Page 25 of Failure to Match

There were just more hallways with more minimalist paintings and doors leading tomorehallways withmoreminimalist paintings and doors. It’d probably only been fifteen minutes or so since I left my suite, but it felt like an eternity. I was thirsty, my wrists were sweaty, and—there! Yes! A Bonsai tree with a white trunk!

Except I could have sworn the one we passed by initially had a swirled trunk. I remembered because it looked distinctly like soft-serve, and it made me a little hungry. I sighed, glancing around. Maybe if I could find a member of staff or something, I could ask?—

“What are you doing?”

I yelped, whipping around as my palm slammed against my chest.

“Jesus Christ,” I breathed. “You really need to not sneak up on me like that.”

For someone built like a skyscraper, Jackson was incredibly light-footed.

“Why are you sneaking around my property?”

“I’m not. I was lost.”

His eyes narrowed like he didn’t believe me. Then again, they quite literally didn’t do anything else, so maybe he did believe me and that was his way of showing it.

“How’d you know where I was anyway?” I straightened the hem of my blouse, pushing my shoulders back.

He flicked his chin to something above my head. A security camera.

“They’re everywhere.” It was more of a warning than anything else.

I eyed him. “Defineeverywhere.”

“Your suite is one of the very few places you won’t find them. That’s all you need to know.”

“Cool.” That was the only thing I cared about anyway.

And then we just stood there, staring at each other awkwardly.

Or, like, awkwardly on my part. His eerily light eyes were sliding between mine like they were convinced I was up to something.

I cleared my throat. “Are you gonna lead me back so we can sit down and do the orientation, or…”

His gaze lingered for one more breath before he peeled it away, turned around, and stalked away without another word. I hopped into step beside him without missing a beat. It wasn’t hard. He wasn’t exactly unpredictable.

“So,” I said, keeping my tone friendly and conversational, “when I was trying to find my way back, I came across two grand pianos. Do you play? Because that wasn’t included in any of the forms your staff filled out.”

He said nothing.

I rolled my lips as the length and speed of his steps picked up. He wasn’t going to entertain the whole small talk thing with me.

“I always wanted to learn,” I told him, half-jogging to keep up with the new pace he’d set. “My parents couldn’t afford the lessons back then, though. Or the piano. Or even the music sheets, really.”

I waited.

Still nothing.

So, I went on, “Not that it’s too late. I could just start learning now. If you know of any good teachers with decent rates?—”

He stopped abruptly, twisting on the spot to glower down at me. Predictably. “Let me make something that should already be quite clear evenmoreclear. I have less than zero interest in engaging in any sort of pleasantries with you over the next month. So, unless the topic of discussion pertains directly to the—what are you doing?”

I’d whipped out my phone, opened the designated document, and was in the middle of scrolling to the appropriate section. And since I didn’t want to be rude, I started speaking the words as I typed them. “Inter...personal… skills… abysmally… inadequate.”

His eyes (predictably) narrowed, his shoulders (predictably) tensing. “What?” he snapped predictably.

“My evaluations.” I slipped my phone back into my pocket. “It’s part of the process. We’ll talk about it in depth during orientation.”

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