The Greek Billionair's Marriage Matchmaker(2)

     



 



Eventually, she arrived at a block that was dripping with affluence.  Every building featured impressive aesthetic touches; elegant hanging  plants and outdoor torches. Each building had a clean, modern look that  was somehow appealing, despite the fact that everything inside them was  ungodly expensive. Zoey glanced at a fashion accessories store across  the street from her workplace, wincing as she remembered, from personal  reconnaissance, that the cheapest thing in there was priced at eighteen  hundred dollars.



Zoey turned to face Melinda Forde Singles, a striking building fronted  with gold-flecked black marble. The name was written in letters of  burnished gold above the brass-handled glass doors. Zoey let herself in,  determined to push through the day as fast as possible.



Inside, the agency looked a lot like the lobby of a boutique hotel. An  intricately-patterned carpet, handmade by an association of women in  Afghanistan, covered the floor along one wall. Generally, even the most  conceited of Melinda's customers couldn't help commenting on its  beautiful design, and as she passed it now, Zoey could see why.



On top of the carpet was a long white sofa that customers regularly  reported was unbelievably comfortable. Round, glass end tables sat on  either side of the sofa. These bore gorgeous porcelain lamps that  shimmered in the artificial light they produced. A glass table was just  in front of the sofa, standing on curved, brass feet.



The entire space gave an impression of sophistication, and even Zoey,  who knew that an impression was all it was, had to resist being sucked  in by everything. Despite the marble-topped receptionist's desk and the  oak-paneled walls, she knew she was walking toward her own little  prison.



Along the rear wall, the paneling gave way to a frosted glass door with  golden block letters placed at eye level. "Zoey Amelia Forde," they  proclaimed. "Senior Relationship Services Expert." The title sounded  official enough, but Zoey knew it was mostly bullshit.



She walked into her office and booted up her laptop, determined to get  through her personal emails before her mother came through to spy on  her.



Zoey's computer sat on a smaller writing desk that was built into an  elaborate wall unit made of handsome ebony wood. The cabinet doors were  arched at the top, and a metal that looked like silver made lace  patterns across the glass. Leather-bound books and dozens of curios  filled the cabinets in neat arrangements. Very few of them actually  belonged to Zoey, however-most of the books and trinkets were her  mother's idea of creating atmosphere.



She quickly logged in to her email account and began sifting through her  inbox. She was happy to see a message from Blake confirming their date  that evening. With a small smile she skimmed through the other emails, a  mixture of thank you notes from her previous clients, charity appeals,  and sales alerts from stores she had shopped at recently. She archived  some of the messages and spent a few minutes replying to others until a  sharp series of knocks rang out against the wooden frame of the door.



Before Zoey could say anything in response, the door swung open to reveal her mother.



Melinda Forde still looked every bit the striking beauty queen she had  been two decades ago. Her long, jet-black hair shone under the light.  Her eyes were intense, radiating a fierce pride. The deep, golden-brown  irises always made Zoey think of semiprecious stones. Her thin,  beautifully-angled face was nearly flawless, with only a few frown lines  and a tiny bit of puffiness under the eyes. In the flowing, crimson  dress she was wearing, she looked like nothing less than royalty.



"Good morning, Zoey dear," she said, as Zoey guiltily clicked away from  her inbox. "I thought I would bring your first client of today through  personally. You'll find the gentleman listed in the registry. Over the  past few years, he has become something of a leader in his field, and  I've assured him that, as our finest expert, you will be best placed to  address his needs."



With that, Melinda turned to face someone standing in the corridor. "I  hope you have a pleasant day," she said as she swept back through the  door.



By this time, Zoey had turned to her office desk and the company PC  perched upon it. Scanning the registry, she saw that her first client  that day was a man called Alexis Manolas.         

     



 



The gentleman that entered was nearly six feet tall and wore a light  tan. His black hair was slicked back and crowned a strong face that  looked at once rugged and spangled with boyish charm. He wore slacks, a  black turtleneck, and a brown jacket through which Zoey could easily  spot a toned midsection.



Not bad at all, she thought appreciatively as he shut the door and took a  seat on the black leather ottoman angled in front of her desk.



Under Zoey's desk, tucked out of sight, was a mini refrigerator. Reaching into this, she produced a chilled glass of champagne.



"A complimentary glass of champagne, Mr. Zakiridis?" she asked, holding it out to him.



He accepted the offering with a small laugh. "I suppose the assumed name  was pointless. I apologize for the deception, but the Post and the  Daily News would have had a field day if they found out I was here."



"You can rely on our complete discretion," Zoey replied, extending her hand, "Welcome to Melinda Forde, Mr. Zakiridis."



The man claiming to be Alexis Manolas was, in fact, Mr. Stelios  Zakiridis, a property magnate who had emigrated from Greece as a child.  Around eight years ago, as best as Zoey could remember, he had taken  over his family's business, the Dolphin Realty Group, and in his short  tenure as CEO, had overseen unprecedented growth, making him one of New  York's youngest billionaires.



"When there are billboards with your face on them all over the city, you  need more than a name to disguise your identity," Zoey said with a  smile.



"Yes, I suppose you're right about that," Stelios answered mirthfully.  "I'm afraid your mother failed to explain how this process works."



"Why don't you begin by telling me what you're looking for in a partner?"



"Well, I've just turned thirty-two, so I feel I'm getting older, and  when I think about it, I begin to question what I've been doing all this  time. I've spent so much time in the salt mines that it didn't occur to  me until recently that I'd like to have someone to share my life with.  I'd like to meet an intelligent woman with a winning personality who  will appreciate me for who I really am."



Boy, are you ever in the wrong place, Zoey thought, but she didn't allow the smile she was wearing to waver.



Her mother's agency catered specifically to the wealthy, and Zoey was  used to sitting across from millionaires on a daily basis. Even by  Melinda Forde standards, however, Stelios was a huge client-one that  could take the entire agency to new heights, if handled correctly. Zoey  had to ignore the knot that had formed in her stomach at hearing Stelios  speak so plainly about his needs. She knew that very soon she would  have to saddle him with one of the women on her list, any one of whom  could quite easily ruin his life and shatter his faith in love.



"That's a very nice sentiment, Mr. Zakiridis," she said with fake  perkiness. "I'd like to ask you a few questions so I can build a profile  for you. That way, through a combination of experience, and our  patented algorithm, I can match you with someone who will fit your needs  exactly."



The words flowed from her mouth like water, as they did every day, but  not a single one of them was true. The only algorithm that existed at  Melinda Forde was Zoey making a best-guess selection. She asked Stelios  her standard questions, noting down his responses, but the more he  talked, the guiltier she felt.



He's in the wrong place, she tried to tell herself. A grown man-a  billionaire-should know better than to trust a dating service to help  him find love. It's like getting financial advice from psychic friends:  if you're dumb enough to fall for it, you can't blame people for taking  advantage of you.



No matter what she told herself, however, she couldn't help feeling  horrible about what she was about to do. A sudden thought filled her  with disgust: a year ago, she wouldn't even have considered causing  someone misery for the money. Now here she was, trying to justify it.



"I can't do it," she mumbled bitterly. "Not this time."

         

     



 

"Did you say something, Ms. Forde?" Stelios inquired gently.



"Yes, I did, Mr. Zakiridis. I need to be completely honest with you,  even if it really isn't good for business. I truly hate to disappoint  you, but all of the women we currently have registered are more  interested in wealth than anything else, and it's my professional  opinion that dating them for any length of time would make you perfectly  miserable."