Lovers by Halloween: The Priceless Collection

By Verika Sloane

She's got the magic touch...

Renowned matchmaker Madison Grenier isn't so perfect at maintaining her own love life, but when it comes to her job, she's the best of the best. So when a hot single father walks in with his swagger and high expectations, she can't resist the challenge. Or ignore the heat between them. But she has a strict rule never to get involved with a client, as shockingly tempting as he may be.

He won't settle for less...

Elliott Crowne has given up on the membership with At Last Matchmaking after several failed first dates. That is, until he meets the owner, who changes his mind to give the company one more chance. Except now he's looking for a chance with her. Madison is not exactly what he's searching for, but she might be exactly what he needs.

The thing that scares her the most this Halloween? Not the boogie man, but the right man.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Verika Ink
• Release date: Nov 2, 2016
• ISBN: 9781540158970

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

The webpage window on her monitor went black as Madison’s boyfriend hung up their video call.

Well, ex-boyfriend now.

She minimized the screen and pushed away from the desk, rising to open the blinds of her office window.

She’d just been dumped via Zoom. That was a new one.

While it wasn’t in person, it was technically face to face, and Allan didn’t have much of a choice since he was in Germany and she was in California. She knew it wouldn’t last with him, not with his traveling schedule and her…lack of enthusiasm where their relationship was concerned.

They were better off friends, as he’d put it. And he was right.

Even so, it still sucked being the one dumped. Barely two months. Pfft. One would think a matchmaker could maintain a relationship for at least six. That was one of the primary reasons Madison kept her private life on the down-low.

At first, when she’d switched from being a marriage counselor to a marriage maker, she’d thought clients would doubt her skills since she didn’t have a husband herself. It took a couple of years to prove it, but once word got out, the clients kept coming through the doors of At Last Matchmaking Agency.

Finding love was a personal pursuit, and rather than simply plug names into a database with a questionnaire, Madison went a little further. It made her one of the best in San Francisco.

A knock on her door caught her attention. It was Chantel, one of her matchmakers. Chantel was a bright young woman with flawless mocha skin and to-kill-for lips. Do you have a minute? I heard you speaking to Allan.

I have many minutes. We just broke up.

Chantel scrunched her nose. Are you okay? She sounded about as shocked as Madison had been, which was not at all.

I make a better than friend than a girlfriend. Madison sighed and sat down. We’ll talk about it later. Lay it on me.

Chantel swiped her finger over her tablet. Okay. Elliott Crowne. I’ve hit a wall. It’s only been a few months, but he’s getting restless. He’s been on several dates, but not one has gone any farther. I don’t know why.

Do you think he’s I.T.M.? That was their company’s acronym for impossible to match. Some members were eventually labeled that way for whatever reason, and to Madison’s frustration.

I think he’s close to it, Chantel said. Though it would be a serious shame because he’s overall a stellar catch.

Let me get a look at him.

Madison scooted closer to reach the keyboard at her desk and typed his name in the search box. She maximized the window with his photo and profile.

Elliott Crowne. Six-foot-two. Thirty-six.

Handsome.

He wasn’t looking straight into the camera for his picture. His gaze was directed just off the lens, the crow’s feet crinkled as though he was privately laughing at someone’s expense, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a cocky smile.

Did he have an ugly set of teeth? She doubted it.

Sculpted cheekbones, dark, thick brow, a solid, manly chin. Obviously looks weren’t the problem.

She moved on to his summary.

Successful.

Owner and president of a geo-political company that created reports for hedge funds. Divorced over twelve years ago. San Francisco resident for most of his life. There didn’t appear to be a lot of drama with which a woman would have to contend.

You’re going to have to tell me why he’s so hard to match, said Madison, incredulous. What kind of woman is he looking for?

He won’t really say. I think he’s just too picky.

The opposite of what she was used to. Men had a tendency to require less at his age. The list got shorter as they got older. One client said the only quality he wanted in a woman was the ability to have an adult conversation. He didn’t care what she looked like or about her education or background.

Madison mused over the situation, staring at his picture, hypnotized. Maybe that’s why you’re having trouble with him. If he can’t tell you what he likes, and he isn’t liking the women you’re setting him up with, then we’ll have to dig a little deeper.

Her voice drifted as she stared into those eyes. Something told her he was the kind of man that knew what he wanted, and got it.

Why would he need a matchmaking agency?

Her guess would be time and place. That’s what most men with his kind of profile usually said. They didn’t have the time. Didn’t know where to go. Complicated men were her specialty.

Chantel switched off her tablet. He’ll be here at six o’clock. I planned to stay later to accommodate his schedule.

Intrigued by the client, but hiding it, Madison glanced over her calendar. No worries, I’ll take over. You’ve done your best, but this one sounds like he needs a little armchair psychology before we can find him a match.

A knowing smile tugged Chantel’s full mouth. He’s going to get the ‘Mad’ treatment?

Madison smirked at the phrase her staff had come up with. Even the most impossible, demanding client had a chance once Madison had gotten to the core of who they were and what they really wanted. It was a gift, but one she preferred to utilize sparingly.

She didn’t like anyone to know that she kind of got a kick out of it. Tonight I’ll know exactly who this man is and what he wants.

By the time the receptionist informed her that Mr. Crowne had arrived, the rest of the staff had gone home for the evening. She heard a deep, masculine voice, then her receptionist’s perky, bubbly one, followed by laughter.

Going to the door, she cracked it open to get a sneak preview.

He towered over the receptionist’s desk with his height, and was finely dressed in an indigo blue suit, a gray coat draped over one arm. He had short, dark hair with silver at the temples and shoulders too wide for a finance geek.

A delicious current started at the base Madison’s neck and traveled down to her toes. Well. His picture certainly didn’t do him justice.

Even from a distance, he was already intimidating.

She turned and grabbed her four-inch red shoes from under her desk.

Her power heels.

She’d spent a small fortune on them, but they’d been worth every cent. They spoke their own language, made her legs look shapely, and their pure, pigmented color stood out like a pair of shiny fire engines. Not only that, they seemed to have a secret power that made her feel more self-assured, sexier, in control.

Men like Elliott Crowne distracted women with their charms and smooth talk, as he was doing to her receptionist at that moment. She had to be on her A-game.

Tucking her practical pumps in a drawer, she smoothed her skirt and stood up, a smile spreading her mouth. A confident smile.

And men thought these things were just shoes.

She set her hands on the dual handles and swept open the doors. Mr. Crowne? Sorry to keep you waiting.

He looked over and stopped mid-sentence.

The air crackled around her ears as his eyes met hers.

Holy God.

They were a vibrant light gray and striking as hell. The photo wasn’t anything