Page 7 of Failure to Match

And he did it while maintaining unwavering eye contact, almost like he was waiting for me to take offense and challenge his behavior. His eyes flicked up to the night sky when I remained silent.

Was this real? Or was he fucking with me?

A suited waiter appeared from somewhere behind me and began filling our champagne flutes with sparkling water. “Anything to drink, madame?”

“A martini,” I said just as Jackson took a seat. “Please.”

“Yeah, you’re gonna need it. Why’s he looking at you like that? What’s wrong with him?”

I didn’t know. I was trying very hard not to look directly into the biting glare being shot at me from across the table.

I’d been right. Coming here had been a terrible fucking idea.

The plan had been to wait for Jackson to speak first so we could observe how he normally broke the ice, what types of questions he asked, and how much initial interest he was willing to show his date. The one possibility we hadn’t considered? Him not speaking. At all.

I sat there, fiddling restlessly with the dainty rings stacked on my middle finger, waiting.

And waiting.

And waiting.

Until I thought I might choke on the silence.

“So,” I blurted, “tell me a bit about yourself, Jackson.”

I cringed as soon as I said it. Even my tone came across as job interview-esque.

Then I made the mistake of meeting his gaze, which was now filled with a lot less irritation and a hell of a lot more boredom. He checked his watch, exhaled impatiently through his nose, and said, “What don’t you already know?”

I blinked. “I’m sorry?”

His head tilted ever so slightly to one side, mocking. “Are you hard of hearing, Miss Pennington, or is wasting people’s time simply a hobby of yours?”

The only reason I realized my mouth had fallen open was because his wintry eyes flicked down to it before narrowing again. Even Alice was stunned into silence.

“It’s, um, Lambton. Grace Lambton,” I corrected him gently. “Not Pennington.”

He wasn’t embarrassed. Nor did he offer an apology for the error.

I shifted in my chair. “I’m sorry, have I done something to offend you?”

Heat bloomed over my cheeks when he checked his watch again. Reality set in, sinking straight to the pit of my stomach, hot and uncomfortably heavy.

Thiswas the man I’d been comforting women over for the last eight months?Thiswas who they’d all been crying over?Him?

I’d never reached for a drink faster in my life. The martini was in my grip before the unsuspecting waiter had even placed it down. I took it right from his gloved hand with a small “thanks” and downed it.

“Can I please get another one?” I asked Henry, per his nametag.

If Henry was taken aback, he masked it well. “Of course.”

“Jamie,” Alice warned quietly. We’d agreed on one drink to calm my nerves. No more than that.

I folded my hands on my lap as I sat back. There was a long list of questions I was supposed to ask Jackson. We’d spent half the day coming up with them, crafting them in a way that would allow us to gain as much useful information as possible within the allotted hour.

Information that we needed not just to help ourselves, but to helphim.

That was before.

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