Matching Hearts

  A SWEET MATCHMAKING ROMANCE

  ELLIE HARTWOOD

  Contents

  Judgment Day

  Membership Has Its Privileges

  Tail Between Her Legs

  Short-Circuited

  It Takes Two To Tango

  The Shallow End Of The Dating Pool

  Delia Dodges A Bullet

  Fingers Crossed

  A Pinch and a Peck

  Taming of the Shrew

  That’s What Friends Are For

  Be Careful What You Wish For

  Fairy Tales Can Come True. It Can Happen To June

  It’s Complicated

  The Witching Hour

  Delia Keeps Her Groove

  Falling Hard

  When Sparkplugs Fly

  Hit the Road, Jack

  Playing Hooky

  A Twist of Fate

  Old Habits Die Hard

  Delia Turns Heads

  The One That Got Away

  Who Let the Dogs Out?

  Let The Games Begin

  In a Pickle

  Babette

  Digging a Deeper Hole

  Curious George

  Delia and Paloma Share a Laugh

  Deceptive Delia

  Penelope and Brandon

  A Deer In the Headlights

  Delia in A Pinch

  When the Math Adds Up

  The World’s Gone Crazy

  Delia Dumps the Doctor

  Delia Grows a Conscience

  From Kisses To Cringes

  June Learns From the Master

  Delia Cooks Up A Scheme

  The Search For A Hot Actor

  Double Trouble

  Montezuma’s Revenge Hits Tinseltown

  Delia Sets A Trap

  Connie Climate Change

  Jasmine Takes the Bait

  Things Get Squirrely

  The Stalker in a Beemer

  Pretty Good Odds

  Tightie-Whities

  The Great Fall

  Seeking an Older Woman

  Tough Math

  Nurse Delia

  One Too Many

  A Sight Delia Can’t Unsee

  Lara and Lewis

  Who Let the Dogs Out? Round Two

  The Cat’s Out of the Bag

  Getting Out of Dodge, Alone

  Delia South of the Border

  Heartbroken in Cabo

  A Sneak Attack

  Back Where it All Began

  Shifting Firestorms

  Delia the Jailbird

  Delia Versus The Judge

  Order in the Court!

  Courtroom Salsa

  Bonnie and Clyde

  A Side of Manipulation

  Trevor Takes the Stand

  Lovestruck

  The Moment of Truth

  Delia’s Life Flashes Before Her Eyes

  Perfect Conditions

  Homecoming Queen

  Delia and Trevor

  Judgment Day

  LOS ANGELES

  Judge Garrett Donahue peered over the silver-framed glasses perched on the tip of his nose. “It’s commendable that you found sobriety, Ms. Campbell. I hope it will remain so,” he said, pinning the defendant with his signature steely gaze.

  It sounded more like a warning than a wish-you-well.

  Delia Campbell flashed her pearly whites, curving her recently plumped scarlet lips into something close to an affable smile. “Yes, sir.”

  Delia’s counsel stood beside her. June Berman, attorney-at-law, craned her neck to see the imposing, robe-clad justice seated high on the bench.

  June. Reverential, dependable and fun-sized.

  At two inches shy of six feet, Delia faced no such challenge.

  Judge Donahue returned the smile.

  That was a close one, Delia thought. Another win thanks to my new veneers.

  Delia reached for her Prada bag and had one foot in the aisle when June stared her down, motioning for her to stay put.

  The judge continued. “However—”

  Oh no.

  “—Ms. Campbell, it’s come to my attention that you have a long history of wreaking havoc in the lives of those around you.”

  A prickle of fear ran up Delia’s spine. She leaned closer to June, and hissed, “What is happening?”

  In response, she was offered only a raised hand, silencing her.

  Judge Donahue continued. “I hereby order you, Delia Beatrice Campbell, to serve twelve months of community service at the very place you were in such a rush to get to when Officer Lee cited you. Maybe you’ll accomplish something worthwhile for a change. For others.”

  With that, the judge banged down his gavel, sentencing Delia to a year of servitude.

  Delia left the courthouse, spitting nails. What the hell was the judge thinking?

  She took off her Valentino sweater and darted down the marble steps, glad to be back in the sunshine. She'd waited three grueling hours in an overly air conditioned courtroom for the Honorable Judge Donahue to show up. The judge had been delayed by a pile-up on the freeway. The irony was not lost on her.

  Last week, she got pulled over for speeding on the very same freeway. The cop looked up her license and registration, quickly learning she had a record. If it weren’t for her parole officer, she’d be scot-free. Anyone else would have looked the other way given Delia’s progress, but not Connie. Damn her!

  Delia had been in and out of rehab for several years. The last relapse resulted in a two-week stay as a guest of the LA County Department of Corrections. Nearly a year ago, those fourteen days were enough to scare her into following the bumpy road to sobriety.

  Delia looked back at the courthouse, relieved she was leaving of her own accord. Still, the whole thing was so unfair. She hadn’t been drinking when she spotted the flashing lights on her tail two exits from her home. She’d been sober since the day she was arrested.

  Eleven months, one week and two days ago.

  Soon after starting AA, Delia began tracking down the people she had hurt in her life. Most recently, her cousin Jason’s fiancée, Jamie.

  Among her numerous misdeeds, Delia had made a real mess of the couple’s relationship. Jason and Jamie had forgiven her. She’d even been invited to Jason’s son’s wedding.

  “Speeding mere days before your parole is over was foolish,” Judge Donahue had said.

  Delia couldn’t disagree but she’d had little choice. There was somewhere important she had needed to be.

  As was her luck, she ended up with the most creative of all judges. One of the rare few she’d come across who took the job seriously. Of course, Delia had no intention of following through. The ruling was laughable. What a ridiculous sentence!

  “You’re a narcissist,” June said, taking a large bite of her almond croissant. Her leather briefcase sat open on the table beside her plate of flaky crumbs.

  Delia glared at her, wishing the cutesy coffee shop had vodka sours on the menu. Oh, right, I’m clean and sober. Yippee.

  Instead, she drained her demitasse cup like it was a shot of Johnnie Walker. If anyone could shove her off the wagon, it was the self-righteous Judge Donahue. “You’re my attorney, for heaven’s sake!”

  June swiped at her mouth, a stray crumb falling onto the table. “And your friend. I did the best job I could under the circumstances.” June was Delia’s sorority sister, class of ’95. And her only remaining friend. “You’re lucky the judge didn’t tag on more jail time.” She paused. “Maybe he got it right on this one.”

  Friend or not, Delia wanted to deck her. Problem was, while June was nearly a foot shorter, she outweighed Delia by thirty pounds. And they were only a block south from a court of law.

  “Why were you in such a rush to get to Exclusive Engagements, anyway?”

  “I had an appointment with the CEO. It took me forever to arrange it. I was running late.”

  June stared at her. “Do I even want to know what you were up to?”

  Clearly, June didn’t recall the assistance she’d provided to Delia months before. Delia shrugged. “Doesn’t matter much now, does it?” She took a sip of her ice water.

  “I suppose not. Especially since you’ll be going back there under an amusing set of circumstances.”

  Delia wiped the expletive from the tip of her tongue. She needed June. Ripping her a new one wouldn’t get her anywhere.

  June extracted something from her briefcase, handed it to Delia. “My bill. I gave you the old friend discount.”

  Delia glanced at the total, mumbled a thanks, and stuffed it in her purse.

  June leaned forward, her voice low. “Listen, I know you don’t like this but as your attorney I strongly advise you to take this year of community service seriously. It will help others and if you’re lucky, maybe even yourself.”

  June studied Delia’s face. Not seeing what she’d hoped for, she shook her head and snapped shut her briefcase.

  June walked out of the coffee shop, leaving Delia behind, fuming and scowling at the unpaid check.

  Membership Has Its Privileges

  Two Weeks Earlier 

  LOS ANGELES

  Delia had hoped for a man to interview her. Instead, a woman in her forties stood beside a sleek glass desk, a view of downtown LA spread li
ke a smorgasbord behind her. She wore a cream-colored sheath that stopped just above the knee and diamond studs in her ears. Her black hair was immaculately knotted into a chiffon at the nape of her neck, her skin flawless. “Ms. Campbell, please come in. I’m Paloma Ramirez.”

  Delia strolled in as if on a catwalk, took a seat in one of the modern leather chairs the color of a ripe pumpkin, and crossed her legs at the ankles. She was glad she’d chosen her four-inch Louboutin heels. In this town, every inch mattered in the game of dominance.

  Paloma sat, tapped on her laptop. “I’ve read your application. You’re as lovely in person as your photos.”

  “Thank you.” She’d spent a king’s ransom on those head shots. Not to mention the discreet plastic surgeries.

  “I see you grew up in Seattle and New York, then moved to LA for college.”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  Paloma’s eyes scanned the screen. “A dual degree in contemporary arts and literature. A decade in the modeling business. Hmm, for Ford Models. Impressive. Fair amount of international travel.”

  Delia couldn’t tell if Paloma was trying to flatter her or catch her in a lie.

  Paloma’s gaze met hers. “Have you ever worked with a matchmaker before?”

  “No. I met my ex-husband at a charity event.”

  It was true. Delia was glad to use the philanthropy to her advantage. “It was a fundraiser for the LA ASPCA. We raised money to save dogs that were destined to be put down.”

  “So special,” Paloma said, her words loosely cloaked by an insincerity Delia was well-attuned to.

  Two can play at this game. Delia momentarily studied her own clasped hands, doing her best to appear regal.

  Paloma went on. “Exclusive Engagements is a premier service for singles with a net worth of at least ten million American dollars. Our clientele is accustomed to excellence and that’s what we offer them. Most of our competitors only represent wealthy men, arranging matches with beautiful, accomplished women. But we’ve found our affluent female clients to be just as discerning, if not more so.”

  Delia had already done extensive research on the matchmaking agency. They represented the crème de la crème of California singles, finding matches for them among the rarified pool of the uber wealthy, occasionally stepping out to commoners like herself. It was demeaning. But she wanted nothing more than to be welcomed into the club.

  She nodded amiably.

  Paloma leaned back in her ergonomic chair, giving off a more relaxed vibe. Delia knew it was a test. She remained poised, borderline aloof.

  “Most of our clients are based at least part-time in California but several reside elsewhere. Would travel be an issue for you?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Do you have a preference for age, race or educational background?”

  “No, I’m quite open-minded.”

  “Looks?”

  “Taller than me. I’m five-ten, so I know it could be a challenge, but it’s really my only criterion.”

  Paloma typed a few notes. “All right, then.” She looked up, making full-on eye contact. “As you may recall in our earlier conversation, we don’t take on many women, shall we say, in our age range.” Paloma smiled, conspiratorially.

  Delia subdued her inner cringe.

  “That said, you seem like a suitable fit for some of our more mature gentlemen who are looking for sophistication over youth.” She tapped her keyboard. “We have the reference letter from your attorney, June Berman. We still need your financials. Our policy of acceptance takes into account a variety of factors. We typically expect a net worth of one million from our secondary applicants. It would be untoward to suggest our primary members are only being matched for their significant assets.”

  She stared at Delia, her eyes unblinking.

  Delia didn’t fool herself. While she looked incredible for forty-eight, there were hundreds—no, thousands—of women born after 1990 who would squeeze her out of the running. She’d need to make it in on her bank balance. May as well go all in. “That won’t be a problem.”

  “We do make the rare exception for a more modest portfolio when accompanied by an exemplary resumé. Fine character, breeding, education and such.”

  Bitch. “I’m worth far more. I’ll call my accountant.”

  Delia knew they’d ask for proof of her finances. On her application, she had fibbed about her net worth. By about half a million dollars. She couldn’t exactly send in decades-old tax returns from her modeling days. For now, her strategy was to procrastinate in the hope of meeting a mega-wealthy man who would overlook her white lie once he became enamored with her.

  “Excellent. We’ll run a background check. I’m sure you understand.”

  Delia nodded. “Of course.” They’d find no issues with her background. Thanks to a new California law, June had successfully managed to have her arrest record expunged.

  “Please submit your last two tax returns. We ask that you drop them off in person so you can immediately have a face-to-face with one of our matchmakers who will interview you in greater detail and begin introducing you to some of our clients.”

  Paloma escorted Delia to the door, shook her hand with a firm grasp. “It was a pleasure. We look forward to helping you find your true love.”

  Delia thanked her and walked out, thinking, As long as he has the funds, he surely will be.

  Tail Between Her Legs

  The Present

  LOS ANGELES

  Delia locked the door behind her and tossed her keys in the crystal dish on the foyer table, not caring if the stupid thing shattered into a million pieces. It was a gift from her now-dead ex-mother-in-law, a crude woman of unrefined taste.

  Delia dropped her bag on the sofa and made a beeline to the wine fridge, knowing she’d find it empty. Oh, how she’d love to down a glass or two of Pinot Noir.

  What a shitty day.

  Her stars were out of alignment. She needed to make an appointment with her astrologer.

  Or not. She couldn’t afford it anymore.

  Since she and Richard split, she’d avoided thinking about getting a job. Her last employment was over five years ago when she worked as a curator for a Santa Monica art gallery.

  Delia hated to admit it but maybe a job would help defray some of her unexpected expenses. Like paying June.

  Things began to go south when Officer Lee zapped her Mercedes convertible with his radar gun. Delia was doing eighty in a sixty-five speed zone. She was on her way to Bel-Air for a second meeting at Exclusive Engagements, the newest and most elite matchmaking service in Southern California. She had her fudged tax returns ready to go.

  Now standing in her state-of-the-art kitchen, Delia placed a call to Japanika, the local sushi bar, requesting delivery. Careful not to muss her French manicure, she spent the next ten minutes cutting up kale and green apples for her daily protein shake. It was the extent of her cooking ability.

  She was zeroing in on the big five-oh. Thanks to nearly a hundred thou in enhancements, she’d managed to shave off about eight years. She based that on a blind study she’d run online asking a random group of strangers to guess her age. She’d been nipped and tucked into a size two, had a breast lift and neck rejuvenation. She never missed a Botox appointment and neither snow nor rain nor gloom of night would make her miss her bi-weekly Pilates and weight training classes.