The Greek Billionair's Marriage Matchmaker(4)

Zoey was convinced she would say or do something awkward, or worse, draw  a blank in the middle of a conversation. For some time now, her job at  Melinda Forde had been almost her only extended daily contact with  people. There, she merely had to rely on a script built on lies, but she  was going to have to wing it soon and she didn't know if she was ready.



"At least I clean up okay," Zoey said, staring in her mirror. In her  stunning sapphire dress that accented her figure and matched her eyes,  she felt fairly confident that Blake was going to be blown away by her,  and felt a spreading sense of hope as she called herself a cab.





FOUR





Fortunately for Zoey, Big Tony's was situated in a part of Manhattan  that was much closer to her apartment than the dating agency. Traffic  was light by New York standards, and it wasn't difficult for her to get  there at all. Her only problem on the ride over was that the cab driver  was seemingly addicted to the sound of his own voice.



The diner was a small building with a simple welcome mat and glass doors  that bore steel handles. Inside, there were around two dozen  elegantly-decorated round tables that appealed to Zoey immediately. A  soft jazz instrumental wafted through the intimately-lighted space, and  pictures of famous New Yorkers hung on the walls. It was one of those  places that sold the atmosphere it provided nearly as much as the items  on its menu.



Zoey allowed herself to be led to the table Blake had reserved, and  ordered a Long Island Iced Tea while she waited for him to arrive. She  was still jittery, but her mood had greatly improved.



Ten minutes later, she was nibbling on a roll, mostly out of simply  needing something to do. She texted Blake, only to get an automatic  reply. Zoey didn't like the look of that in the slightest, but she told  herself to stay positive. After all, it had only been ten minutes;  people were late all the time, and busy people set their smartphones to  automatic reply-she had done it herself just a few days ago. But two  more drinks and twenty minutes later, things began to get embarrassing.



"Miss, are you ready to order now, or are you still waiting for the rest of your party?"



Her waitress had asked the question with all the politeness in the  world, but it was clear from her tone what she thought had happened.



Zoey was unwilling to accept that yet. Not after everything else that had gone wrong that day.



"He texted to say he was running a bit late," she lied. "Got a flat on  the way over here. They've said it may take a bit of time to fix, so he  suggested I order an appetizer in the meantime."



With that, Zoey put in an order for Asian dumplings and prayed she would  have someone to share them with by the time they arrived. She did not,  but mercifully her waitress tactfully avoided the issue.



Zoey found she could barely taste the ginger-flavored pot stickers  before her. She wanted to cry. Not in the composed, quiet, way an adult  cries, but with the wild abandon of a child throwing a full blown temper  tantrum. She wanted to kick her legs and scream "it's not fair" at the  top of her lungs. She wanted someone to wipe her eyes and tell her  everything would be all right. But she knew her mother was right about  one thing: she wasn't nine anymore. Adults didn't get to throw tantrums.         

     



 



Zoey was perfectly aware that there was no point in doing so, but she  waited another fifteen minutes anyway, just to give him the benefit of  the doubt. By that point, she had been at Big Tony's for a full hour and  texted Blake three more times.



She finally settled her bill, feeling dejected and unloved, and took the  subway back home, no longer caring what an army of jostling people  might do to her dress.



"Some relationship expert I turned out to be," she muttered dejectedly.  "I try to help people find love all day, but I can't even find a good  match for myself."



By the time she reached her apartment, Zoey felt as if a storm cloud was  hanging over her. She fell into bed and reflected that, aside from the  sympathetic waitress, at least there were no witnesses to her  humiliation, and that it was still possible, if unlikely, that Blake had  an excellent excuse for not showing up.





FIVE





The next morning, however, Zoey woke up to a very long text from Blake,  explaining where he had been the previous night. As it turned out, about  two hours before the date, he had discovered the Facebook page of a  woman he used to know, named Elmyra. In high school, Blake had allegedly  carried a torch for the girl, but he'd never had the courage to tell  her so. He had messaged her, and the two had talked for several hours.  It had been long past midnight when the conversation ended, and only  then had he remembered his rendezvous with Zoey. He apologized for  standing her up, but even more, he was sorry to report he and Elmyra had  decided to go out on a date.



Zoey's face crumpled as she read the message. She had been forgotten.  Just plain forgotten, and dumped via text message. She couldn't decide  whether to cry or break everything within reach, so she settled for  swearing furiously every few moments. She called the agency and told her  mother she was sick because she didn't think she could face looking at  another human being.



Zoey remained at home all that day and the next one, seething at being  so horribly cast away. Her phone lay on the floor in several pieces-she  had thrown it against the wall when Blake texted to ask if she could  recommend a good hookah bar for him and Elmyra to meet at.



By the morning of the third day, Zoey felt reasonably sure she could get  back to work without breaking down at her desk, so she got ready and  hopped on the subway.



She would have been stuck standing the entire way to Manhattan, except  the five-year-old kid from a few days ago was there again, and she  talked her into taking her seat. Half a dozen people praised the girl  for doing what any of them easily could have, and he took the accolades  in her stride, giving most of the credit to her mother for teaching her  manners.



Zoey thought about what her mother was teaching her: cynicism,  deception, apathy and greed. She had to admit that Melinda had been a  much more loving person a long time ago, before her relationship with  Zoey's father had started to go south. But Zoey didn't want to spend her  commute thinking about relationships-she would have enough of that to  do when she got to work.



She picked up her smartphone and went to her favorite news site. Almost  immediately, she saw something among the top stories that made her sigh.



"Spotted at the city's exclusive Three Rivers restaurant: real estate  magnate Stelios Zakiridis and reality television star Brie Hudson.  Speculation is that the pair are dating, though neither could be reached  for comment."



The article was accompanied by several paparazzi photographs of Stelios  and Brie in the vicinity of the restaurant. Zoey couldn't help noting  that her client wasn't smiling in any of them.



"Melinda Forde strikes again," she muttered. "Well, at the very least  this will get my mother off my back for a while. She might even be in a  good mood for once."



And yet, Zoey felt a nameless sort of worry, like another boot was about  to drop. She tried to ignore it, instead focusing on the old guy a few  seats down. He was singing and old soul ballad in an effort to try and  woo a woman half his age. She was listening politely, but it was obvious  it wasn't working. Nearby, two teenagers were filming the whole thing  for YouTube. Zoey briefly toyed with the idea of belting out the old  Carmen Sandiego theme, but in the end she decided she had enough  problems already without a train full of people looking at her  awkwardly.         

     



 



When Zoey arrived at work, it was to find a very conspicuous looking  black town car in front of the building. The moment she saw it, she had  an ominous feeling, and when she went inside, it grew stronger still.  Her office door was open and she could hear an animated conversation  going on inside. Her mother was talking to someone, and there were no  prizes for guessing who it was.



Tentatively, Zoey stepped inside.



"Oh, there you are, Zoey dear. We've just been talking about you. Mr.  Zakiridis has some concerns he would like you to address. I think I  shall just leave you to it. Have a pleasant day, Mr. Zakiridis."



Before Zoey could utter a word of protest, Melinda was gone. Zoey saw  the bottle of champagne she kept in her fridge was on her desk. It was  nearly halfway gone.



She turned to Stelios, who looked very disgruntled indeed. His hair was disheveled and his eyes were a little wild.



Seeing her staring, he smoothed his hair back and took a breath. "Let me  see," he began in a voice he was clearly trying to keep even, "if I can  convey to you what happened to me last night … "



"Mr. Zakiridis … "