Page 87 of Failure to Match

He shrugged. “You can pretend all you want, but I’m not doing it.”

I wasn’t laughing anymore. “Are you… going to tell people?”

He frowned. “I wasn’t planning on it. Not until you and I come to an agreement, at least.”

So, if we never came to an agreement, he wouldn’t tell anyone? That could work.

“But youwilltalk to the Harrison sisters, right?” I asked. I’d also have to pull them aside at some point and ask for their discretion.

What a mess.

“Yes. I suspect I’ll have no choice.”

My eyes slimmed. “And what are you going to tell them?”

“The truth,” he deadpanned. “That I very much wanted to kiss you, so I did, and that you did not react violently like I thought you might.”

“To be fair, I thought about it.”

He chuckled. “If you’d like, I can also let them know that you’re not interested. That this attraction is strictly one-sided.” He waited for a beat before adding, “Would that be an accurate assessment?”

There was only one correct answer to that question. I didn’t need to hesitate or pause or think about my response.

Yet I stood there, holding his gaze while he patiently waited for my rejection.

“I… I’m never going to marry you.”

With that, I made my swift exit out of the cardboard palace Jackson Sinclair had built for my cat.

23

“Everything all right?”

My shoulders scrunched even tighter, reaching for my ears.

Jackson took a seat beside me at the small conference table. Within seconds, the masculine notes of his cologne swirled into my lungs, making me lightheaded.

I clicked my pen and flipped the interview booklet open. “Everything’s fine. Why?” I’d been perfectly amicable with him all morning.

Warmth trickled over my skin as he eyed my profile. I kept my attention bolted to the questions in front of me.

“Well,” he started gently, “It’s almost noon, we’ve been attached at the hip since five a.m., and you haven’t looked at me once.”

He only knew that because he’d been doing enough staring for the both of us. I didn’t say this out loud though, knowing my irritation was misdirected.

I was mad at myself, not him.

“I’m just tired,” I said. “Didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

He shifted in his chair like he was going to probe further, but after a short pause, he picked up his phone and began typing away.

“Are you ready to get started?” I continued to scan the papers, even though it wasn’t necessary. I had the questions all but memorized at this point. “And just a reminder that, per your aunt’s request, this session will be recorded and subject to review by?—”

“Since when?”

“Since you signed the contract and agreed to it.”

“Your interview is not the standardized one I signed off on being recorded,” he argued. “You’ve got questions in there about my past relationships and sexual preferences.”

---