Jessica Durrell has it all figured out. As San Francisco’s most successful matchmaker and owner of Love Match, she’s been helping the lovelorn go from “Single to Soul Mate in 30 Days.” Her longtime marriage to the man of her dreams is living proof that she practices what she preaches.
Then out of the blue, disaster strikes. Her world is thrown into chaos and the future of Love Match is now at stake. As Jessica scrambles to save the business, she finds herself making a dicey deal with Hayden Korr—a former rock star on the comeback trail with his own agenda.
Just when it seems that Jessica’s wacky scheme might succeed, her growing attraction to Hayden complicates matters. Worse yet, her nemesis has crawled out of the woodwork to make sure Love Match goes down in flames. Through outrageous obstacles and hilarious twists and turns, our Queen of Hearts is forced to reexamine her views on relationships, romance, and what it really takes to win in the game of love.
An excerpt from
Love Match
“Didi, stop that!” screamed Jessica Durrell at the drunken bride-to-be. After polishing off her third bacontini cocktail, the attractively plump Didi had stripped down to her pink bra and was now go-go dancing to Beyoncé’s “Single Ladies” atop the bar. A penis pacifier swung from her neck.
“Your sorority girl days are over!” Jessica added as she pushed into the crowd gathering at Didi’s feet. She had been leading Didi and her pack of equally inebriated bridesmaids on a bachelorette pub crawl through the Mission District. The Galanga Room was the fourth stop on the itinerary and most likely the last. Normally, Jessica would not have cared about the display. She might even have egged Didi on and thrown a couple dollar bills her way. But once she saw patrons fumbling for their camera phones, she knew she had to be a killjoy. Didi was about to marry a conservative politician. An embarrassment like this would certainly make him think twice about his fiancée’s moral fortitude, not to mention her slight drinking problem—especially if the evidence showed up on the Internet.
Jessica was a matchmaker, whose job required her to meet lonely, desperate people looking for love and introduce them to other lonely, desperate people looking for love. She held the romantic notion that everyone wanted to love and be loved and had built her business, Love Match, on this belief. The company’s motto was “Single to soul mate in 30 days,” and she could proudly claim that eighty-five percent of the time, those words came true. Once she succeeded getting a couple on the path toward wedded bliss, she had to make sure they did not screw it up.
She leapt onto the bar and covered Didi’s pillowy cleavage with a pashmina. “Show’s over. Nothing to see.”
The bar patrons booed.
“I wanna party,” Didi slurred as Jessica helped her climb down. “It’s my last night as a free woman.”
“Think of marriage as a different kind of freedom,” Jessica said. “You can strip all you want—for your husband. And you don’t have to issue a press release afterward.”
Didi screwed up her blotchy, vodka-infused face. “Huh?”
“That’s okay, sweetie.” Jessica put an arm around her. “Now let’s get you out of here before any more skin’s exposed.”
Catastrophe averted, Jessica made it home just after two—but not before she circled the fast-food drive-thru, debating whether she needed something greasy to mop up the margaritas swirling around her system. She eventually decided against this hangover prophylactic, knowing that in the morning, she would crack open her eyes and regret that decision. And in fact, when she did wake up, she was glad she’d had the strength of will to resist. Still … an order of chili fries topped with fluorescent cheese would certainly have staved off the bongo drumming in her head.
She directed an eyeball to the bedside clock—6:04 a.m.—then to the gloomy sky outside the French doors. She groaned. Another typical San Francisco spring day. She resided in Sea Cliff: an upscale enclave near the beach, populated by rock stars from the sixties, old-money families, and new-money venture capitalists. Her ocean view may have been to-die-for, but the marine layer was often locked in for days, even weeks.
Across the room, she spotted her husband Larry, running a lint roller up and down a Brioni suit resting against a chair. He was trim with close-cropped, ash-brown hair. The track of lines on his brow, which had made him appear older than his forty years, had softened. He had taken to heart her suggestion to use moisturizer and dye his graying hair. Now he religiously slathered on pricey creams and made regular salon visits. He had even become a CrossFit junkie, whittling his love handles to nothing. She adored his transformation. She made sure to tell him he looked like a hot, thirty-five-year-old athlete at every opportunity.
Jessica propped herself up on an elbow and admired the meticulous way Larry folded the suit into his wheeled carry-on bag. His attention to detail was intoxicating. He never forgot a birthday, an anniversary or a name. His mind was sharp and analytical. He could easily dissect any problem, no matter how complicated, and offer many viable solutions. He had turned this gift for thoroughness into a career as one of the city’s top corporate lawyers. When he was not charging prohibitive legal fees, he helped Jessica with her company. He was her trusted advisor and unflagging supporter. Whenever she needed him to stand by her side and extol the virtues of Love Match to prospective patrons, he would happily oblige. She did the same for him, hosting his clientele at elaborate dinners, even helping his most demanding CEOs find love. They were a tight team. Every day she woke up beside her husband, she believed she was the luckiest woman alive.
“Going somewhere?” she asked, massaging her temples.
“Hawaii. I told you.” He smiled sympathetically. “Hangover?”
“A tiny one.”
He motioned to the glass of water and two aspirin on the nightstand.
“You are so thoughtful.” She gulped down the pills and water.
“You plus bachelorette party always equals hangover.” He added a razor and nose-hair clipper to his shaving kit.
“Won’t this trip be the …” She made a mental count. “… fourth in six weeks?”
“The pineapple king’s panicking. A competitor’s alleging antitrust violations. I need to sort it out.”
“Tonight’s the Women in Business Association’s award dinner. I’m the honoree for Entrepreneur of the Year. It’s all I’ve been talking about for the past week.”
Confused, he studied the calendar on his cell phone. “Honey, I’m sorry. Something screwed up. It’s not on here.”
“Can you reschedule the trip?” She slowly rolled out of their king-sized bed, revealing the extra-large Stanford t‑shirt she liked to sleep in. To call it ratty would have been generous. She wrapped her arms around him. “How will it look if San Francisco’s most successful matchmaker isn’t there with her love match?”
“It’ll look bad.” He kissed her forehead.
“It’ll look more than bad. Our marriage is a testament to the entire company. It symbolizes the promise of finding one’s soul mate and living a happy life. If you aren’t there, people might start to wonder about Love Match’s credibility … and ours.”
“I’d be happy to try, but there’s a time difference. No one’s up to call.” Larry withdrew and began scrolling through his phone.
She flopped back on the bed. “You could stay for the dinner and take the red-eye afterward. Or fly out tomorrow morning.”
He sat next to her. “The meeting’s confirmed for this afternoon. The entire board will be there. I have to fly out today.” He stroked her thigh. “I wish I could be with you.”
“I’ll just have to dazzle the business ladies myself.” She patted his hand. “Hey, what if I fly out tomorrow and join you? You keep the pineapple people happy and we turn the trip into a little vaycay. It’s been at least two years since Puerto Vallarta.” She brightened at the memory. “That was so much fun.”
“Fun?” he chortled. “You got an explosive case of the shits from eating street tacos and spent the whole time on the can.”
Jessica grimaced. “Well, maybe not that part.”
“Honey, this is a quick trip. How about when I get back, we plan a real vacation?”
“But I want to go Hawaii,” she said, examining her bare, olive-skinned arms. “I need some sun. Look at me. I’m positively sallow. A tan makes me look so much younger.” She smiled at the prospect; a tan took at least eight years off her thirty-six.
“You, sallow? Never.” He pushed her back, then nibbled her neck.
She squealed.
“South of France, Positano, wherever you want,” he said. “For a month.”
“A month? I can’t get away for that long.”
He sighed. “And this is why we haven’t taken a vacation in two years.”
She kissed him and wrapped a leg around his hips, drawing him into her. “Larry, you know how consuming the business is.”
“I know. It’s just …” He pulled away. “Maybe the business should consume you a little less.”
“How do you mean? I’ve been working like I always do.”
“You did miss my golf club banquet a few weeks ago and my sister’s surprise birthday party—”
“—which was the same time as the mayor’s wedding. He was one of my best matches ever. I couldn’t miss it.”
“And speaking of weddings, last month, after the Harcourts got married … remember what happened?”
She shook her head.
“You fell asleep in the middle of my hand-job.”
“God, Larry, it had been an exhausting week.” She frowned. “I didn’t realize you were keeping score.”
“Now we’re even.” He smiled. “Honey, look, I’m thrilled you’re passionate about your work. What husband doesn’t want that for his wife?” He rose and zipped up his luggage. “Forget it. It’s all good.”
Buzz. His phone went off. He glanced at its message. “My car’s here.” He gave her one last kiss before leaving. “Now think about that vacation. And remember to tell the gardener to water the new beds I planted.”
She gave him a perfunctory nod and said, “Love‑ity love you.”
“Love‑ity love you back.”
• • •
After showering, Jessica emerged in a cloud of steam, skin bright pink from enthusiastic loofahing. If she could not tan in Hawaii, she could at least scrub away her dull skin in San Francisco. The shower and the aspirin had only slightly cleared her head.
While attacking stray eyebrow hairs with tweezers, she could not stop thinking about what Larry had said. Have I been an absent wife?… Not possible. Our marriage has always been perfect. Something else is up with him. Maybe he’s going through a mid-life crisis … ah, that’s it. Poor man. He just needs more attention. She then promised herself to initiate sex at least once a week and to buy him that golf cart he had been lusting after.
Her cell phone chirped. She checked the I.D. before answering. “Penny, what’s up?”
“We have a situation at Mariposa Grill,” her business partner Penny Reese said.
“How bad?”
“Get your butt here now!”
“I’m on my way.” She clicked off.
Adrenaline churning, she flung open a closet door and confronted shelves jammed with designer shoes and bags, and overstuffed racks of outfits, teetering on the brink of collapse. I’ve got to hire an organizer, she thought. After surveying the options, she yanked out a pencil skirt, fuchsia top and towering heels, then muscled the door shut. Organizing would have to wait for another day.
Here's what
Fans are saying
Millionaire Matchmaker meets Sex in the City of San Francisco
I read this fun, funny book in a day. Jessica Durrell is a much more likable and sympathetic heroine than real life match-maker Patty Stanger, but this novel has a Bravo-licious thing going for it. It's funny and sweet and it's also a sly send-up of so called reality television. The story moves quickly and writer has an energetic style. She also knows and loves San Francisco with all its quirks which made the whole thing as fun as a ride on a cable car.
It's a romance so you know where it's going, but getting there was a fun-house maze with a lot of twists and turns. I got off the dating bus a long time, but Love Match reminded me of the craziness and the dashed hopes as well as the thrills and excitement of being a searching single. I've been looking for a fix of something like Sex in the City since that book/t.v./movie series ended and this fulfilled my craving.
I have to be honest. I have a thing for rock stars, I've been cheated on and I hate to exercise. There was so little about this book that I didn't feel in tune with that it almost felt like it was written for me. I read it in two sittings, which would have been one if not for the wine. I'm sure Jessica would understand. Nothing is as it seems, and sometimes you find yourself in the wrong relationship for the right reasons.
Love Match gave me hope that if you keep on keepin' on, you'll find the right one at the right time for the right reason. If you want to read about an outrageous idea that turns into true love about characters with whom you can genuinely identify, Love Match is for you!
