Page 17 of Failure to Match

“With all due respect, the data we’ve been given by your team is so limiting that there’s?—”

“Jamie. Enough.”

The rest of my complaint withered against the chill of Vivian’s tone, an apology forming in its place. But I swallowed it back. She knew that Jackson wouldn’t take any of our tests himself. We’d brought it up in countless meetings with her. So how was this the first time Minerva was hearing about it?

They had two scheduled meetings a month to discuss our progress, so how had she not thought to mention something so important during any of their sixteen meetings to date? Maybe Minerva could have helped. Maybe she could have convinced Jackson to at least sit down with us for a bit.

We’d been working non-fucking-stop for eight months straight and she couldn’t have done just one thingto help us out?

My frustration built and built until it reached my eyes. But I would not—I would not—cry in front of these people.

“You’re dismissed,” Vivian said.

Gladly.

But I wasn’t going to wait for her in the White Room. I was going to walk straight out of here, crawl into bed with a bottle of Pinot and a pint of chocolate ice cream, and re-binge the seventh season ofChef Wars International. (Daniel Omori’s chin dimple and three-legged golden retriever were medicine for my withered soul.)

Tomorrow I’d send Vivian my zero-weeks’ notice and start looking for new jobs.

I didn’t know what the hell I was going to do about the money I owed for the dress and shoes, but I’d figure something out.

“Actually, no,” Minerva said just as I began to limp-march out of Vivian’s office. Jackson’s attention flicked to my feet momentarily, his jaw working as it clenched, unclenched.

Not only were his freaky eyes only capable of one look, but the man as a whole was only capable of experiencing one emotion.

See? The personality of a hardboiled egg. With, like, added hot sauce or something. And not the good kind.

“Pardon?” Vivian tried her best to keep her tone light even though she was vibrating with rage. HowdareI not act as the silent emotional punching bag she’d brought me in here to be? What else was I, the disposable employee she’d been taking advantage of over the better part of the last year good for?

“I’d like her to stay,” Minerva said, still watching me as she scratched Harry the hairless cat mindlessly. He was super cute. Real ugly, but very adorable. And the diamond collar wrapped loosely around his wrinkly neck likely cost more than I was set to make this entire year.

He had it made, and he knew it per the bored, unimpressed way he was slowly blinking at me.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Minerva,” Vivian tried.

Minerva barely spared her a glance. “Didn’t you mention something about tea? Why don’t you go fetch us some of that while this young lady and I chat? What type of tea do you normally drink, Miss Paquin, was it?”

“Jamie,” I offered.

A dangerous number of crimson blotches began spreading across Vivian’s face and neck. “My assistant is actually brewing?—”

“Do they know what type of tea Jamie likes?” Minerva asked slowly, bright nails scraping lovingly against Harry’s long neck.

“I don’t think it’s necessary to keep her here for the meeting,” Jackson cut in.

I bit my tongue.

“Nonsense. The meeting isabouther; she deserves to be heard. Vivian, bring the poor girl some chamomile or something. I don’t want to have to ask again. She’s clearly distressed, and from what little I’ve heard her say, I don’t blame her.”

Well, that was kind of her.

Jackson didn’t seem to agree. His shoulders rose a rigid inch, his throat working to swallow back an argument he knew he probably wouldn’t win.

Vivian left the room without another word.

“Sit down,” Minerva ordered.

I listened, Jackson didn’t. He remained on his feet, looming over us like one of those scowling gargoyles attached to the exterior walls of medieval cathedrals. That is until his aunt slipped him a pointed look that made his jaw tick. He lowered into the chair beside her.

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