The C.e.o.'S Unplanned Proposal. Karen Toller WhittenburgЧитать онлайн книгу.
indefinable quality in both men that women responded to, naturally and without hesitation. Ilsa recognized it, even if she couldn’t quite put a name to it.
Robert’s tap on the door and subsequent entry with the tea tray was a more welcome interruption than she wanted to admit. Occupying her hands with the china cups and making sure the coffee was just the way her guest preferred it gave her time to regain a professional mien. No matter how influential, famous and powerful the Braddock family undeniably was, Archer Braddock had come to her as a client, and she would treat him as such. Which meant, despite an almost overwhelming impulse to ask about James—where he was, what he was doing, if he were married or not—she would keep her thoughts to herself and listen. If she’d learned anything about the people who sought out her services, she knew that listening was the key to it all. It was her gift, the listening. That and the ability to detect a spark of attraction where none was supposed to exist.
She’d barely swallowed her first sip of steaming Earl Grey, however, when Archer nailed her with the unexpected yet again. “You remember James?” he asked, as if there were some possibility she could have forgotten him. “I believe the two of you were in school together at one time.”
Ilsa set her cup in its china saucer with a ca-clink. “Yes, he was two years ahead of me at Exeter. He was also at Harvard with my husband, Ian. I haven’t seen James in several years. How is he?”
“Engaged,” Archer said with a frown. “That’s his chronic state, when he isn’t married or getting unmarried, that is. I’ve given up hoping he’s ever going to find the right woman…they all seem right to him for the time it takes him to say, ‘I do.’ But I didn’t come here to talk about James. I came because I’ve heard some amazing stories recently about couples you’ve brought together, Ilsa, even though I had to do some serious sleuthing to discover the ‘professional matchmaker’ everyone was whispering about with such reverence was you.”
“I try to keep a low profile,” she said modestly.
“Appears you’re successful on all counts.” His cup rattled in the saucer as he set one within the other. “No one would come within a breath of confessing their own personal experience, but most all were willing to expound at some length on the miracles you’d wrought for others.”
“I have a knack for recognizing possibilities, perhaps, but that’s a far cry from producing a miracle, Mr. Braddock.”
“Please, call me Archer. Gives me a thrill to be on a first-name basis with beautiful women, and these cold winter days, thrills aren’t so easy to come by.”
She gave her smile as easily as her acquiescence. “Certainly, Archer.”
His nod of approval came on top of his next question. “So, Ilsa, if you’re not a miracle worker, how are you able to assist Heaven in making a match between two seeking hearts?”
She set aside her teacup and saucer, finally on solid ground. “I do an extraordinary amount of research,” she said. “I study everything I can get my hands on about a person, from old school records to favored hairstyles, preferred leisure activities, favorite and not favorite restaurants, personal convictions and private opinions. I take my time in discovering all I can about a candidate, and then I put all that information aside, and simply pay attention to the world that surrounds my client. Each of us come into contact with an amazing assortment of individuals throughout our lives, but most people aren’t paying attention and miss the opportunity to make a connection. I pay attention, and that’s why I’m successful. I can provide a list of references, if you’d like, although privacy concerns prevents me from revealing my client list.”
“Not necessary,” he said. “I did my own research before I made the decision to approach you. Despite the strict confidentiality you request from your clientele, I managed to attain enough information to be considerably impressed. Although I must say, I failed to gain even a glimmer of what you charge for your services. A fact that leads me to believe your fees must be rather substantial.”
“It’s no simple task to put a price on love, Mr. Braddock.” The truth was she charged what she felt her contribution was worth, based on the ability of the customer to pay and her core belief that a genuine “match” was worth a genuine sacrifice. “Could you do it?”
His smile was reflective, wistful, and admiring. “No,” he said. “I would never even try.”
She nodded, glad they agreed.
He nodded, too, then reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a small stack of photographs and handed it to her. “My grandsons,” he said with no small degree of pride. “Adam, Bryce and Peter.”
Ilsa looked at the wallet-size photos one by one, then spread them in a row across the table beside her chair and examined them thoroughly again. Each handsome face was stamped with the same Braddock heritage—strong jaw, straight nose, regal brow—still evident in Archer’s aging features and in her own still vivid memory of James’s face. The three young men were clearly brothers, although individually quite different. Ilsa had seen their pictures in the society pages and on the cover of the tabloids, of course. The Braddock brothers were favorites of the paparazzi. Their history was the stuff of scandal, and although Ilsa knew only bits and pieces of it, herself, the public knew even less and was hungry for more. It was a testament to Archer and his wife that they had kept the world outside the gates of Braddock Hall, their ancestral home, and raised their three grandsons away from the public eye. But Ilsa could see, even from the two-dimensional photos, that James’s sons possessed that indefinable quality that would make them as irresistible to women as Braddock men had been rumored to be for a couple of centuries.
“Very handsome young men,” she said, glancing up from the pictures. “Do they have…seeking hearts?”
“Not so anyone could tell,” he answered tersely.
Those few words were enough to give her some valuable insight. “But you’re their grandfather and you pay attention.”
Their eyes met, his still a vivid green, hers a deep and perceptive gray. “Yes,” he said. “It’s no secret that James has made a hash of finding true love and a game out of marriage and divorce. Janey and I always hoped our grandsons would seek out a relationship similar to our own, one worthy of a lifetime commitment, but not one of them shows a single sign of being capable of recognizing love when it does come along.” He pointed out each picture as he named off the brothers. “That’s Peter. He’s the youngest. He’s dazzled by long-legged debutantes. The blue-eyed charmer there in the middle is Bryce. He’s our Robin Hood, robbing tomorrow’s joys for today’s pleasure. He prefers young women with big, toothy smiles and more bosom than brains. The oldest is Adam, who is all business all the time. He’s fascinated by any woman who carries a briefcase larger than his.”
“Intriguing.” Ilsa continued to study the pictures for a moment. “I’m surprised some enterprising mothers haven’t solved your matchmaking problems for you long before now.”
“Oh, they’ve tried, believe me. But my grandsons are nearly as slippery as they are suave. It would be a mistake to let them know you and I have even discussed their…future.”
“I am nothing if not discreet, Archer, and I consider myself a facilitator of romance, not an instigator. I initiate a meeting, allow the possibilities to present themselves, then step back and see what happens. Any intervention after that point involves a light touch and great deal of diplomacy.”
“I take that to mean, you don’t offer a money-back guarantee.”
“No, but I do have a rather astounding rate of success. If you prefer, your grandsons won’t ever know I’ve been involved in their match. On the other hand, that secrecy requires considerably more effort for the two of us. You’ll be my only contact and my best resource for information. Are you sure you won’t mind being involved in a somewhat clandestine alliance with me?”
His chuckle came again, rough and charming. “I may be an old man, but I’m not dead yet. My only regret is that Janey isn’t here to enjoy this little intrigue