Afternoon Delight. Mia Zachary

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      He jotted a note to drive over and see his mother. As the only male in the house with a single mother and two older sisters, he’d quickly learned how far charm would get him—Mom had rarely denied him anything. He’d been meaning to do some yard work for her, anyway, and that would give him a chance to find out what had Drea and Di so worried. He pushed the button for the next message.

      Hi, Mr. London. My name is Amy Wong and I write for the San Francisco Inquirer. I’d like to make arrangements for an interview—

      He erased the voicemail without bothering to hear the rest. The tabloid had been after his story for months, trying to get the inside scoop—or more likely the dirt—on the business, anything to explain the LM phenomenon. He’d never granted them an interview and he never would to protect himself and his clients from exposure.

      Christopher, I’d like my mystery novels back and I have your DVDs. Let me know when it would be convenient to make the exchange. The call disconnected with an audible click.

      He and Rachel had broken up after he overheard her tell a friend that he was “the guy you have sex with, not the one you stay with.” When he confronted her, Rachel had accused him of investing more energy into other people’s relationships rather than into his own.

      She was probably right. Though he’d liked her, he hadn’t loved her. In fact, he wasn’t sure he’d ever really been in love. Lust, infatuation, but never love. He’d mail Rachel the books; she could keep the movies.

      He played the last message. Mr. London, this is Andrew Johnston from Hollinger/Hansen. I have good news. Our principal investor is interested in your expansion project. However, before the Board commits any venture capital, we’d like to see a more detailed business plan. Call me at 555-4642, extension 201.

      Chris dropped the last of his sandwich and played the message again. Another investment firm had turned him down two weeks ago. A wide grin spread across his face as he listened. Hot damn! It looked like he might be able to open locations in Oakland and San Jose after all.

      He leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head, and gazed through the two-way mirror at the dining room and café. He’d done it!

      In high school and college, fixing up his friends had been just a game. During his years at UCLA he’d parlayed his knack for matchmaking into free meals and Bruins football tickets. Eventually he’d turned a psychology major with a minor in statistics into a flourishing business. He’d taken a gamble and made it pay off not only for himself but also for his many happy clients.

      It was ironic, actually, because love had nothing to do with his success. Despite his track record for others, Chris couldn’t seem to make a relationship last more than a month or so, a fact he was very careful to keep to himself. Who’d want to use a dating service run by a guy who was frequently single, a guy who didn’t believe in the idea of true love he so convincingly sold?

      It all came down to science, namely mathematics and chemistry. If you presented people with a potential mate who mirrored the traits they wanted to see in themselves, the probability was high that these two people would experience infatuation. After infatuation, respect and commitment would hopefully follow.

      Not that he hadn’t experienced a number of failures. His matchmaking skills hadn’t worked at all on his parents.

      Chris had been eleven when his father had dumped the family, walking out on him, his mother and sisters. He’d never seen it coming. His parents had never fought, always discussing everything quietly and rationally, and his father swore there wasn’t another woman. Just some half-assed need to figure out what he wanted from life.

      Chris had listened to the calmly delivered speech about things sometimes not working out the way you hope, nodding his head while his whole world imploded. He’d felt like his chest was on fire from the pressure of holding back sobs of anguish. Don’t go, Daddy. Don’t leave me. As his father turned away, the pressure bubble inside him had popped and the tears flowed freely.

      It was the last time Chris ever cried.

      He’d seen his father regularly, during awkward visits and strained outings, but it felt like there was a hollow space inside him. His mother had wanted her husband back, though, so Chris had done what he could—getting in trouble at school so his parents would have to meet in the principal’s office. But then later his more mature attempts also met with failure…

      The intercom buzzed, shaking him off that line of thought. He listened to Lara’s voice. “Hi, Chris. Frank Lanvale is here for his one o’clock.”

      He thanked her, silently reminding himself to focus on the positive. Things were looking up business-wise. Just as long as nobody found out the truth about him or the secret of Lunch Meetings’ success.

      2

      “YOU’RE NOT GOING out like that, are you?”

      Phoebe Jayne Hollinger burst through the open door of Rei’s house in Miraloma Park at exactly nine o’clock. P.J. was always prompt about her lateness. Stepping aside, Rei looked down at the white dress shirt and plain black skirt she wore with low-heeled pumps. Judging by P.J.’s incredulous tone, her best friend didn’t like the outfit as much as she did.

      “I think I look nice, thank you very much.” Rei turned and walked toward the living room where she’d been reading in her favorite chair near the gas fire.

      P.J. followed, her heels clicking on the hardwood floors. “That’s the problem. You’re supposed to look sexy. We’re going to a nightclub, not a Bar Association function.”

      “I’m not good at sexy.” A fact that had disappointed some of the men she’d dated. Apparently they’d expected an Asian woman to be a voracious circus acrobat in bed and a bowing doormat everywhere else.

      P.J. unfastened her black satin trench coat. “You never let yourself be sexy. When we were growing up, you were always afraid your father would disapprove. Later, you were too focused on school and corporate raiding—”

      “That’s the second time this week you’ve mentioned my father and I hope it’s the last.” Rei felt the muscles around her eyes tighten.

      P.J. smirked and sank into the couch. “Don’t pull the Judge Face on me. I’m immune. You know you’ll have to deal with him sometime.”

      “Not tonight, I don’t. He pushed me out of his life twenty years ago so I’m in no rush to schedule a family reunion.”

      Her mother had died in a car accident when she was twelve. With Keiko gone, the stately Queen Anne style house in Pacific Heights had echoed with reproving silences. Only to be interrupted by frightening drunken outbursts from a father who’d been as miserly with hugs as he had been with praise.

      After two agonizing years, Gordon Davis had finally decided to move on with his life. Rei had spent all of her time with her beloved maternal grandparents in Japantown while he pursued a seat on the high court bench and a young trophy wife. Once Rei left for college, they saw each other only at the holidays.

      “You’re right, honey. I’m sorry. We’re supposed to be celebrating.” P.J. twisted on her seat and dug into the pocket of her coat. She set a small silver box on the bleached wood coffee table. “HappyAnniversary.”

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