Page 45 of Failure to Match

I was pretty sure that Lao Tzu had some sort of profound rule against allowing your anger to flare during battle, but I knew in my heart of hearts that if he’d ever had the misfortune of meeting Jackson Sinclair, he would have understood.

I was on my feet, heels snapping irritably against hardwood as I rounded my desk.

“Give them back,” I demanded when he moved the papers out of my reach.

“Per my contractual agreement with Charmed, I’m entitled to review all the material you’ll be using over the next month.”

I crossed my arms. “Most people would have asked nicely.”

Hetsked. “Miss Paquin,” he practically purred, not bothering to take his eyes off the page, “look at all these extra notes and added inquiries.”

I could tell purely from his tone what section he was looking at. My shoulders pushed back, my spine pin straight as his gaze meandered to my face, brimming with amused mischief.

“Naughty, naughty.” Hetsked three more times. “These questions areveryin-depth. Are you truly so curious about my sex life?”

I refused to be embarrassed.

This process was meant to makehimuncomfortable, not the other way around.

“Sexual compatibility is an important factor to consider when looking at overall longevity and health of any romantic relationship.”

“Is it now?” he mocked lightly, taking a full step forward.

Even in my four-inch heels, I had to tilt my head back to maintain stubborn eye contact.

“Of course it is.” And of course his team had returned that particular set of questions back to us entirely blank, save for the red NOT APPLICABLE stamp on the front page.

Again, “They’ve been provided with more than enough data to find me a suitable match” my ass.

His wolfish smirk was in full tact as his eyes slipped over my features. “Really? You don’t think some of these questions and tactics are just a little too invasive?”

“Our clients know exactly what they’re getting into when they sign up for our services.”

He held the booklet up in front of me. “And you thinkthisis a perfectly appropriate set of questions to hit them with.”

“Not everyone has the same intimacy hang-ups as you.”

His brows shot up and I took the opportunity to snatch the questions out of his loosened grip.

“Oh, so in addition to selling emotional snake oil, you dabble in psychology, do you?”

Deep breaths.

Deep, calming breaths.

“Love isn’t emotional snake oil.” For fuck’s sake. “Just because you don’t believe in something doesn’t mean it’s not real. Contrary to what you may think, Mr. Sinclair, you’re not a god.”

I sat back down at my desk, picked up my pen.

He should’ve retreated to his side of the office and left me alone. Tension cracked between us, our egos revving up for a fight. Nothing good would come from pursuing this argument and we both knew it. Instead of backing away, though, he decided to forge ahead.

“But again, you’ve never actually experienced it.” His tone was dry. Mocking.

I didn’t understand how he managed to irritate me so much. I shouldn’t have cared if he thought I was a con artist or a fraud or whatever the hell else. Why did it even matter? What was it about this man that turned the calm, rational part of my brain into an overactive volcano?

On the bright side, according to the rabid glint in his eyes, the lack of rational control was mutual. I grated his nerves just as violently as he grated mine.

“I’vewitnessedit.” My nails dug into my palm as my fist tightened around my pen.

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