Page 11 of Failure to Match

“Bensen.”

“Already done, sir.”

My head swiveled toward the voice. A man wearing what looked like a stereotypical butler’s uniform was standing poolside, gloved hands clasped neatly behind his back, which was currently turned to me.

“Madame, when you are ready, you’ll find a fresh set of towels on the stand to your left. There are two female members of staff on standby if you require additional assistance.”

“Uhm, that’s alright.” Color raced over my cheeks as I duck-walked to the stairs, arms still clamped over my breasts. I all but ran to the towels, my heels squelching and clicking loudly.

“I’m good now, thanks,” I stated as soon as I had a towel wrapped around my torso.

Bensen didn’t turn but Jackson moved, trudging out of the water in long, angry strides. Instead of going for the remaining towel, though, he pinned me with a seething glare. “Follow me.”

First of all, I didn’t understand why he was so pissed. It wasn’t like I’d fallen into the pool on purpose. Second of all, I wasn’t going anywhere with him. I needed to get my stufffrom the bottom of the pool and leave before this night had the opportunity to get any fucking worse.

“No, thanks.” I squelch-clicked my way toward the other end of the pool. The dress could rot down there for all I cared, but I needed to get my clutch since it had my phone (though that was probably fried anyway) and license?—

My heart stopped beating when I saw it: a rippling flash of chocolate mahogany peeking out from underneath the large puddle of black fabric.

My wig.

My wig was at the bottom of the pool.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

I was utterly frozen, my eyes stuck to the water as my brain scrambled. My wavering reflection stared back at me, blonde curls tied and pinned back, makeup running.

This was karma. She’d come for me.

“Your items will be retrieved by the staff,” Jackson said.

At least now I knew why he was so livid.

“That’s all right,” I squeaked, unable to look at him. “I can just, um, go get it myself.”

There was a heavy beat of silence before he said, “You think I’m letting you get back in the water?”

Too bad it wasn’t up to him.

“Can you turn around?” I didn’t want to jump in with the towel, and Ireallydidn’t want to drop it while he was still watching.

The heat of his glower continued to wash over my skin, which meant he hadn’t turned away yet. And something told me he wasn’t going to.

“Madame, if I may,” Bensen started calmly. “Trained members of our staff are already on their way with the appropriate equipment to retrieve your items, and I canpersonally assure you that they will be in your possession again shortly. If you follow Mr. Sinclair, you’ll be escorted to his penthouse, where the head housekeepers, Ms. Harrison and Ms. Harrison, are ready for you with a fresh set of clothes. That is unless you’d prefer to be driven home in your current state, in which case, I can have that arranged.”

Bensen had a point.

As much as I didn’t want to step into Jackson Sinclair’s lair, there was no way I was getting into a cab wearing nothing but shoes, underwear, and a towel.

“Madame?”

Bitter regret clawed up my throat, my heart clanging heavily in my chest. “All right,” I muttered quietly. “Thank you.”

Jackson’s hands were still balled into rigid fists when I made my way over to him, my shoes clacking unattractively with every wet step.

“I didn’t realize they made heels that high,” he noted bitterly, harsh eyes piercing mine with pointed judgment.

---