LITMIR.BIZ

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uh, have a favor to ask.”

      “No problem. What is it?”

      “We’ll talk about it when I get there.”

      “Can’t you give me a hint?”

      “Let’s just say I may have a client for you.”

      The Platinum Society was a family-run business that went back two generations. The current Melanie Harte made it three. Since its inception, well before Melanie’s birth, the first Melanie Harte was the consummate matchmaker. Legendary among her circle for pairing up just the right people, the first Melanie Harte realized that she could turn what came naturally to her into a business because she was being asked by everyone from college professors to executives to find them that perfect someone. But it was her daughter, Carolyn, who’d graduated with honors from Columbia University with an MBA in marketing and a BA in psychology, who took the mom-and-pop operation to the next level. She taught her daughter everything she knew, but it was Melanie who took the company platinum.

      Melanie and the team put off discussing the new client, who was so eager to find a mate that he was willing to pay an extra twenty-five thousand dollars in addition to the standard fifty-thousand-dollar fee. That, to Melanie, was a red flag. She was glad they were temporarily putting that assignment on hold.

      Meanwhile her nieces and nephew were busy trying to figure out who Alan’s client was.

      “It’s probably some Secret Service guy,” Jessica said. “You know they don’t have time to find anyone.”

      “Do they make enough money to afford us?” Vincent asked.

      Melanie shot her nephew a look and bit back a smile. One thing she could say about Vincent, he kept his eye on the bottom line.

      “I’m sure Alan told them what we require,” Melanie said. “But as you all know we can make an exception if the situation warrants it.”

      “Aunt Mel, the last exception was in 1955 by your grandmother,” Jessica stated skeptically. She was the resident historian of The Platinum Society. She knew everything there was to know about TPS from the very first day to the present. She’d catalogued all of Grandma Harte’s notes and Aunt Carolyn’s floppy disks and created a comprehensive history and profile of the company, complete with successes, failures, marriages and births in a digital archive and Web site that included narratives, photo galleries, videos and podcasts. “But of course the decision is up to you, Aunt Mel,” Jessica added.

      The trio looked at her and groaned good-naturedly.

      “As soon as I can get all the details on our new client, I’ll get busy on a profile and run him through the database for potential matches,” Veronica said.

      “Uncle Alan has some pretty cool friends,” Jessica said. “If he’s true to form, this assignment may be as much fun as it is lucrative.”

      Melanie smiled. “I’m sure you’re right.”

      It was nearing two o’clock when the black Range Rover pulled onto the winding driveway of the Sag Harbor mansion. Melanie spotted it from her ground-floor office window. She hopped up from her desk and darted out into the hallway.

      “He’s here,” she yelled, quickly walking toward the door.

      Veronica and Vincent emerged from the kitchen. Jessica bounded up the stairs from the indoor gym, a towel draped around her neck.

      The smiling quartet stood in the archway as Alan Harte strode toward the door.

      The word that always came to mind when describing her older brother was debonair. There was an air of almost old-world movie star power that radiated from the six-foot-three, two-hundred-and-twenty-pound hunk. An impeccable dresser, handsome, intelligent, well-traveled, funny and financially in the black, with a great job—Alan Harte was a single woman’s dream come true. But he loved his freedom, which had led to the demise of his marriage. As her former sister-in-law used to say, Alan may have said his vows to her, but he married his job.

      “Always good to come home,” he said, softly kissing cheeks and hugging his son, who was the spitting image of his father.

      Vincent took his father’s overnight bag and brief case, while his sister and cousin hooked their arms possessively through his with Melanie closing ranks.

      “How long are you in town?” Veronica asked.

      “I’m thinking a month or two, maybe longer. I’ll know in about a week.”

      “Are you going to stay here for a few days at least?” Melanie asked, and with her question she realized how much she’d missed her brother.

      Their sister Phyllis—Jessica’s mom—died during childbirth and their parents and grandparents had been gone for many years, so it was just the two of them to look after the next generation.

      Alan draped his arm around her shoulder. “Actually, I was planning on staying through the weekend.”

      Everyone cheered in delight.

      “I do have a favor, though.”

      “Sure,” Melanie responded.

      Alan looked from one expectant face to the other. “I mentioned in my call that I had a potential client for you. Well, there’s a private party and reception at the American embassy…”

      All eyebrows rose on cue.

      “Black tie, invitation only.”

      “Get to the good part, Uncle Alan.”

      Alan chuckled. “That’s where your new client will be tonight. I thought it would be a great time to meet him, so I finagled invitations for all of you.” His voice lowered. His tone turned mockingly serious. “I presume you have something suitable to wear?”

      Whoops of laughter echoed around the room.

      Alan tossed his head back and laughed. Man, it was good to be home.

      Vincent checked his Rolex. “What time do we need to be ready, and uh, can I bring Cherise?”

      “I got you covered, son. Call that pretty wife of yours and tell her that the Hartes are partying tonight. A car will be here to pick us up at seven.”

      All three women’s hands immediately reached for their hair at the same time.

      “I’ll give Leona a call and let her know we’ll be at the shop in a half hour,” Melanie said quickly. After all, a woman’s crowning glory was her hair. She turned to her brother. “With all of the excitement you never told me who our potential client is.”

      Four sets of eyes landed on Alan. “His name is Claude Montgomery. He’s the chief of staff for Senator Lawson.”

      The doors to the conference room opened and the corridor filled with conversation. Some voices were raised in laughter, and others were low in muted discussions.

      Claude loosened his tie. He veered off from the throng of suits that filled the hallway. He checked his watch. A three-hour meeting. Inwardly he groaned. Most of the time had been spent arguing points that had been debated for the past month. Typical Washington politics. He fully understood the frustration of the President and the American people. He was just as frustrated. No one else seemed to mind. It was business as usual on Capitol Hill. He strode down the hall, putting on his game face to deter even the most relentless lobbyist.

      “Mr. Montgomery, these papers need your signature,” his secretary said, waylaying him. She carried a folder under her arm that bulged. Her smile was sympathetic.

      He’d hoped to be able to sneak away under the radar, tie up some loose ends in his office and catch a plane to New York.

      She quickened her step to keep up with him. “I know you have a flight to catch. I’ve tabbed the pages that you need to sign.”

      They turned left and walked down another corridor lined with doors. Name plates identified

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