Page 154 of Failure to Match

“Again,” he whispered, and my cheeks flared bright crimson. I was aware of how much I’d cried in front of him, he didn’t need to point it out like that. But then he said, “My fault. Again.”

What? No it wasn’t. He was allowed to kiss whoever he wanted; how I felt about it wasn’t on him.

He swallowed, cupping my face with his palm. With a delicate sweep of his thumb across my cheekbone, he said, “I am not worth your tears, Jamie.”

With that, my throat clogged up and a fresh bout of tears sprang to my eyes. Howdarehe? But before I could string together a semicoherent argument, disproving his very incorrect theory about how much he was worth, he said, “I stopped it. She didn’t… we didn’t kiss.”

The rush of relief was so instantaneous and heady, it made my knees weak. I released a breath, my lashes fluttering as the crushing weight lifted from my chest.

“That’s... too bad,” I said quietly. “I thought you guys were really hitting it off. In my professional opinion?—”

“Stop. Just...stop.” His voice was gruff with exasperation as he stepped forward. “Does this feel right to you? Does seeingme with someone else feel right? Because I’m losing my fucking mind over here, Jamie. It’s fucking horrible.”

“How I feel about it shouldn’t matter.”

He was holding my face with both hands now, tilting it up as he moved even closer, crowding me. I should have told him no; should have put some distance between our bodies. But I’d missed him so much that I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I stupidly leaned into his touch.

“How can you stand it?” His voice was raw, anguished. “How is it fair that you’re only halfway there, but I can’t fucking breathe anymore, Jamie?”

I blinked, on the brink of a heart attack. “You’re drunk.”

“Why can’t I breathe? What did you do to me?”

“I don’t think you know what you’re saying.”

“I know exactly what I’m fucking saying. I know exactly how much I fucking miss you. I knowexactlyhow fucking wrong it feels with these other women, and what just happened out there was the last fucking straw. I don’t care about the?—”

FLASH.

Awareness tugged at my gut, and I knew, before I tripped back a step and swiveled toward her, I knew. There, at the end of the short hallway was Miray, phone in hand, expression contorted with pure rage.

She’d heard everything.

Shit.

38

Once again,I knew it was coming. Yet, once again, I flinched when the crimson leather folder slapped the oak table.

I’d never get used to it.

“Open it.”

My chin remained tucked as I did, unsurprised to find the photo of me and Jackson from last night. The evidence was irrefutably damning. I had no way of explaining why we were standing so close, why he was cupping my face so tenderly, why I was gazing up at him with so much love and devastation and heartbreak.

It was painfully obvious. A major line between me and Jackson had been crossed, and Vivian was going to skin me alive for it. She was pacing back and forth, seething silently while she plotted her revenge.

I didn’t blame her.

If Miray made good on her threats, then by noon today, this picture will have circulated through every circle that mattered in high society, and the outcome wasn’t going to be pretty. Becoming physically or emotionally involved with a client wassacrilege; Vivian had a PR nightmare on her hands, and it was all my fault.

Oh, and since my actions were in direct violation of my employment contract, there was also a good chance I’d be served with a lawsuit. Maybe that’s why she wasn’t saying anything. Maybe her counsel had advised against it.

I’d made one poor decision after another, and now it was time to pay the piper.

When she finally stopped pacing and twisted on her heel to glare at me, I braced myself. But before she could start to curse and shout and berate, her assistant knocked on the door.

The Sinclairs were here.

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