Page 29 of Failure to Match

Minerva had moles in the office? I couldn’t decide whether that was weird or awesome. Maybe a bit of both. Jackson caught on to our hushed-toned exchange and when she left, his ghostly eyes slid to me, narrowing. Like it was all my fault.

I smiled.

He glared.

I sat down.

He stood up.

I followed suit. “Where’re we goin’?”

You know when you can just tell when someone wants to punt you into a different dimension because they’re just so very over your bullshit?

“I need to relieve myself,” he bit out. “Or are you expected to follow me in there too?”

“Nope. All good. Have fun.”

Irritation crept up his neck, and he felt the need to adjust his tie before he slammed the office door behind him. There was an ensuite bathroom less than ten feet from his desk.

He was going toloatheme by the time the thirty days were up.

Just thinking about it brought me an unhealthy amount of joy.

Normally, under these specific circumstances, I’d have been bored out of my mind. I assumed that was his plan: to bore me until I caved and went home. But man oh man did he underestimate how much pent-up resentment I had fueling my willpower.

This was child’s play.

All he’d done was change his in-person meetings to virtual ones and pop in a pair of headphones so I couldn’t hear what was going on. Oh, and I guess he’d marked the whole floor as off-limits to all other employees, save for Savannah. No exceptions.

Not that I could blame him for that last bit. A lot of our Immersive clients opted out of being shadowed at the office and did most of their work from home instead, wanting to keep their private lives private. But Minerva hadn’t given Jackson a choice. He was free to improvise when employees asked about me (a “business consultant” was what we’d settled on) but that was about it.

I didn’t know what carrot she was dangling to make him jump through this many hoops, but whatever it was, it had to begood.

“Is this what I can expect for the next month, then?” Jackson asked just as I was trying to decide what to do for lunch. “You’re going to sit there and stare at me while I try to work?”

I kept forgetting about his accent. Not like,forgettingabout it, but just not fully remembering how… his voice just sort of… never mind. I didn’t know where my brain was trying to go with that.

Either way, it was the first time he’d acknowledged my presence in five and a half hours, according to my watch. Prettyimpressive. I knew he’d break before the day was up though. He needed me to quit, and the silent treatment wasn’t going to be an effective way to get the job done.

“I’m observing, not staring,” I assured him. “And the plan is to continue doing it, yes. It’s kind of the whole reason I’m here.”

He held my gaze as he leaned back in his chair, head slanting to one side.

“Did you have another question?” I asked politely. It looked like he might.

“I’m trying to figure out whether or not you realize how absurd and pointless this all is.”

Rude. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t refer to my work as absurd and pointless, Mr. Sinclair.”

An unfriendly spark flashed across his freaky eyes. “I was more referring to the program, but you’re right, the same can be said about your profession.”

I kept my smile smooth and pleasant as I threaded my fingers on my desk. “Let me guess, you think my profession is pointless because you don’t believe in it.”

“In what, exactly?”

“What I’m trying to sell you. Either you don’t believe in love, or you don’t think I can help you find it.” There was a hang-up in there somewhere. I’d know by the end of the month.

He quirked a brow, studying me. “You got all that from one morning with me?”

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