Page 27 of Unmatched

“Th-thank you.” I look up into his face to find his eyes burning into mine. “Guess I wore the wrong shoes.”

He loosens his grip, stepping back to let his gaze travel down the length of my legs, and grunts. “I really like those shoes.”

His voice is thick, his hand hot against my skin. My pulse pounds, and suddenly I’m very aware of the short hem of my dress and the cleavage I have on display. I bring my fingers to my lips, avoiding his eyes. This is what I wanted—his desire, his lust. For me, not for someone else. I should do something. Lean in to kiss him. Give him some reason to realize I am who and where he wants to be. But every time I think of making a move, all I want to do is pull away. Just like before I ever knew about Unmatched.

“Lydia,” Anton tries to get my attention, my name laced with something that sounds a lot like longing.

My eyes cloud. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what I want.

Why?

I raise my head, staring past him at the door, hoping I’ll figure it out before I take my next breath. His eyes track my movements, careful, assessing. He leans in, his lips part, and in a moment of panic, I reach toward him—and right past him, pressing the small round doorbell beside the polished wood doorframe.

An elaborate set of chimes announces our arrival to everyone inside. I meet his eyes and smile, air rushing out of my lungs. “Don’t want to be late for the party.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Eva Wallace throws open the double doors of her house, wearing a black dress, her dark hair piled on her head. “It’s the Richies! I’m so glad you could both come!” My boss’s wife yells over an upbeat song that was popular several years ago. She’s your typical middle-aged white socialite in diamond earrings and a professionally brightened smile, but she is also genuinely kind.

I watch as she and Lydia exchange air kisses, which is great because I need a second. A moment ago, I was ready to hightail it home without stepping foot inside this party. Something had seemed to shift between Lydia and me, and I just needed to get her in the car, back home, and naked in our bed. Until she ended it before I could blink.

Eva turns from my wife and folds me in a too-affectionate embrace. I keep my arms at my sides, but over her shoulder, I notice Lydia watching my discomfort, hiding a smile. She goes through these motions with zero effort, but she knows I fucking hate this stuff.

“Lydia, I love your dress. You two are the cutest couple,” Eva says over the music and chatter. “The catering staff have everything—champagne, hors d’oeuvres. Come on in and make yourselves at home!”

“Thanks, it’s so great to be here.” Lydia smiles, handing over the wrapped gift. I forgot to ask what it was, but the charmed look on Eva’s face makes me sincerely grateful she made the effort.

Eva waves to someone coming up the walk behind us and Lydia takes my hand, pulling me through the front door. We make our way into the great room, my wife greeting my coworkers and their significant others like she’s actually excited to see them again. Maybe she is. That, or she deserves an Oscar for her effort. She remembers names I struggle with, asks them about kids, vacations, and illnesses that weren’t even on my radar, and every one of them lights up when they see her. We’ve been struggling so much with each other at home, I’d nearly forgotten how fantastic she is with other people. I manage some minimum discourse, but everyone’s so happy to talk to Lydia, I mostly stand back and let them.

“You’re the one who owns the doggie daycare, aren’t you?” A woman from HR says, draining her champagne flute. Dog owners especially love talking to my wife. “I wish your place was closer. I need a more convenient daycare on my way to and from work.”

“Actually, we’re opening a new location pretty close to the Vesper office,” Lydia says.

“Are you really?” The woman’s eyebrows pop up. “When?”

Lydia bites her lip. I expect her to start gushing about the upcoming launch. Instead, she looks uncertain. “Still waiting on a firm date from my contractor, but we’re hoping to have our grand opening by the end of June or maybe July.”

July? I try to catch her eye, but she looks away. Last I heard, the new branch was supposed to be underway by spring. There was some kind of end in sight. July is months away.

“Another business? Will that make three now?” Carl Wallace joins the conversation, greeting Lydia with a friendly hug. I straighten, smoothing my hair into place. My boss is a big Black man just starting to gray at the temples, with sharp eyes and a warm, booming voice. My wife beams and leans into the hug. And that’s when I remember he and Eva have their wheaten terrier groomed at Ooh La Pooch. No wonder Lydia was so willing to come tonight. “Your wife’s productivity puts us all to shame, Anton.”

I shrug, putting on a practiced smile. “She either has to keep growing the business or turn people away. I’m just going to watch her take over the world.”

Lydia meets my eyes as everyone chuckles. She’s heard me say some rendition of this line before. It’s my go-to endorsement of her as a business owner, but some layer of bitterness might have slipped into my tone.

“I’d love to know more about this dog stuff. It sounds so fun,” a woman says, coming up behind Carl. I swallow when I see it’s Myra Alvarez, owner of the accounts I’m hoping to be put in charge of.

“Lydia, this is my friend Myra, one of our clients and a very good friend.” Carl smiles broadly. “Myra, this is Lydia Richie, Anton’s wife, the multi-entrepreneur.”

“I didn’t realize Anton was married.” Myra glances at me and winks, turning back to Lydia. “Your husband is such a charmer. And so knowledgeable. Now, tell me about your favorite dog breeds. I’m considering getting a new pooch.”

I stand by, watching Lydia hit it off with my potential client while I try to think of something to say that isn’t about finance. They discuss dog temperament, security versus companionship, and are just getting into a back-and-forth about breed size when Eva comes over, spurring a lively discussion about whether hypoallergenic dogs are a real thing. I listen for a while, grateful for the way Lydia shines in the spotlight, but when it becomes clear no one is in a hurry to discuss accounts, I excuse myself to find a drink.

Caterers are wandering around with trays of champagne, but my head is starting to throb so I roam toward the back of the house, looking for a plain bottle of water. Eventually, I stumble upon Carl and Eva’s enormous kitchen. It’s the kind that looks like it was designed for a professional chef, but judging by the way everything sparkles like it’s brand new, I suspect they mostly order takeout.

The only drinks in the fridge are sodas and champagne, so I reach for the pantry door, confident I’ve seen Eva carrying around Vitamin Water or something like it before. But when I pull it open, I’m startled to find a couple inside—a woman with light brown skin in a short yellow dress and a white guy with his hand snaked under the hem, gripping her ass. They’re locked at the lips, and he issues a low groan as her hand twists in his hair.

“Oh.” I clear my throat. “Sorry, excuse me.”

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