awfully blunt with you. More so than anyone else, save Mr. Emsworth, God rest his soul. Though it can’t be denied that when that man disagreed with you, he let you know it. ”

“It didn’t happen often, but when it did…” Winnie trailed off, then collected herself. “Well, when it did, he certainly was a sight to behold, wasn’t he?”

“I know I made myself scarce, that’s for certain. But what makes you so sure this O’Rourke gent will find our Ellie her happiness?”

Winnie’s eyes drifted to the fountain, and a small smile crossed her lips. The way Mr. O’Rourke’s eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared when she backed him into a corner was encouraging.

“The man was issued a challenge, Alan. He’s the type of man who won’t back down—I knew it immediately when he agreed to meet me himself, instead of insisting one of his employees do so.”

Alan looked skeptical. “A challenge? Bah. If Ellie would simply open up a bit, she’d find herself a good man and settle down. Perhaps all she needs is time.”

“No, Alan dear. All she needs is Mr. O’Rourke.”

“You mean his matchmaking company?”

Winnie smiled. “That, too.”

Ellie stepped into a large office building in the Canary Wharf district of London. Nervously smoothing her hands over her sensible black pencil skirt, she crossed the wide expanse of cream-colored marble flooring. The guard barely looked up as she approached the mahogany security desk.

“Name and business?”

“Eleanor Carberry,” she squeaked out. “I have an appointment with, ah, Celtic Connections.”

He flipped through the pages on a clipboard before nodding once. “Lifts are ahead of you on the left. Ninth floor.”

She caught the slightly condescending smile on his face, and, embarrassed, nodded her thanks before she scurried towards the lift. How pathetic she must seem, using a dating service! “It’s not as though it was my idea,” she muttered.

“What was that, miss?” the guard called after her.

She spun around, her eyes wide. “Nothing! I was just, um, talking to myself. I do it when I’m nervous. I’m fine now. Thanks.”

He didn’t respond, merely watched her with bemusement, and, her face flaming, she punched the up button, keeping her gaze firmly fixed on the stainless-steel doors in front of her.

The entire way to the ninth floor, Ellie reminded herself that she was doing this as a favor to her aunt, that she really had nothing to lose, that she was capable of a successful relationship.

She didn’t need to pay some company to help her find a date.

The fact that she was single at the age of twenty-eight only reflected that she was establishing herself in her career.

She was choosy. She didn’t want to settle.

Feeling slightly mollified, she stepped into the hallway, which was covered in a light gray industrial carpet.

The walls were an uninspiring shade of beige, and Ellie felt more like she was heading to a doctor’s appointment.

She glanced at the wall— Celtic Connections, Suite 905 —and headed towards the unassuming brown door.