Exhaustion set in as Quinn drove to an old apartment building at the center of the city. The architecture was something out of days gone by. Its ornate and stylized geometric accents put it right in the midst of the 20s art deco movement. It was a beautiful and almost gaudy testament to the architects of the era.

Geraldine Wilder lived on the top floor and ran her dating agency out of her living room.

The doorman was dressed in traditional garb. The romantic nostalgia wasn’t lost on Quinn. Her heartbeat quickened as he pushed the elevator button, sending them up, up, up. Heights and closed spaces made her queasy, and her bear wasn’t too crazy about those, either. The door finally opened to a hallway, and she stumbled out.

“It’s just down there,” the pristine doorman said with a courteous smile while indicating a door down toward the end of the hall.

Quinn tried to tip him with a five-dollar bill, which was all the cash she had on her, and he shook his head. “No need, miss.”

Of course, he wouldn’t want a measly five dollars. He probably got huge tips from the regulars. Quinn felt ill-prepared for what she was about to do. Maybe she should just turn right around and go home.

The doorman, as if reading her hesitation, said, “Mrs. Wilder is expecting you.”

He stepped back into the elevator before Quinn could change her mind, and she watched as the doors slid closed between them.

She walked down the corridor like a prisoner on death row. This was it. The moment she put herself in the Paranormal Dating Agency’s hands was the moment her life would stop being her own.

The door opened before Quinn even had a chance to knock. An older woman, a little shorter than Quinn, with long dark hair streaked with white smirked as a way of greeting and said, “Well, don’t just stand there catching flies. Close your mouth and get your ass inside.”

She turned on her heel, and too stunned to do much else, Quinn followed her in.

“Tea or coffee?” the lady asked.

“Uhm, tea, I guess.” She clutched her blazer closed. The distinct smell of freshly baked cinnamon rolls made Quinn’s mouth water. She hoped those would be offered along with the tea. “Are you Mrs. Wilder?”

“Who else?” She poured Quinn some tea and produced a plate of cinnamon heaven wrapped in a sweet yeasty roll. “Bun?”

“God, yes,” Quinn said a little too eagerly.

“So, tell me, Quinn Orson, of the Orsino Bear Clan, what kind of man are you looking for? Do you want someone steadfast, responsible, and boring or someone who can melt your panties with a look?”

Quinn choked on her bite of a cinnamon roll, the frosting burning as she inhaled it down the wrong pipe. After a few sips of hot tea, she recovered. “Uhm, can I have both?”

Mrs. Wilder laughed. The old woman’s warmth and sass put Quinn at ease.

“Seriously, though,” Quinn said. “I just want someone who can hold his own in the clan and won’t expect me to give up my life as a doctor to be his good little mate. I don’t want to be owned.” At least not outside the bedroom. A vivid image of the rough and tumble Luke Dashwood doing wild and naughty things to Quinn popped into her brain. She flushed as her thighs clenched at the thought.

Geraldine Wilder sniffed the air and smiled. “Ah, I see you already have a candidate in mind.”

“I don’t,” Quinn sputtered, forcibly shoving the hunky shifter from her thoughts. “No one suitable, anyhow.” Even if he and Marigold weren’t a couple, Marigold had certainly set her sights on him. “Look, I just don’t want a jerk who thinks I should be barefoot and pregnant while I cook and clean his den.”

“That leaves the pool wide open, my dear. Are you sure you don’t want to be more specific?”

Specific like saying six-foot three inches, a chest as broad as his arms are long, tousled blond hair, and a beard? Like that kind of specific? Quinn sighed. “Would it do me any good?”

“You never know.”

She’d heard that Mrs. Wilder didn’t always match you to the person you wanted, but she always matched you the person or persons you needed. “I’ll bow to your wisdom.”

“You’re a smart cookie. I like that in an alpha.” She patted Quinn’s hand. “You just let me worry about finding the perfect mate. I think I know just the man for you.”

Quinn’s stomach clenched. Yesterday she’d been a single, independent woman, and if the Paranormal Dating Agency lived up to its hype, she’d be mated and a lot less independent in the next two weeks.

Crap. She just hoped the guy wasn’t a Neanderthal.