Page 58 of Failure to Match

Jackson pulled me inside while I continued to gap at my surroundings. Was the concept of luxurious helicopter travel common knowledge? Because the idea had never so much as crossed my mind before this.

I sunk into the plush window seat, biting back my grin as best I could. It didn’t work. There was far too much excitement bubbling up my chest. Not for the date—sorry,evaluation—obviously. But for the ride. I had to admit, this was pretty cool. Once in a lifetime experience for sure. After tonight, I’d likely never ride in one of these things again.

Jackson took the seat next to mine, even though there was a perfectly good window-adjacent one right across the table. “Is that a smile I see, Miss Paquin?”

“No, it’s actually a grimace.”

He chuckled quietly, then leaned forward and pulled my seatbelt over my lap, clipping it in place.

A few more items to add to my growing list of life-threatening allergies:

1. Whatever cologne he was always wearing.

2. My body being forced into close proximity with his body.

3. His bow tie (which I was absolutelynotinternally obsessing over).

4. Him clipping my safety belt into place for me.

I was very,veryallergic to Jackson Sinclair doing a thoughtful thing. Even if it was in fake thoughtfulness and fueled by not-so-secret ulterior motives.

My symptoms were made significantly worse by the fact that he was still—very unnecessarily, might I add—holding my hand. Why was he still holding my hand?

But before I could slip out of his grasp, he lifted our joint hands and guided my fingers to a small circular indent on the left side of my headset.

“If you push this button, it’ll activate the intercom function and you’ll be able to communicate directly with the crew.” My finger moved again. “This is the one you’ve got on now. It’s just you and me. No one else can hear what we’re saying. If you want to mute me at any point, then all you have to do is press this?—”

I wasted no time. His voice cut off abruptly and I grinned.

Jackson bit down on his bottom lip, finally releasing my fingers so he could unmute himself.

“Is that really appropriate behavior for a second date, Miss Paquin? Should I be taking notes?”

I lifted a shoulder. “If I’ve agreed to go on a second date with someone it’s pretty safe to assume they have a solid sense of humor.”

“Is that what you?—”

He was cut off by a suddenbeep, just before our pilot’s voice came on the headset to do a quick pre-flight briefing.

I barely heard her, though. My stomach dipped and swooped as we began to lift, and within a handful of seconds, I understood why Jackson had insisted on rushing us out the door. The sunset.

Damn. Okay. Full points for the pre-dinner part of the evaluation. This whole scene was breathtakingly romantic; I was in absolute awe of the view.

When I finally peeled my gaze away from the soft oranges and bruised pinks of the sky, I found him watching me with a triumphant smirk pulling at the one side of his arrogant mouth. Not only that, but the bottle of champagne had been opened, and two delicate flutes filled with sparkling golden liquid were already sitting on the table.

Smooth. Almost unreasonably so.

Jackson picked up his glass, tilting it toward me, and... um… there was a lot of golden light spilling into the cabin from the sunset and, unfortunately, it kind of complemented his everything.

It wasn’t until his victorious little smirk expanded to a full grin that I realized I was staring.

“Like what you see?” he teased playfully as I snatched up my own flute.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Mr. Sinclair,” I quipped easily, touching the lip of my glass to his. “You don’t meet any of the items in my criteria for a partner. Looks included.”

I couldn’t help the slight bitterness that seeped into my tone during that last part. His criteria had been my hell for eight months. I still wasn’t over it.

I sank into the plush comfort of my seat, my attention turning back to the painted skies as I sipped on my champagne. This was nice. Significantly better than crawling through the congested roads of downtown Toronto in a car. He’d done well.

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