Page 14 of Failure to Match

“We’ll just be outside the door, then. Give us a shout if you need anything. And the doctor will be here?—”

Molly was cut off by a loud bang as the bedroom door ripped open and slammed against the wall.

“What in the heavens—Jackson! Youcannotsimply barge into an occupied bedroom as you please!” Molly complained, clutching her chest.

But he wasn’t paying her any attention. His eerily pale blue eyes were locked on me, and they were… murderous. That was the word. Jackson Sinclair looked like he wanted nothing more than to strangle me right then and there.

“You wererecording me?” he thundered, tossing a handful of items onto the bed.

My heart sank to the pit of my stomach when I registered what they were. My headpiece and the camera that had beensewn into my dress. I guess I should have seen this coming. For some reason, I hadn’t thought they’d notice the camera. It was small and well-hidden enough.

Molly and Mabel gaped, looking rather scandalized as their round, disbelieving eyes dashed from me to Jackson, then back to me.

“Oh dear.”

“Oh no.”

The wig was one thing. The headset was one thing. Separately, I could explain them. But add the camera, put it all together, and I had no excuse. It was all very incriminating, and I couldn’t come up with a single reasonable lie that would make it better.

“It’s not what it looks like,” I tried. He probably thought I was a client who’d… well, I wasn’t sure what. My heart was pounding, my nerves were frantic, and my brain was scrambling, which meant I was seconds away from making things worse. That’s usually what happened when I panicked.

But before I even had the opportunity, Jackson tossed the rest of what he was holding onto the bed. My clutch, my phone, and my keycard. For work.

The one that had my full name, picture, and the Charmed Elite logo right on it. I’d brought it with me because I was supposed to head straight back to the office after our “date.” Also because I was an idiot. Clearly.

“Get. The fuck. Out of my house,” he spat darkly. “Now, MissPaquin.”

“She’s… she’s naked, dear.”

“At least let her—oh!”

I snatched my stuff, tucked my chin, and ran out of there with nothing but a towel on.

4

Vivian lookedlike she wanted to rip out her own hair and strangle me with it.

I couldn’t exactly blame her, but I could say that it was unnecessary. I was already suffocating.

The three of us were standing in her office, chins tucked low like a bunch of chastised children. Well, except for Alice. While my spine had withered into a defensive slouch, her posture was kept at a normal angle, and I swear she was starting to zone out from the boredom. Probably because we’d already been here for a half-hour while Vivian yelled and slammed things down on her desk.

If I was being completely honest, Vivian’s reaction didn’t seem fair to me. I mean, she’d told us she didn’t care howwe got her results, so long as we got them. Those had beenherinstructions.

I was starting to think Alice’s observations were accurate. It was becoming increasingly evident that the three of us were nothing but sacrificial scapegoats to her.

If we succeeded, she would gladly take all the credit. If we failed… well, this. We were living it. She’d pushed us into doingsomething spectacularly risky out of desperation, and now she was about to fire us over it. Alice, Mitch, and I would never be able to find another job in the industry after this got out, but that didn’t matter to Vivian. As long as the blame was being put on others, the damage to her professional reputation would take a reduced hit.

After all, the majority of our clients were here to work directly with her. She’d probably spin this to make herself look like the victim. She was good at that. PR was her forte.

Still, the people pleaser in me—the one that desperately needed her boss to approve of her—was weeping. And I didn’t know how to turn it off.

“What in the ever-lovingfuckwere you thinking?” She kept pacing, pacing, pacing. The question was made to soundlike it was directed at the group, but her eyes were drilling holes into my skull. “Jamie! I asked you a question!”

Normally, I’d have forced myself to meet her gaze and respond, but I really didn’t have it in me today. I hadn’t slept all night, my feet were sore and blistered from limping home in those cursed heels, and a good chunk of my mind was preoccupied with trying to figure out how the three of us were going to come up with fourteen thousand dollars in seven days.

Because that’s how much the torn dress and bloodied, water-damaged shoes cost to replace: $13,921.32. The bill was due next Friday.

Oh, and my phone only took calls on speaker now, so I had to replace that too. But at least I’d gotten it to turn on. The overnight rice thing really did work.

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