Page 48 of Failure to Match

I clicked my pen, drew a picture on a blank sticky note, and slid it over to him. “Let’s start with the basics, shall we?” I said smoothly, matching his taunting tone. “Tell me, Mr. Sinclair, whereabouts d’you think the clitoris might be?”

13

Client’s sense of humor:no signs of improvement.

Jackson Sinclair was looking at me like he was trying his damnedest to Jedi mind murder me. You know what hewasn’tdoing? Pointing to the clitoris in my very well-drawn and anatomically correct illustration.

Client’s ability to bring sexual partner to orgasm: likely needs work and?—

“You really should stop doing that,” I said when he snatched the pen out of my hand. “A short fuse is a red flag for a romantic partner.”

“The fact that you believe yourself to be anywhere near qualified to giveanyoneadvice on how to conduct themselves is astounding to me.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”

“Utterly astounding.”

I bristled. “Mr. Sinclair, with zero due respect, the fact thatanyof your previous matches willingly wanted a second date with you is utterly astounding tome. You are surly, rude, beyond arrogant, and the most unpleasant and unreasonable client I’ve ever had the displeasure of working with.”

He inched closer, giant shoulders hunching as he crowded me. “Why is it that the pot always insists on calling the kettle black?”

Little patches of anger blotted my cheeks. I bit down on my bottom lip to stop from hurling another string of highly unprofessional insults at him. Whatwasit about this man that got me so fucking riled up? I was so annoyed it was making the inside of my skin itch.

That wasn’t normal.

His eyes lowered to where my lip was wedged tightly between my teeth, and when they eventually resurfaced, you could barely see the ring of blue ice circling his pupils.

“Go on a date with me.”

Wait.

My lip sprang free.

“What?”

“Go on a date with me,” he repeated evenly.

He couldn’t be serious.

“Absolutely fucking not.” The itch was spreading, crawling up my chest, over my throat, into my ears.

“Why not?”

There wasn’t a spot left on my body that wasn’t either blotted in patchy pink or pleading to be scratched. He was fucking with me. He had to be.

“Jamie.”

My heart skipped three full beats before it hurled into my ribs. His accent did… a not entirely unpleasant thing with my name.

“I didn’t realize we were on a first-name basis.”

“Go to dinner with me.”

I swallowed, refusing to break eye contact even though I had no idea what the fuck was going on with my insides. “Morecoaching advice: when someone turns you down, you shouldn’t take it as an invitation to keep asking them out.”

“That’s the thing,” he said. “I know I don’t need a dating coach, and you’re under the false impression I do. I can’t think of a better way to settle this.”

Oh.

---