office, telling her about Dr. Stephens’s daughter. Maizie had put both her and Cecilia, her other friend, on high alert. Between the three of them, she was certain that they could find someone for Dr. Stephens’s daughter.
Theresa had gotten lucky first. But nothing ever went smoothly, she thought now.
“I’ll do anything you want me to with food, Jared, but I think that you should be the one to select your parents’ music,” she suggested tactfully. “After all, you’re the one who knows what they like—”
Actually, he didn’t have a clue as to what his parents liked to listen to. He vaguely remembered that when he was a child, his mother used to like to play old show tunes—but he didn’t know if she still did—and as for his father…Off the top of his head, he couldn’t recall if the old man favored one style of music over another.
“Probably the same thing you like” was his best guess.
This wasn’t going to be as easy as their last effort to pair up a couple, Theresa thought. But she was nothing if not a study in quiet determination. People, it was her firm belief, were much happier in pairs than alone.
“Be that as it may, Jared. I know that I would be touched if my son was personally involved in all the preparations for my thirty-fifth wedding anniversary. Trust me, mothers are funny like that,” she added as her closing argument.
Before he could jump in with another rebuttal, an idea came to her. “I happen to know that Ms. Stephens will be playing at Paragon Studios today. She’s part of a small ensemble recording the background music for this romantic-comedy series, More than Roommates. Why don’t you drop by and give her a listen?” She paused. “That way you can hear her perform in person and that’ll help you make up your mind about the pluses of having live music at your parents’ party.”
It sounded reasonable, but there was one thing wrong with her suggestion. “I can’t just waltz onto a sound-stage,” Jared pointed out. He didn’t know all that much about the mechanics of taping a show, but he did know that.
If he thought this was over, he was mistaken, Theresa thought with a tinge of triumph.
“Not most studios,” she agreed. “But you can this one. The director’s an old friend of mine. I’ll give him a call and I know he won’t mind you coming in—as long as you just observe.”
The woman had an answer for everything. Jared felt as if he’d just gotten in the path of a hurricane and been swept up. He laughed, surrendering. “Fine, you get the okay, and I’ll go listen—but it’ll have to be in the late afternoon,” he stipulated. “I have to be in the office today.”
“No problem. These things run over,” Theresa assured him, recalling what little she did know about tapings. “I’ll call you back with details,” she promised.
He shook his head as he hung up. Maybe the woman was right. He’d hired Theresa on a number of occasions, and he fully respected both her work ethic and her opinion. Besides, she was around his parents’ age. She would know better than he what would please them. They’d probably like having a live band.
He smiled to himself. This was something his sister, Megan, hadn’t thought of when she left him with a list of things to follow up on—just before she went off on that extended cruise with her husband.
Megan was going to be surprised at his intuitiveness, he thought. She didn’t have to know that the suggestion had come from the caterer.
However, he had no way of knowing that Theresa and her friends, Maizie and Cecilia, had banded together to form a matchmaking group that had been dubbed “Matchmaking Mamas” by one of their children. All three women were successful businesswomen in their own right, but making matches for their children and their friends’ children was where their hearts really lay.
And so far, they had a perfect record.
Theresa had no intention of having that streak be broken.
The friend Theresa called the moment she hung up with Jared wasn’t the director she’d mentioned—it was Cecilia, her other dear friend and comrade-in-arms. Cecilia was the one who knew the director on the sitcom. The company Cecilia owned provided cleaning services, and she personally oversaw the cleaning of the director’s sprawling mansion twice a month.
Favors were called in and within twenty minutes, all arrangements were made. Jared would be allowed onto the set for the taping.
Theresa called back and cheerfully informed her young client that “All systems are a go, Jared.”
“Excuse me?” Preoccupied with the account that had kept him up, he wasn’t sure what the woman was referring to. Juggling his phone as well as his house keys, he was trying to shrug into his jacket as he made his way out the door.
Theresa patiently spelled it out. “Ted Riley, the director of More than Roommates, said you could come onto the set anytime after four today. That’s when they’re taping the final take of the background music for the episode.”
One arm punched through a sleeve, Jared stopped putting on his jacket, and glanced at his watch. He had a meeting with a client at noon. With any luck, it would be wrapped up by four. That meant he’d be free to drive over to Paragon Studios. If he recalled his geography, Paragon Studios was only approximately two miles away from his client’s offices.
“Okay, since you’ve gone through all this trouble, I’ll swing by and give that woman a listen.” And then he laughed as he put his arm through the second sleeve. “You do know that you should join the U.N. and use your powers of persuasion for good, don’t you, Theresa?”
Tickled, she laughed lightly and said, “That’s exactly what I am doing, Jared. I’m using my ‘powers’ for the greater good.” Your good—and Elizabeth’s, she added silently.
Jared didn’t question her any further. He just assumed the woman was referring to helping him with the arrangements for his parents’ celebration.
Elizabeth shifted ever so slightly. She could feel the handsome stranger’s eyes on her.
She’d noticed him immediately, although he’d obviously tried to be unobtrusive when he’d slipped onto the set ten minutes ago. He’d stood off to the side as gaffers, cameramen and other technical pros scurried about, just barely managing to keep clear of the very small area where the ensemble was playing.
He’d tried to go unnoticed, but a man who looked like that wasn’t the kind who exactly blended into the scenery. Tall, with straight black hair and near-perfect angular features, not to mention wide shoulders and a trim waist with slim hips, he looked as if he should have been in front of the camera, not off to one side behind it.
Why was this dashing gentleman watching her play so intently? Was her fingering off? Or was there something wrong with the way she was dressed?
But even as the questions occurred to her, she knew that the answer to each was no. She was wearing the same kind of attire that the other musicians had on, and her fingering hadn’t been off since she was five.
Was he another technical adviser? Someone associated with the studio who wanted to make sure that money wasn’t being wasted on musicians who couldn’t hold a note?
She knew that a lot of the music for programs these days
