Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97199 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97199 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
“What can I do for you, Chuck?” I ask, curious why he wanted to see me outside the bar.
I’m the type of man who thrives on figuring out puzzles, so my mind has already been contemplating what Chuck wants. So far, the only thing I’ve been able to come up with is that he’s interested in Opal and wants confirmation from me that she’s single.
“When you introduced yourself to me the other day, I didn’t put two and two together,” he says, glancing around as if we’re sharing covert information. “You’re that William Knight, aren’t you? You’re the love guy.”
I’ve never been described quite that way and wouldn’t add the phrase to my very expensive business cards, but since he’s in the ballpark range of how I earn a living, I nod. “I’m a personal advisor. I help men reach their full potential.”
“So women will marry them?” he asks, hope filling his brown eyes.
I notice shit like that because reading people’s minds and hearts is a vital part of my job.
“So women will see them at their best,” I clarify slightly. “It’s about laying a solid foundation and then working toward the future.”
He glances down at the sixty bucks I just handed him. “There’s this guy I deliver to. He lives on Park Avenue. About a year ago, we rode the elevator down together after I dropped off a package from Abdons. It was a watch.”
A very expensive one at that. I should know. I’m wearing one of the six watches I own that bear the watch brand’s logo.
“Anyways, he took a call during that elevator ride, and I heard him telling whoever was on the other end that William Knight had helped him land the woman of his dreams.”
The Park Avenue address tells me all I need to know about the guy with the watch. Chuck has to be talking about Brandon Parham. We met days after Brandon spotted a woman leaving a restaurant. A former client of mine sent Brandon my way.
All I could do for him at the time was help him devise a plan to identify the woman in question. He was able to do that after posting the picture of her that he had hastily taken with his phone. He added dozens of hashtags to the post, including the popular #missednycloveconnections.
It took a few internet sleuths invested in potential love stories less than two hours to identify the women in Brandon’s picture. Her name is Brynleigh Eszes.
That’s when my work started.
I helped Brandon by offering advice on how to handle the crucial first message. Since she wasn’t receptive at first, I dropped myself into Brynleigh’s orbit, only to discover that Brandon had captured a picture of her at what she viewed as the worst moment of her life.
She had just been dumped by her long-term boyfriend at the restaurant, but over the next few months, with some guidance from me, Brandon endeared himself to Brynleigh, and now, they’re getting married next summer.
Chuck rakes a hand through his blond hair. “I get the sense that you charge an arm and a leg to help men like that guy.”
He’s right about that, so I nod.
“I need all of my arms and legs because this job requires it,” he jokes. “Tell me what kind of advice I can get for, say…sixty bucks.”
He shoves the money I just gave him back at me, but I brush that off. “Put that away, Chuck. Tell me what’s going on.”
He glances past me to the front of Turquoise Crown. Since the last time I was here, the bar’s sign has been installed over the door, and looks phenomenal.
“I’ve been dating this woman for a few years.” He grins.
“What’s her name?”
“Jan.” The corners of his eyes crinkle as a broad smile takes over his face. “My Jan.”
That hits me just the right way because Chuck isn’t looking for advice on grabbing hold of a woman’s heart. It doesn’t take a genius to see that he’s already got it.
“I want to ask her to marry me,” he whispers, shaking his head. “I bought the ring. I have to find the right words to wow her. I need Jan to understand that I’d do anything to make her happy every day for the rest of her life.”
“That’s a start,” I tell him.
“I want the proposal to be epic,” he explains. “I don’t have the budget for loads of flowers or a string quartet, but I still want it to be a solid memory for her. I need the words I say to do her justice. Am I making sense?”
I pluck a business card out of the inner pocket of my suit jacket and slide it into his palm. “Text me. We’ll set up a time to meet for a coffee or a beer. I’ll help you with the proposal.”