Page 15 of Failure to Match

Alice had offered to go to her parents for the money, but I knew how desperately she wanted to avoid that. The whole point of her moving here was to stand on her own two feet.

Vivian scoffed when I stayed quiet. “Nothing? You have nothing to say for yourself afterruiningthis company’sreputation? After tainting all the hard work, blood, sweat, and fucking tears I’ve put into building this brand from the ground up?” She stopped pacing, placed her hands on her narrow hips, and opened her mouth to rip into me some more. But she was interrupted by a string of soft knocks on her door.

“What?” she snapped.

Laury poked her head into the room gingerly. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but the Sinclairs have arrived. Their car just pulled up to the building.”

I glanced to my left, my pulse lurching. Mitch and Alice were as shocked as I was.

The Sinclairswere here? Plural? I’d assumed Jackson would send a member of his team (maybe a lawyer) to speak to Vivian on his behalf.

Vivian’s entire demeanor changed. Her hands dropped from her hips and crumpled into fists, her head raising an inch as her throat worked with a swallow. Nerves. Vivian Hale was nervous.

“Fine,” she said, an edge to her voice, “I’ll meet them in the Rosé Room right away.”

Which meant we were finally dismissed. I desperately needed a cup of coffee and a good bathroom stall cry. But just as I began to turn on my sore heel, Vivian snapped her fingers and pointed one at me.

“You,” she said. “You’re coming with me.”

I tensed, my stomach clenching.

Alice glanced between Vivian and me, her brows drawing together. “Should we come as well?”

“No. The two of you are to head straight to the White Room and wait. Jamie and I will join you after our meeting.”

“But—”

“Now, Alice. Before I call security and have you escorted there.”

Alice gave me a look before obeying, though I couldn’t tell what she was trying to communicate with it. The stress and lack of sleep had destroyed my cognitive functioning. I was barely able to think, and now I had to stand in front of the Sinclairs and go through this whole berating nightmare all over again.

At this point, getting fired would be a relief.

Jackson’s aunt was, to put it lightly, an experience.

Minerva Sinclair was a tall, willowy woman with stark white hair and cutting features, and her signature “look” consisted of cherry-red pantsuits, vintage cat-eye sunglasses, and knife-sharp stilettos. Per our client paperwork, she had her personal tarot reader (Imogen) on speed dial and kept her wrinkly sphynx cat (Harry) cradled against her bony chest everywhere she went, as per the guidance of her spiritual advisor (Velma).

Honestly, if her nephew wasn’t such a pain in our asses, I’d think she was pretty awesome. She had the type of old money, no-fucks-given energy you couldn’t help but admire. Also, she’d literally named her hairless cat Harry, and I didn’t think she’d intended the pun.

Still, even with all that going on, my eyes immediately gravitated to the figure looming behind her.

He walked into the room like he owned the whole building and everyone in it. His presence demandedmy attention, from his imposing height to the perfectly tailored crisp black suit.

It was surprisingly aggravating. Irritation flamed across my chest when his frosty eyes found mine, narrowing.

See? I knew it. Thatwastheir whole personality.

My eyes rolled before I could stop them, and it was noticeable enough that Minerva caught it, her white eyebrows arching behind the curve of her sunglasses.

“Minerva.” Vivian gave the air around her client’s cheeks two swift kisses. Her brown-nosing was not acknowledged; the air kisses were not returned. “It’s so nice to see you again. Come. Sit, sit. Laury’s on her way with your tea. And Mr. Sinclair, it is such an honor to finally meet?—”

“Is this her?” Minerva interrupted. Her crisp voice tipped with an unidentifiable accent—a mixture of French, German, and British, maybe.

Vivian stiffened, her smile wavering just slightly. “This is Jamie Paquin, the employee we were discussing over the phone this morning. That’s correct.”

“Jack.”

Jackson Sinclair’s head tilted mockingly to one side. “I’m not sure,” he drawled, “her features weren’t exactly memorable.”

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