Page 33 of Failure to Match

“Your job entails convincing lonely, desperate people that fairy-tale endings are real. I’ve seen the adverts, Miss Paquin. They’re shameless and grotesque. My insults were warranted.”

I bristled. “Okay, see?Thisis exactly why we needed to do your personality evaluation in person. Cynical wasn’t even on your list.”

“I’m not cynical, I’m a realist.”

“Oh please.” I rolled my eyes, taking a half-step forward. “That’s what assholes say to justify being assholes. You’re also rude, obnoxious, arrogant, and entitled as all hell. Who the fuck thinks it’s appropriate to insult someone’s occupation like that right to their face?”

His lips tilted again. With sarcasm this time. “The current adverts for Charmed push the concept of soulmates, Miss Paquin. And utilizing things such as tarot to help clients find their ‘one true match.’”

My temperature spiked. To be clear, the tarot thing was reserved only for the clients who asked for it. “So?”

“Doyoubelieve in that bullshit? That the universe is alive and helping guide you to theoneperson you’re meant to be with? Is that why divorce rates in this country are so high?Because people are being guided to their soulmates left, right, and center?”

I had never in my life met someone so relentlessly infuriating. “I believe, very strongly, that there’s someone out there for everyone. And yes, maybe there’s some higher power that’s helping people find each other. I don’t know! What I do know is that romantic love, soul-deep connections, and happily-ever-afters are all real. If I didn’t believe those things, I wouldn’t be doing this for a living.”

“Oh, so you’ve experienced it then.”

It wasn’t until then that I realized just how close we were standing, how hard we were both breathing. I swallowed, staying put. If anyone was going to step back, it was Jackson.

“Not personally, no,” I said. My luck with men and relationships thus far had admittedly not been great. “But I’ve seen it.”

He huffed out a dry, mocking breath. It was almost a laugh.

“I have!” I insisted, even though there was no point. My mouth kept moving, fueled by my bruised ego. “My best friend is on a ten-week honeymoon with the love of her life as we speak. And my parents just had their thirtieth-anniversary last month, and they couldn’t be more in love. So… there you go.”

You know when you say something in the heat of an argument, and it immediately makes you feel juvenile and stupid? Because those points sounded a lot more eloquent in my head than they did out loud.

I cleared my throat and tried again. “I’ve also seen a lot of success with my clients.” Prior to him, that is. Back when I actually enjoyed my job and found it fulfilling.

Jackson quirked a brow, lips rolling like he couldn’t believe just how childish and gullible I was.

It scraped something deep in my chest, and before I could think better of it, I said, “Bet I can prove you wrong.”

I regretted it before the sentence was even out of my mouth. I regretted it even more when he chuckled. It was the first time I’d seen him fully smile, and… damn. All straight white teeth, prominent canines, and masculine charm. As much as I hated to admit it, Jackson Sinclair was hot as sin.

There was a reason so many attractive, successful women were so heartbroken over him. Well, that and all the money, power, and the most eligible bachelor in North America thing.

His personality was shit though, so most of the time it was easy to forget about his looks.

“Last chance.” He slanted his head condescendingly. “Take the money.”

I didn’t know whether to be relieved or insulted that he didn’t take me seriously enough to even acknowledge the bet. My brain said relief, my ego screamedPROVE HIM THE FUCK WRONG. MAKE HIM WEEP FOR YOUR FORGIVENESS.

“I’m not taking the money.” I curled my fingers into my palms. They were a little too tempted to reach for the check. I couldn’t risk it.

His lips were still tilted with amusement as he studied me. “Miss Paquin, a fair warning, I have no intentions of playing nice or making the next thirty days easy for you. Take the money, forge the data, and save us both the headache and time.”

I shot him a wry smile. “Mr. Sinclair, a fair warning, I’m sick of your shit and half the reason I agreed to do this was to make your life as miserable as you’ve made ours over the last eight months. You don’t scare me.”

“That’s what this is about? You’re turning down twenty million dollars for a bit of revenge? A littleshort-sighted, wouldn’t you agree?” He leaned down an inch when he said the word “short.”

I was five-foot-seven.

He was built like the Abominable Snowman.

If anyone in this room should have been self-conscious about their height, it wasn’t me.

I blinked up at him slowly, sarcastically. “I don’t care how you spin it, you can’t buy my integrity.”

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