Page 1 of Perfect (mis)Match

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PIPER

Iabsolutelyhateddriving, yet here I was, sausaged in my roommate’s grandmother’s barely touched Toyota, gripping the wheel with sweaty palms as I navigated Manhattan’s morning rush.

I was a dedicated subway girlie, but my latest photography gig—product shots for a new bro-centric energy drink start-up that had names like Thunderball Throat Crusher and Ballistic Tea Bagger—left me no choice.

They couldn’t afford to rent a studio space for the shoot, so I, a freelancer desperate for work, had agreed to cart my backdrop and lighting rig to their office.

I started doubting my judgment by the time I finally navigated into the subterranean garage beneath their office. They had promised I wouldn’t have any trouble finding a parking space, but they hadn’t mentioned that the driving lane in the garage was so ridiculously tight I could barely turn the corners as I descended deeper under the city streets.

I kept telling myself I was a good driver, that I wasn’t going to accidentally nick that Mercedes hanging too far out or scrape one of the massive cement support pillars as I crawled by. I needed to find a damn parking spotnow, before my latent claustrophobia got the best of me.

I sighed in frustration. What the hell was I doing with my life? Why had I agreed to play pack mule for an entire studio’s worth of equipment to a shoot that barely paid for my gas?

Desperation. That was why. I had a dream and the drive, all that was missing were the dollars.

After spiraling down what felt like a dozen levels, I finally spied an open spot, mercifully right next to the elevator. There was a red sportscar idling beyond it that looked like it had just pulled out. Score! My day was looking up.

But maybe it was too good to be true? I quickly scanned the wall for a handicap parking sign or anything that would suggest the space was reserved, but there was nothing.

Yup. Lady Luck was finally smiling on me.

I cranked the wheel to make the ninety-degree turn only to get an air raid blast of a horn from the red car. Huh? The space was clearly open for the taking, and that’s exactly what I was doing. I eased closer, trying not to clip the parked cars on either side, not realizing the red car was backing up at the same time, until?—

Crash!

I gasped in shock at the impact. The asshole actually hit me!

A figure got out of the car slowly, and based on his rigid vibe, he knew he’d fucked up. He inspected his car, and the furrows in his forehead etched deeper. A frown, a jaw clench…yeah, he waspissed. He met my gaze through the windshield, narrowing his eyes and—hold on, was he mad atme?

The main thought in my head was how someone so gigantic could fold himself into a car so tiny. It had to be a case of little car, big…attitude. He finally made his way over to my window, and I braced for a second impact.

“Do you not haveeyes?” he growled at me, like he was barely containing his fury. “I was literallyrightthere, and you drove right into me. What the fuckingfuck? I’ll have you know this is a Bugatti Chiron.”

Oh absolutely not. There was no way I was going to take his revisionist history. I fumbled with the door handle, reducing the dramatic effect of the angry beatdown I was about to deliver, and finally managed to stumble out of the car.

Once I was toe to toe with him, I had to pretend I didn’t get a little shiver from his bright blue eyes boring into mine. The man looked like one of those sexy villains you knew you were supposed to hate but couldn’t resist, all cheekbones and hard jawline. He was in head-to-toe black, like a hate-fuckable Beelzebub. Which, on any other day, would’ve beenhellamy type, but he ruined the effect by being such a gigantic dick. So rather than drooling over that face and body the way I normally would, I was foaming at the mouth with fury. I’d promised to be careful with the car, and now this demon in a black suit had ruined everything.

And made me late.

“Uh, look again, Satan.Youhitme,” I insisted, pointing at the cars to underscore what I knew for a fact. “You saw me pulling in!”

“Intomyspot,” he said as he pointed at the wall while still staring at me. “And I absolutely did not see you because I never assumed anyone would be stupid enough to take my spot.”

I glanced to where he was pointing. “I’m sorry, can you show me exactly where it says ‘asshole only’ parking? Or do you expect people to be psychic and just magically know that Mr. Big Stuff likes to park here?”

He opened his mouth to seethe at me again and froze.

“Where’s my goddamned sign?”

I walked closer to where the two cars were crunched together. “The sign that you need driving lessons? Right here.” I pointed to the destroyed bumper.

He blew out an angry breath. “This is my private parking spot. I own it.”

“Ha! You mightthinkyour fancy car gives you special privileges, but that doesn’t mean this little bit of cement actually belongs to you.”

“This little bit…” I was finally getting to him. “I’ll have you know I own this entire fucking building.”

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