Lonely No More

Chapter Three

She wasn't sure why she said, "Fine, you're hired." She tried to tell herself it had everything to do with the fact that she was desperate and nothing to do with the fact that William Giles, the man who called himself Spike of all things, was incredibly gorgeous. God-like gorgeous. He was also arrogant and tempermental. Not that she was much better on the temper front. Now, he was smiling like the cat that got the canary and she had the urge to take it back. However that would mean not learning anything about him and something about him most definitely intrigued her. She just wasn't going to let him on to that fact.

"So, what would you like to know kitten?" he asked, tucking his tongue
behind his front teeth in a gesture that Buffy found both sexy and
infuriating.

"Got a license?" she asked, holding out her hand.

His grin faded. "No."

"Why not?"

He shrugged. "Cause I don't."

"Are you an illegal alien?" she narrowed her eyes.

"I'm not an alien!" he sounded horrendously insulted.

"Then why—never mind. Do you have ANY forms of identification?"

"For what?"

"So I can PAY you?"

"I'll have what you need by the end of the week," he grumbled.

"Do you drive at all?"

He grinned rakishly, "Depends on your meanin'."

The images that erupted in her mind angered her, "You're a pig," she
retorted. "If you're here to match yourself then you can waltz yourself right
out that door." She pointed to the exit/entrance for emphasis.

"I'm not here for that. I'm here to help you."

"Fine then, let me show you around." She strolled to the back of the room,
into the consulting room and pushed aside the scarves and beads that made
the door. Inside was a bar and a small table with two chairs in the middle of
the room and against the wall was a couch, a recliner and a bookcase.

"What is this all about?" Spike asked, raising his eyebrows.

"I find it helps to create a date like atmosphere. The couch and recliner
with the books for those who are more comfortable in a café slash
bookstore type of setting and the table and chairs and bar for those that
prefer clubs and that sort of thing. I find when you bring someone closer to
the element they're more comfortable in in the dating world, they get into
that mindset and it helps me peg them and their mate," Buffy explained.
"We don't serve alchohol. It's all non alcoholic and nothing fancy. I only do
appointments, so I'll find out what they prefer before coming in and make
it. There is also coffee and a cappuccino machine behind the bar."

She was pleased to note the impressed expression on his face. "Your job
will be to help me prepare for a client. Help me ‘set the mood' so to speak.
Also, your job is to set up appointments for me."

"So I'm a glorified receptionist now," he said dryly.

She put her hands on her hips. "You can't just expect to jump in and start
matching people."

"Why not? I bet I'd be good at it."

"Have you ever done it?"

"Well, no."

"Then how do you know?"

"I've got connections," he said through clenched teeth.

"Connections to people who make matches aren't going to help you make
the correct matches."

"What's your secret then? How do you do it?"

Buffy took a deep breath. "I talk to them, I ask them questions about
themselves, like an interview. Or, more like a date. I get a feel for the kind
of person they are, what they like, what they don't like, what makes them
the most comfortable, what turns them off. I get a feel for their personality
and then have them set up a profile that you will later put in the computer.
The computer spits out some matches for that person and then I personally
go over the list and choose the one that I think will make the best match. If
they choose the one I picked for them, I pay for the date. If they choose not
to, I set up the date, but do not pay for it. The bill is forwarded to them at
their residence so no one is the wiser as to if they were ‘The One' I chose."

"Smart," he said appreciatively.

"And sometimes there are cases in which the computer spits out matches,
but I don't feel that any of them are ‘The One'. So, I go back into the
archives and choose the one I feel is correct."

"And that's been failing you lately?"

"You seem awfully keen on insulting me. Are you seeking revenge for a
friend or something? What's your deal?"

He smiled cordially. "I just want to help."

"Then maybe you can stop with the judgment," and she started for the
‘door'.

"I'm not judging you, Elizabeth—" he said, almost apologetically as he
followed her.

"Buffy," she corrected him, turning to face him.

"Excuse me?"

"Everyone calls me Buffy."

His lips twitched. "Cute."

"Thanks," she said dryly.

"Look, I'm sorry if it seems like I'm judging you. I just heard a lot of good
things about this place and, well, you and your abilities and that you've hit a
rough spot."

"I'm sure I'll be back on track in no time," she told him, straightening.

"Burnt out?"

"Shouldn't I be the one asking the questions considering I'm your
employer and I still don't know anything about you?" she asked, tapping
her foot and crossing her arms across her chest.

He held out his arms. "I've given you free reign to ask me anything,
kitten."

"I'm not a ‘kitten'."

He leaned closer, smirking. "How bout tigress?"

She took a step back. "No."

"Lioness?"

"N—Actually, I like that."

He knew she'd like that. His little lioness, all feisty and fiery, not to mentions deadly.

"You have a boyfriend, my little lioness?"

"Okay, but I'm not your lioness."

"I chose the name, I get to call you it, with possession attached."

She sighed and rolled her eyes, "You're exhausting. Do you have a
girlfriend?"

"What are you trying to say?"

"That any girl that gets involved with you must be worn out from having
to deal with you."

"Oh, they get worn out all right. Most deliciously," and he waggled his
eyebrows.

She walked away.

"You never answered me. You have a boyfriend?"

"What business is it of yours?" she snapped.

"Just wondering how a beautiful woman such as yourself can run a place
like this and do what you do without getting hit on left and right."

"Well, you'd be surprised about how much I don't get hit on," she
muttered, plunking herself back down behind the desk. She put her elbow
on the table and rested her chin on it as she regarded him wearily.

He squatted down in front of her and they eyed each other. "What
happened this morning? You mentioned you had a rough morning."

"It's nothing William," she sighed.

"Please call me Spike."

"Spike. Where did you get that nickname?"

He grinned. "I was destined for greatness."

She was clearly confused. "How do you mean? What does that have to do
with your nickname?"

"In time, my lioness."