Free By Magic Alone by Tracy Madison Page A

we plan on getting together after you have time to go through all of this?”
    Was it my imagination, or was she making this really, really easy? “Yeah. That would be terrific.”
    Verda beamed. Her smile virtually sparkled. “Do you think you’ll be ready by tomorrow evening? I’d like to get moving as soon as we can, but the paperwork is quite extensive, so if you need a bit more time, then I suppose next week will have to do.”
    I swallowed. Chances were high that I wouldn’t be returning, but she didn’t have to know that quite yet. I’d call her tomorrow, tell her I’d changed my mind, and that would be that.
    “Absolutely,” I said, matching Verda’s enthusiasm with my own, albeit fake, version. “Tomorrow evening is ideal.”
    Two mad-dash drives later—one to my apartment for a quickie shower and a fresh change of clothes, and the other from my place to work—found me at my desk slightly before eleven o’clock. Not so bad, if I did say so myself.
    I’d purposely left Verda’s envelope at home, so I wouldn’t be tempted to go through her client paperwork immediately. Right now, I needed to focus on my one and only appointment for the day. Normally, my prep time extended well beyond an hour. I was very careful in putting together my recommendations, and that began with understanding as much as possible aboutthe client, or prospective client, before we ever met face-to-face.
    Not only did I read their responses from their profile questionnaire, but I read between the lines to develop a fuller picture of their needs versus their wants. This was easier with women. Partially because I understood women more, but also because women tended to give complete, detailed responses.
    Men, on the other hand, at least the men I’d come across at Introductions, were very spare in detail. Though they had one thing going for them: honesty. They rarely tried to cover anything up. Maybe it was because they were generally more confident than women, or maybe they didn’t view their weaknesses as weaknesses, or perhaps it simply didn’t occur to them to care. Or, you know, that whole “Man is King” attitude.
    These one-on-one interviews were essential in digging out the rest of the picture. I had a lot of faith in my compatibility program, which was based on a series of yes/no and true/false questions, but relying on it completely would be foolhardy.
    Today’s appointment was with a man who’d electronically sent his profile information in the day before and had immediately set an appointment. That gave me hope he was serious. But I only had about fifteen minutes to get everything together.
    I hurriedly clicked on the link my assistant Diane had embedded in my e-calendar and waited for his profile to open on my screen. Diane had worked as a temporary employee off and on my first year. I’d hired her permanently the second year as a part-time employee. My hope had been to make her full-time this year, but unless things picked up, I’d have to let her go. I
hated that
thought. I needed this appointment to go well.
    I ran the man’s compatibility numbers and printed off theprofiles of the three highest probable matches. All were in the mid-60 percent range. Not great. Not by a long shot. But I didn’t have time to go over them in depth, so I tucked them into a folder and moved on. Next, I skimmed through the questions he’d answered, searching for anything that might jump out as unique, especially interesting, or flat-out weird. Interesting was good. Weird was not.
    I’d barely started my perusal when Diane knocked on the door and stuck her head in. “Your eleven fifteen is here, Julia.” She pursed her lips in a silent whistle. “I might be willing to date this one. He’s a doll.”
    “That’s good to know, though your husband might not be so pleased,” I joked.
    “I’m allowed to look. So, are you ready for him?”
    “Not even close, but send him in anyway.” I’d have to wing it. I drank some water