Match Me If You Can, page 1
MATCH ME IF YOU CAN
EVER AFTER AGENCY SERIES - BOOK ONE
SANDY BARKER
CONTENTS
Trigger Warning
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
More from Sandy Barker
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Sandy Barker
About Boldwood Books
For Lina, agent extraordinaire, champion, friend…
I couldn’t (and wouldn’t) do this without you.
TRIGGER WARNING
Content warning: A supporting character has fertility issues and has unsuccessfully attempted IVF.
1
POPPY
Not once in my four years with the agency have I been late for a morning staff meeting, but even I’m never this early. Typically, I’d be making myself a pot-for-one of perfectly brewed tea – precisely four minutes of steeping – then checking emails and planning my day. But not this morning. I’m too nervous. That’s a first for me as well – this job can be demanding, even hairy at times, but it has never induced a bout of crippling nerves before. I take out my phone and open up our work chat thread. I still can’t believe the article Mia posted, even though I’m staring right at it.
Secretive matchmaking agency used by London’s crème de la crème revealed!
The (proverbial) cat is out of its bag and now amongst the (proverbial) pigeons. The Ever After Agency, a (once) secretive matchmaking agency is about to be outed.
Next week, we’re posting a sizzler that will blow your socks off. We’ll expose how the agency operates down to the (not-so-pretty) nitty gritty and wait till you see who is amongst the clientele! Celebs, politicians, sports stars – even a minor royal! We’ll also be asking, ‘Who really is founder, Saskia Featherstone?’ Noble matchmaker? Or heartless money-grubber who feeds off the misfortune of others?
Don’t miss it – subscribe now!
An overuse of idioms and word play notwithstanding, it certainly is an eye-catching announcement. At least Mia, our resident tech genius and social media savant, caught onto it straight away. There may be time for damage control. Though, if I’m honest with myself, I doubt it. How do you stop a tsunami with kitchen towel?
‘Good morning, Poppy.’
‘Oh,’ I say, startled, ‘good morning, Saskia.’
She strides into the conference room as though it’s any other day (and she hasn’t just been accused of heartless money-grubbing), taking her seat at the head of the oval table and flicking through her old-school planner. She slides a slimline pen from its holder and makes a note in the margin as she sips from a takeaway coffee cup.
I scrutinise her for signs that this morning’s news has upset her. Not surprisingly, there are none. As always, she’s the perfectly coiffed epitome of poise. This is why the rest of us secretly call her The Swan – if she ever does get flustered or worried or annoyed, we never see it. She wears the dual mantles of founder and leader with aplomb, and there’s something about her calming demeanour that, well, calms me – usually, but not this morning. I breathe in deeply through my nose (in-two-three-four) and exhale slowly out through my mouth (out-two-three-four) like I used to coach my patients to do in my previous life, before I joined the agency.
‘Morning, all!’ Nasrin makes her typically loud entrance and sighs extravagantly as she plonks herself onto a chair. ‘The bloody Tube this morning…’ she adds, after which I tune out. The Tube is a nightmare every morning, teeming with rudeness, pickpockets, and people with questionable hygiene, so why whine about it?
The others arrive in turn and soon the conference room is abuzz with chatter. But it’s just normal small talk – this both baffles and worries me. Why isn’t anyone else freaking out? Or maybe they’re hiding it like I am.
‘I mean,’ says Nasrin, her voice now at maximum volume, ‘how hard is it to rub on some deodorant? Or here’s a thought, maybe don’t hold the overhead rail, you smelly git!’
At precisely 9.30 a.m., Saskia clears her throat. It is a subtle sound that nonetheless cuts through the hubbub – even Nasrin’s rant – and we all still, our eyes collectively fixing on her. ‘Let’s begin, shall we?’
The relief at hearing the solution, the plan that will get us out of this mess, is palpable. Since the moment I woke up and read that message, I’ve been imagining the fallout. Dozens of permutations have flown through my head, all leading to one outcome – that the Ever After Agency, an agency built on confidentiality, will shut down forever more (no pun intended) and we’ll all be out on the street, unemployed.
I’m not sure how I feel about practicing psychology again – and that would be the best-case scenario. Worst case, I end up back in Tasmania, living with Mum and Dad, destitute – a crappy outcome for anyone who’s made a home across the world, let alone a thirty-five-year-old.
I cast my eyes around the table. With stillness and silence comes clarity and it’s obvious now that others are just as concerned as I am. Fellow agent Freya – normally bubbling with energy – is wide-eyed and subdued. George, another agent – who we jokingly call our ‘token male’ – is chewing on his lower lip, his scowl marring his handsome features. At the other end of the table, poor Mia is paler than usual, her eyes fixed on Saskia and her chest rising and falling with her rapid breaths. Nasrin seems ticked off, but she may still be on the Tube thing.
And senior agent Ursula… well, she may be worried but as she’s had a considerable amount of work done on her face, it’s difficult to tell. She’s supposedly close to seventy but doesn’t look a day over fifty and even when she’s laughing, barely anything on her face moves. I’ve had to scold myself for staring at her more times than I’d like to admit; it’s a compelling face, simultaneously beautiful and horrifying.
Oddly, Paloma, our head of client relations, seems totally unperturbed, which baffles me. Surely, the source is a former client, meaning that ultimately, the buck stops with her.
‘Right, so I’m guessing you’ve all seen what Mia posted on our chat thread this morning.’ Seven heads bob in unison and Saskia (as expected) remains utterly composed. ‘First, I know this must come as a surprise, this… er…’
There it is, a minor chink in her armour. Witnessing our leader in a moment of fallibility, my stomach clenches.
‘Disaster?’ offers Ursula.
‘Perhaps a little overwrought, Ursula, but regardless, we will address it.’
How? I think of the tsunami again. Confidentiality and discretion form the bedrock of this agency. If we don’t have either…
‘Second,’ says Saskia, cutting through my runaway thoughts, ‘I trust everyone in this room implicitly – absolutely without question.’ Oh god. It hadn’t occurred to me that there could be a question of trust amongst us, that the source could be someone in this very room. My stomach sours even more. Saskia continues undaunted, her voice steady as she looks each of us in the eye. ‘You are all exceptional at what you do. You are all valued. And you are all like family to me.’
I glance around the conference table. We are an eclectic bunch, our origins spanning several continents just as our ages span multiple decades. Some of us went to university while some, like Mia, are self-taught, and our expertise is diverse, covering fields such as event management, marketing and PR, law, and my former profession, psychology.
Only one of us had a career in matchmaking before joining the agency – Ursula. Of course, we are much more than matchmakers. While many clients are seeking ‘the one’, others are happy with ‘the one for now’, and there are some clients who just want to silence their harshest critics – sadly and more often than not, their parents – by marrying only for appearances.
A dedicated team, our work is as vast and varied as our bios, often taking us out of the country or embarking on bizarre endeavours. In what other job are you going to be tasked with taking trapeze lessons? Though that was Nasrin, not me.
Around half our cases allow us to keep more regular office hours, which means the work is not all-consuming – we have lives. But it’s the sort of job I could never have dreamt up before I started with the agency. Every day brings something different, a new adventure, a new conundrum to solve. I’m never bored and always challenged – one of the things I love most about working here.
And while many people have a work spouse, I have a work family.
These thoughts are somewhat reassuring, though it’s a false kind of reassurance – like standing with your back to the raging sea. Bugger, I’m
‘Lovely sentiment, Sask.’ Only Paloma calls her that but it’s rumoured that they’ve been best friends since high school. ‘Right. So, let’s talk about what we do know… Mia?’
Mia lifts her chin, then licks her lips before addressing the rest of us. ‘So,’ she says, her Dublin accent softening the edges of the ‘o’ sound, ‘the account that posted the announcement belongs to an anonymous blogger, bu—’ Several groans bisect her voice. ‘But I’ve traced the IP address, which could help us narrow down who’s been blabbing.’
‘And?’ asks Nasrin.
‘Let her finish,’ chides Paloma.
Nasrin’s mouth flattens into a line.
‘The blog is based in London.’
More groans. Understandable, really, as more than half our clients live in Greater London.
‘How does that help us, then?’ asks Nasrin. Wow, she really got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.
‘Because,’ interjects Saskia, ‘it likely rules out our international clients—’
‘And anyone who lives outside the M25,’ finishes Paloma.
‘What if the blogger isn’t the leak – just the person they’ve told their story to?’ asks George.
‘Good point,’ I say, mostly because I’ve yet to contribute to the conversation and I feel like I need to say something.
‘That’s a possibility, of course,’ affirms Saskia and my stomach clenches again. God, with all the churning it’s done this morning, I could make ice cream in there. I lay a hand over it and pat gently.
‘Can you narrow it down any further?’ Freya asks Mia, her pale blue eyes hopeful.
‘I’m working on it.’
‘And I’m scouring our roster of former clients – those in Greater London,’ adds Paloma. Maybe that’s why she seems even more composed than Saskia. There’s a plan and she’s confident that she and Mia can find out who’s behind this.
‘Let’s say we do figure out who it is, then what?’ asks Ursula.
Oh, great question, Ursula. I’d say this aloud but I’m already embarrassed that I’ve added nothing meaningful to this discussion.
‘Then I’ll speak with them,’ says Saskia. She smiles and, believe me, the Mona Lisa has nothing on the ambiguity of this smile. If I didn’t know Saskia better, I’d say it was sinister. Yikes.
‘And say what?’ asks Ursula.
Hooray! I cheer internally – another great question.
‘Please remember that all our clients – and those on our potentials register – sign a non-disclosure agreement. And also remember that before I founded this agency, I was a solicitor, specialising in contracts law. Those agreements are failsafe.’
Ursula nods sagely. If her eyebrows were able to, no doubt they’d knit together.
Freya pokes me under the table and points to her lap, where she’s scribbled ‘disgruntled employee?’ on a small notepad. I shake my head, confused. As far as I know, no one has ever left the employ of the agency. But maybe she’s right.
‘Any chance it’s not a former client?’ asks George.
Freya’s eyes flick to mine, clearly spooked like I am by the uncanny timing. If it isn’t someone who engaged the agency to meet their ‘happily ever after’ needs and it’s not someone in this room, then that leaves only two options – our small but mighty support team (god forbid!) or one of the ‘potentials’ we put forward as possible love interests.
‘Whoever is at the root of this,’ says Saskia, hushing the rising murmurs with her stoic tone, ‘I have every confidence that Paloma and Mia will find them and that it will all be sorted – and soon.’
‘Besides,’ says Paloma and all heads swivel in her direction. I really wish they’d sit next to each other, rather than at opposite ends of the table. This isn’t the first time we’ve spectated their interplay like we’re at Wimbledon. ‘If this does get out…’ She shrugs. ‘It could be good publicity.’
At that, there’s an explosion of outrage. We never publicise the agency – there are no advertisements on the back pages of Tatler, no appearances on talk shows, no guerrilla marketing, no party-plans, or radio ads, or even matchbooks with the agency’s name on them. We’re like Fight Club but without the fighting.
Our only method of procuring clients is referrals from previous clients or nominations – or both, as a former client can nominate someone (even without them knowing). But we never publicise the agency.
Ever.
‘All right, all right,’ says Saskia, now out of her seat and elegantly waving her hands as though we’re a choir and she’s directing us to sing more softly. Those of us who are standing – me included – plant ourselves heavily in our seats. Saskia leans on the conference table and smiles again – serenely this time. ‘Obviously, that’s not our preferred route, so Paloma and Mia are dropping everything else to prioritise this. But the rest of us still have work to do, so let’s begin our daily briefing. Poppy, you have a new client for us,’ she says, giving me the floor.
I nod, swallowing hard and really wishing I’d made that tea. My throat is as dry as a dead dingo’s donger, as my dad would say. Freya, bless her, slides a glass of water over and I take a sip, telegraphing ‘thank you’ with my eyes.
‘Our client’s name is Tristan Fellows,’ I say a moment later. ‘He’s a referral from one of Saskia’s former clients, Ravi Sharma, and this will be a fee-for-service arrangement.’
This distinction is important, as half our clients pay a substantial fee and half are taken on pro bono. As well as expanding our referrals across the echelons of society, this practice is because Saskia believes everyone is entitled to their happily ever after –
or HEA, as we say in the biz – no matter their level of income. She’s an equal-opportunity romantic.
‘The case name,’ I add, ‘is “Marriage: Impossible”.’
‘Why “impossible”?’ asks Ursula, her chin lifted inquisitively, doing the work of her immobile eyebrows.
‘It’s like the movies,’ I reply. ‘You know, Mission: Impossible… they always succeed no matter how challenging the mission…?’
‘Oh!’ says George. ‘I love that – like, it’s tricky but doable.’
‘Exactly,’ I say, wishing we hadn’t got waylaid by my chosen case name.
‘So, he’s not… er…?’ I can tell Ursula is trying to find an appropriate way to ask if my client is unattractive – as if there is one.
‘Actually,’ I say, simultaneously pressing a button on my tablet, ‘Tristan is exceptionally handsome.’ An image of our new client appears on the screen above Saskia’s head, eliciting a chorus of ‘ooh’s from around the table – except George who emits something like a growl. Even Saskia, who’s swivelled her chair around to see, seems genuinely surprised at how handsome Tristan is – thick, dark hair cut stylishly short, high cheekbones, whisky-coloured eyes framed by thick lashes and full brows, and a chiselled chin. He’s the love child of Henry Cavill and Theo James.
In the photo, Tristan is scowling as if he’s a brooding love interest on the cover of a steamy romance novel. And I’ve seen my fair share of romance novels – my bestie, Shaz, is obsessed with them. Ravi did provide a second photo, a candid shot from his wedding in which Tristan is laughing with Ravi’s new wife, but I get the sense that this Tristan is the one who needs our help – the scowler.
‘Apparently,’ – some pairs of eyes return to me but most stay riveted to the screen – ‘the issue is his personality. Ravi describes Tristan as—’
