Page 46 of Failure to Match

He scoffed, as though I’d just informed him of my latest Bigfoot sighting. Not willing to let it go, he gestured sharply at my desk. “You’d have no problem answering any of these, then? You’d be comfortable with openly sharing intimate information about yourself with a practical stranger?”

My teeth were set on edge, and it took active effort to keep my voice even when I answered him. “Some of the covered material is sensitive, sure. But no, I’d have no issues discussing them in detail if I were a client.”

Admittedly, that may have been a teeny, tiny bit of a bluff, and Jackson was looking at me like he knew it.

Sure enough, his eyes thinned. “Really?”

“Yes.” It wasn’t like I could backtrack now.

That cocky smirk of his was becoming increasingly sneer-like. “Prove it, then.”

“No.” I went right back to ignoring him, hoping he’d leave me alone.

He did no such thing. Metal scraped against hardwood as Jackson dragged a chair around my desk, shoving it a little too close to mine.

I frowned. “What are you doing?”

Sitting, evidently. Close enough that his giant knee brushed my thigh.

He tapped two firm knuckles against the questionnaire. “All right. Let’s do this.”

“Do what?”

“The interview.”

I inched my chair back; he inched his forward. For the love of—“Our first interview isn’t until Friday.”

We were barely halfway through Wednesday.

Oh god, we were barely halfway through Wednesday. Of week one.

“Nothing wrong with a head start.” He reached over to flip the page and damn it, he smelled so good.

I held back the irritated huff crawling up my chest. If he was doing this to get a reaction, he was going to be sorely disappointed.

I was cool as a cucumber.

There was real power in that—not allowing your opponent to see what you’re really feeling. Making them think that, regardless of what they do or say, they have no impact on you whatsoever.

Especially when your opponent wasn’t accustomed to people being indifferent about him.

He quirked a brow when I remained quiet. “Unless you’re not actually as comfortable with this as you claim,” he challenged. “I can imagine how awkward it might be to ask some of these questions and hear their answers.”

“I think I’ll live.”

I wasn’t afraid of a little sex talk. I assumed that’s what he planned on torturing me with, given that he was currently thumbing the corner of the “Kinks and Compatibility” page.

“Great.” His tone was almost too sarcastic to actually be sarcastic. “Let’s dive right in then, shall we?”

“The questions aren’t ready yet and I’d rather not?—”

He rolled his eyes and I had to remind myself that cool, unbothered cucumbers did not have flashes of nuclear rage or thoughts of deriving pleasure from murdering someone via strangulation. Psychopaths did.

“All right, fine,” I seethed calmly. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to go over one or two sections now.”

Except when I tried to flip the page, he stopped me, jabbing a finger at the one he’d chosen. “Let’s start right here. Since you’ve been paying so much extra attention to this section.”

The page was filled from top to bottom with bright red scribbles, none of which he was supposed to have seen. It was part of the wholeI’m gonna make this process as painful for you as possiblething we were both doing.

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