It's Got to Be Perfect: the memoirs of a modern-day matchmaker Read Online Free PDF Page B

I’ve been asking for the past two years.’
    ‘They must be hiding out somewhere,’ she said, craning her neck around a gilt pillar. ‘This is supposed to be the champagne bar of the moment according to the FT .’
    I checked my watch: it was six o’clock on a Thursday evening. We were in the heart of the financial district and the bar was jammed, teeming with enough men to send The Weather Girls into cardiac arrest, but according to Cordelia, no one was good enough.
    ‘They don’t have to be outrageously good-looking, do they?’ I asked, feeling far less discriminatory since my dressing down from Matthew, ‘All I need are normal people who are single.’
    She flicked a sheet of golden hair behind her shoulder. ‘You want to avoid the stigma that other agencies have, don’t you?’
    I nodded.
    ‘Well the only way to do that, is to have the ubereligible as your first members. It’s a bit like a celebrity endorsement. You know, if they’re doing it, then it must be good.’
    ‘But no one really believes that Cheryl Cole dyes her own hair over a sink at home? Why would they believe that a gorgeous man has trouble finding love?’
    ‘Because he does. Everyone does. That’s the reason you have decided to become a matchmaker, is it not?’ Her voice was sympathetic, but the pinched expression betrayed her impatience.
    I nodded again, looking around the bar at the seemingly contented patrons. What if it was just me? What if no one wanted or even needed my help?
    ‘Ah, here we go,’ she said gesturing towards two men who had just swaggered through the doorway. ‘That’s more like it.’
    Both well over six foot tall, with dark hair, and wearing impeccably tailored suits, they sauntered in, looking like they’d stepped off the cover of GQ magazine. One of them glanced my way and flashed a show-stopping smile. Smiling timidly back, I took a deep breath, sucked in my tummy and weaved my way through the crowd towards him.
    ‘Well, hello,’ he said, when I’d reached him.
    ‘Well, hello yourself,’ I replied, attempting a Cordelia-style hair flick which resulted in several drinks being spilled behind me. He laughed: a soft, sexy, George Clooney chuckle, not the high-pitched roadrunner warble that appeared to be coming from my mouth.
    ‘So, what brings a gorgeous girl like you to a place like this?’
    Back straight, tummy still miraculously in, I looked him directly in the eye and declared my purpose. ‘I’m headhunting for eligible men.’
    He raised one eyebrow, and his friend, who had been loitering beside him, leaned in closer.
    ‘You’re what?’ the friend asked, head cocked like a befuddled puppy.
    ‘I represent an exclusive dating agency,’ I explained, easing into character, ‘and I’m looking for men good enough to date our female clients.’ Technically, I decided, that wasn’t a lie.
    They both laughed, but were clearly intrigued.
    ‘This, I absolutely have to hear,’ George Clooney said. ‘Have a drink with us, I want all the details.’ He waved a fifty at the barman. ‘I’m Mike, by the way, and this is Stephen.’ He nodded vaguely in his friend’s direction.
    ‘Ellie,’ I replied.
    He slipped his arm around my waist and planted a soft kiss on my cheek. When Stephen stepped in to repeat the process, I began to wonder why I hadn’t considered this career change years ago.
    ‘So, you headhunters, do you hunt alone? Or in packs?’ Mike asked, handing me a glass of champagne.
    ‘In pairs,’ I answered, glancing over my shoulder, wondering where Cordelia had gone. ‘I’m here with my friend.’ I stood on tip-toes to look above the heads. ‘Cordelia. Now where is she? Ah, over there.’
    I pointed her out. She was immersed in conversation with a tall olive-skinned girl who was blessed with the rare combination of endless limbs, tiny bottom and big boobs. As if to add further insult to the rest of the female population, she had also been awarded a super bonus ball of