Pretty Little Matchmaker

Appearance

"Knock, knock."

I roll my eyes. "Poppy, just shut up and come into my office."

As Poppy enter, I survey her with dismay. In contrast to my black and white suit and no-nonsense style, Poppy wore a yellow jumper and a red skirt today. Seriously, who on earth is going to take us seriously if our workers dress up as if they were going for a party?

But of course, I can't tell Poppy that she should go for a fashion-counselling session because of 2 reason.

1. She will try to bite my head off.

2. She's my sister. (Can you actually see any resemblance?)

Putting that aside, when I tell people that I'm in the match-making industry, they laugh it off. That's why I insist on maintaining professionalism all the time.

"What happened to the old guy?" Poppy asks as she lounges on the sofa, kicking her legs so high that I catch a glimpse of her underwear. Let me ask you, what do you do when you have a sister who drives you nuts all the time?

"He got fed up because I insisted that I can't find any young, sexy girls for him," I mutter and type furiously on my computer. "What's with men? Why can't they see that they are ill-suited for certain types of women?"

"You can't blame them. Besides, you aren't Cupid. You don't dictate the laws of love." Poppy shrugs as she wanders to my minibar and gets a Heineken drink.

"We're a match-making agency. We fit people who are similar together," I hiss as I open up another case file.

"Jeez, you know, you would make a good lawyer with that I-take-no-bullshit-attitude," Poppy says. "Besides, haven't you heard that opposites attract?"

"Whatever."

Suddenly, someone knocks on the door. I jump. I don't know why I'm so hyped up and jittery today.

"Hey boss." Adrian comes sauntering in and I glare at him.

Adrian's a tall, lanky kid who is obsessed with Minecraft and all sorts of computer games. That's why he's as pale as those blood-sucking vampires in the Twilight books. I don't know why I hired him. Maybe it's because of the fact that he doesn't mind tolerating Poppy's incessant chatter.

Poppy has driven away 5 of our interns one after another. Can you feel how formidable she is?

"What's up?" Poppy asks as she gulps down her can of beer.

"There's this dude outside looking for a matchmaker," Adrian says slowly. He rubs his eyes as if he's falling asleep.

"Did he make an appointment?" I demand impatiently. Okay, fine, I don't actually have any clients to see today. I just wanted to feel important.

"No, duh," Adrian says. "But if you're busy, I can tell him to go away."

"Wait." I backtrack hastily and pretend to look into my black appointment book. "I happen to have a free slot. Bring...bring him in. And Poppy, get out. Don't piss me off today."

Poppy puts up her hands in surrender and both of them retreat hastily from the room.

After a few minutes, a deep, masculine voice sounds out from outside. "May I come in?"

I hastily smoothen my suit and put on a friendly smile. "Please step in!

The moment he steps in, I instantly widen my eyes in surprise. Usually, I either get middle-aged bachelors or old lecherous men in here. It's strange to see a young, handsome men appearing in front of me.

"Pleased to meet you, mister. I'm Laila Collins." I extend my hand out.

"Enchanted," he said smoothly and shakes my hand. "I'm Sam Patterson."

As he seats down opposite me, I steal a glance at him. It's hard to tear my eyes away because he's really attractive. Well-toned and muscular, he exudes a certain sense of power and confidence.

The question is: Why is he here? Given his looks, he can easily get any girl he wants. Maybe he just got lost.

"May I ask, Mr Patterson, why are you here?" I ask pleasantly.

"I'm looking for a matchmaker," he says slowly, gesturing to the huge store sign outside of our room. "Why do you think I'm here?"

"Well, Mr Patterson," I cough. "Given your looks, I don't think there's a problem."

"You will be surprised," he said darkly. "I'm willing to pay."

"Erm, ok." I open my file on my computer and ask, "What specific requirements do you have?"

"I've no requirements."

"What?" I look up and stare at him. Did I hear him right.

"I said, I've no requirements," Sam Patterson repeated impatiently.

"Erm, ok...." I say confusedly.

I mean, a guy like him should have a lot of requirements. Men like him prefer models with porcelain faces and long legs.

"Can you keep the age range from around 20-30?" he adds.

"I thought you said you had no requirements?" I challenge.

"The customer always wins." There's a glint in his eyes.

I shrug and type on my computer. I've approximately 200000+ names on here looking for a "hunky, sexy" man which fits Sam Patterson.

"Erm, there are a gazillion names right here," I say. "If you don't tell me any preferences, I can't narrow down."

"Okay, I don't want any blondes."

I raise my eyebrows. Maybe his ex-girlfriend was a blonde.

"I don't want any girl above 180 cm. I've ego issues regarding height."

"Right."

"And I want a brunette."

"Er...right," I say. The funny thing is, I actually meet all the requirements.

Finally, I come up with six names. I print the list out and hand it to him.

He nods and holds out his hand, "Nice working with you."

I stare at his smooth hand and wonder how it feels like to stroke it. But then I hastily shook his hand before nodding. "Have I nice day."

Sam Patterson smiles and leaves my office.

I slowly sink down onto my chair. What have I got myself into?