Wish me luck!
One
Fortune
Present day
There was always a foot-high pile of statistics reports on Carla Carter’s desk and dozens of thank-you cards and wedding invitations pinned to her office walls. All the bouquets sent to her by happy clients made her office look and smell like a flower shop, and she loved to nurture the blooms, trimming the stems and changing their water each day. It was a great feeling when she opened cards from couples that said, “We’re such a great match, thanks to you.”
The old saying goes that you can’t choose your family, but Carla thought that actually you could. If you were looking to meet someone special, hoping a relationship might lead to marriage, weren’t you technically auditioning that person to be part of your family or perhaps wanting to start a new one? Therefore, wasn’t it foolish to select a partner based on their blue eyes making your heart skip a beat, or because you both loved watching old movies on rainy Sunday afternoons? Surely, there had to be more substance and certainty to such matters.
People made plans and decisions each day of their lives—where to go on holiday, what college course to take, even whether to have ketchup or mustard on a hot dog. However, love was something often left to chance. Was it really likely you’d meet your ideal match while reaching for a can of soup in the supermarket or when ordering a glass of Merlot in a busy bar?
Someone who made you sing like a Disney princess while hanging out your washing was all very well, but you could spend weeks, months and even years getting to know someone, only to discover they were still hung up on an ex, believed in UFOs or were related to a serial killer.
When Carla had married her first husband, Aaron, love (or was it lust?) had skewed her sensibilities, making her jump into marriage feetfirst. And then look what had happened. Her subsequent, devastating divorce appeared to validate her family curse even more. From then on, Carla had made it her mission in life to help prevent others from going through a similar energy-sapping, emotion-wrenching, soul-sucking, crushing experience.
And that was why she’d set up her matchmaking agency, Logical Love.
Her business ethos was framed and displayed on her office wall.
Logical Love
Meet your match, scientifically
We’re a different kind of matchmaking agency, helping you to find your perfect partner in a logical way. We don’t believe in swiping a screen to dismiss someone within seconds. Instead, we employ a much more in-depth approach. You’re likely to be pragmatic, maybe even a little jaded, and your head probably rules your heart.
Don’t worry, we’re exactly the same!
Through our comprehensive range of questions and unique algorithms, we help to take away the uncertainty of finding your soulmate, making it more practical to meet your right match. Love can become a decision rather than a chemical reaction.
Join us—you’re in safe hands.
Carla was living proof that her business model worked. She and her fiancé, Tom, had met through the agency, scoring an overall suitability factor of eighty-four percent. It was one of the highest figures ever recorded at Logical Love and she was delighted (and somewhat relieved) that her search for Mr. Right was over. In one month’s time, she’d become Mrs. Carla Taylor, finally putting an end to her family’s jinx/spell/hex (or whatever it was her gran, sister and aunties believed in) forever.
She smiled as she sat down in her office chair, perusing a list of that week’s love matches, when her sister barged into her office.
“You’ve got mail,” Jess sang, tossing two pink envelopes in front of her.
Carla liked her desk to be neat at all times, and she never opened her post until after she’d dealt with her emails. “You should learn to knock,” she said, promptly moving the two envelopes to her in tray.
Jess shrugged. “It’s not like you’re in a meeting or anything.”
“We’re at work. We should try to keep things professional.”
Jess performed an eye roll. “Come on, we’re sisters. Lighten up.”
Since she’d founded the agency ten years ago, Logical Love had flourished and Carla now employed a team of sixteen people, including Jess as her customer data manager, and her gran, Lucinda, in a part-time accounts position. She treated them exactly the same as her other employees, and their hard work and support meant she couldn’t be accused of nepotism.
Jess nudged the in tray with her backside as she sat down on the corner of Carla’s desk. She picked up the two envelopes again and waved them in the air. “They look like invitations, if you ask me.”
Carla pursed her lips, really wanting to check her clients’ matches. They made her feel like a mother hen proudly surveying her chicks, but to satisfy her sister’s curiosity she opened one of the envelopes.
A thank-you card said Love is the greatest science in the universe and had chemical symbols on the front. A photo inside showed a man and woman in their late thirties, both wearing space helmets at Cape Canaveral. They’d met through the agency and had attended a rocket launch while on their honeymoon.
“Aw, cute,” Jess said, peering over her shoulder. “Another success story, though I’d prefer a nice beach break.”
Carla nodded in agreement and pinned the card to her corkboard. She and Tom had agreed to defer their own honeymoon until they both had more space in their busy schedules. Today was the first of May and she’d already attended eight of her clients’ weddings or engagement parties this year, so far. She always took the same gift to each, a red heart-shaped casserole dish with a lid to encourage couples to cook and eat together.
“Open your other card.” Jess bounced on her heels.
Carla reached up to touch her eye-pendant necklace, something she did when she felt anxious. She eased out a card and admired the horseshoe graphic and the word Lucky in shiny pink lettering.
“It’s from me and Gran,” Jess blurted.
Carla frowned at her sister, wondering why she’d present her with a card when they worked in the same office together. Their apartments were only a couple of miles apart and they both dined with their gran a couple of evenings a week.
She flipped open the card and read the message.
Invitation
Dear Carla
Friday, May 1st, 5:30–11:00 p.m.
Be ready!
Carla glanced at the date on her watch. “That’s today...” she said, her stomach beginning a churn of worry. “Be ready for what, exactly?”
