The Ex Files (Ocean View #1)(9)

After all, that’s the name of the game, my job. To find all red flags and save women from wasting time on them.

The Ex Files started in my college dorm to help a friend avoid getting catfished.

She’d been on a dating app and found a guy she thought seemed great, but a few red flags were flaring. So I looked into him, being an internet super sleuth, and decided she was right—some things weren’t adding up. But because you never know when the love of your life could stumble in, she was hesitant to call it quits before it even started.

Instead, I matched with him and went on a date to vet him for her before she gave up on him. Turns out he was actually a great guy, he just didn’t have any clue how to fill out a dating profile without setting red flags off. That’s how Taylor met her current husband.

That should have been that, but word quickly got out that I could ‘test’ out men for my friends and friends of friends and friends of friends of friends. Soon I was being paid in gift cards and my favorite wine. It didn’t take long for word of mouth to turn into a full-time matchmaking business where I match women looking for love with men I’ve already ‘dated’—men from my ‘Ex Files.’

The process is simple. I charge a consultation fee to learn more about the woman and then a flat fee for a guaranteed six dates over six months. During this time, I shuffle through my Ex Files and set up dates I genuinely believe will be a perfect match. So far, I have about a ninety-eight percent success rate. That other two percent is usually women who didn’t know what they wanted, weren’t ready to commit, or had red flags of their own. My entire client base has been grown from word of mouth, happy customers sharing my information with friends. And really, my walls plastered with marriage, engagements, and baby announcements say it all.

I’m really effing good at my job.

Finding the men is a whole other process. For about five years now, I have used several accounts across multiple dating websites to find men looking for love. Once they match with the persona’s I’ve created, I tell them about my business and ask if they’d be interested in joining my Ex Files. If they agree, we go on two dates.

Date one, I choose the restaurant and the activity. The second, if I decide they’re decent and worthy of moving to the next stage, the guy has to plan. One meal, one activity. I find forcing them to do some of the work tells me even more than my arsenal of questions does sometimes. Each date lasts at least four hours, during which I work to learn more about them, shuffle through the facts and exaggerations, and get past the mask they’re wearing.

Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned about men, it’s that they all have some kind of facade they’ve created to draw you in.

The only rules I have are simple:

1. Two dates and two dates only.

2. I never take them to my place and never go to theirs.

3. I never ever kiss a client.

4. Never ever, ever get attached.

Thankfully, I’ve never had an issue with these rules.

Because they’re all hiding something, even if it’s not a horrible personality or a secret life. And that’s the one thing I cannot tolerate.

I’ve seen what happens when you fall for a man who lives beneath a facade.

So I’ve made it my mission to save women the trouble of getting caught up with a man who can’t commit, a man who doesn’t want to be faithful. Whether it’s someone who just wants some fun or something more devious, more harmful in the long run, I shield my clients from that kind of heartache.

Walking through the front door, I smile at Gabrielle.

“Good morning, Cassandra!”

“Cassie, Gabrielle,” I say as I drop the latte cup on her desk. It took me nearly seven months to convince her not to call me Ms. Reynolds. The name reminds me of the promise of a happy family that came crashing down years ago. So now I’m working to break her of the more formal ‘Cassandra.’ Only my father calls me that, and because of it, I hate it.

“Right. Cassie. Thank you for this,” she says, tipping the cup to me. “Should I reschedule Mr. Factor’s meeting?” The date I missed last night.

“Absolutely not. He screened himself out. A man who can’t handle a missed appointment without screaming profanities into a woman’s voicemail isn’t worthy of our clientele.” Walking over to my desk, I shuffle through papers. The office isn’t large—just a single suite in one of the many business complexes, a desk for myself and my assistant. I rarely ever have to meet a client in the office, and it’s mostly just a hub for files, calls, and a place for Gabrielle and me to be in the same room.

Before I got my office space, it was rare that I left my apartment for anything other than for meetings. So I’d be lying if I said one of the biggest factors to moving into an office was just getting out of my home each day.

“Oh, my goodness! You’re kidding me!”

“Nope. Can you please send him an email stating I was unable to meet him due to an unforeseen emergency and I will not need to reschedule? If he calls, please send him to me. I’d love to have a frank conversation with him.” She chuckles, knowing how my ‘frank discussions’ go. “When you get a moment, can you please pull up the customer service number for the roadside assistance company? The guy who helped me last night said they don’t replace the flat, but I could have sworn the sales associate listed that in their services.” She nods before digging through files as I sit down and get to work, running through applications, answering emails, and making love happen.