THE UNCONVENTIONAL MATCHMAKER

THE GRANDSON NOBODY CAN MATCH 😞

“I don’t take assignments from people trying to orchestrate someone else’s love life,” Lila said, crossing her arms.

Eleanor Caldwell didn’t flinch. She simply adjusted her pearl necklace like Lila’s resistance was a minor formality she’d expected. “You’ll make an exception for this one.”

Lila leaned forward, amused. “Let me guess—your grandson is rich, successful, and emotionally constipated?”

Eleanor’s mouth twitched. “He’s a corporate lawyer.”

Lila blinked. “So… yes.”

Eleanor took a seat without invitation, crossing her legs in a way that said she hadn’t had to convince anyone of anything in twenty years. “Max is… particular. Structured. Focused. He doesn’t waste time on distractions. Especially not love. But he needs someone who will… soften his edges.”

“So he’s a robot, and you want me to install emotional firmware,” Lila mused. “You’re asking the wrong tech support.”

“You come highly recommended. I don’t want just any matchmaker. I want you.” Eleanor slid a check across the desk. Lila didn’t look, but she caught the number on the corner. Enough zeroes to consider breaking her no-scheming policy.

Still, she hesitated. “Does Max even want to be matched?”

“No,” Eleanor said flatly. “But he needs it.”

“That’s not how this works.” Lila stood, grabbing the check and holding it between two fingers like it might burn her. “I deal in consent-based chaos.”

Eleanor raised an eyebrow. “Then consider it a professional puzzle. If anyone can find someone to challenge Max, it’s you.”

Lila stared at the check. She should’ve tossed it. She wanted to toss it. But something about this… a man who didn’t believe in love, from a family that wanted to script it for him… it was too juicy to ignore.

“I’ll look into him,” she said at last, setting the check down. “But no promises.”

“That’s all I ask,” Eleanor said, rising with the quiet grace of an old ruler. “But I do suggest you be discreet. He won’t react well if he suspects he’s part of your matchmaking experiment.”

“Isn’t everyone?” Lila muttered under her breath, but Eleanor was already halfway out the door.

---

Lila stared at her laptop later that evening, her fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Maxwell Caldwell. Corporate Attorney. New York-trained. Returned to Willowridge three years ago to run his own practice. No active social media. No recent relationship records.

“Ugh. Privacy settings—my one true nemesis,” Lila mumbled.

She opened a legal blog he’d been quoted in. The picture wasn’t much—a stern jaw, clean-cut, cold eyes that looked like they hadn’t laughed in a decade.

“Yep,” she said, sipping wine. “Emotional firmware required.”

She flipped to his business website. Testimonials, press mentions, a sharp navy-blue website that practically screamed I have no time for your feelings.

Then she paused at the name listed under Art Consultant for Office Decor: Sophia Blackwell.

“Interesting,” Lila murmured, sitting back. “Now why would a man like Max need an art consultant?”

She clicked.

Sophia’s Studio was everything Max’s site wasn’t—warm colors, chaotic brush strokes, romantic quotes scattered between vibrant portfolios.

And Lila, the matchmaker who never matched herself, felt it. The tug. The imbalance. Fire meeting ice.

“Now that’s a contrast,” she whispered. “And maybe… a beginning.”

She closed the laptop and leaned back, eyes gleaming.

She was in.

---