Page 92 of The Matchmaker

Kaur.

A wisp of a memory flutters.

“Borzu,” I say slowly. “Can you pull up the file with our denial letters?”

He clicks open the folder. There are likely thousands of rejection letters in here. Leaning over, I typeKaurinto the search bar.

There she is.

“Simran Kaur—she was a potential client,” I say. “I remember now. She called constantly and wanted matches in a certain income bracket. We declined her application.”

“So that explains her wanting to smear us,” says Borzu.

“I don’t understand,” says Logan.

“She didn’t get what she wanted,” I say. “So she decided to get even with us by tarnishing the agency’s reputation.”

Taking in Logan’s skeptical expression, Borzu explains, “People don’t take kindly to rejection. That’s why our online reviews are a mess.”

I type inJenny Ho. ThenJohn Schaeffer.Sure enough, they’re in the database too. Why didn’t they show up when we searched before?

“There you go,” Borzu says. “Looks like these folks joined forces in an attempt to bring the agency down.”

“I really don’t think that’s what they’re after,” Logan insists.

“They all have the same motive. I don’t know how they coordinated their efforts, but we can figure that out soon enough,” says Borzu.

I bite my lip. I wouldn’t put it past anyone to join forces to mess with my business or smear me personally, but could theyhave been so angry I refused to match them that they’d try to kill me? I trace my hand over the agreement. Studying it. Then I lean closer.

“Wait,” I say. “This…this isn’t our current agreement. I mean, it is, but this double comma here on the first line—we caught this typo after we printed out a box full of them. Back before Borzu switched us to electronic files only.”

I point to the first sentence.

This agreement is between Piyar matchmaking agency and _____­_____­ on the date of _____­_____­___ ___,, 20___.

“I saw the two commas as soon as I unpacked the boxes from the print shop,” I say. “I was kicking myself. Darcy made fun of me for asking her to shred them over one small error.”

Darcy.

“Do you think she forgot to shred them?” Borzu asks.

Blood pounds in my ears. That’s it. It’s the only explanation. Itisthe reception desk—up front and accessible to anyone who steps inside. Maybe she’d left a few stray templates on her desk. Maybe someone came by and saw one. Snatched it. Thathasto be it. Because if that’s not what happened…

Stop,I tell myself.Don’t go down that road. She would never…

But I have to know.

I hurry to her desk. Yank open the drawers. Each one contains neatly organized rows of thank-you cards and wedding invitations. There’s nothing there. Of course not. There wouldn’t have been.

“I went through everything here already,” says Borzu. “Eventhat nightmare of a closet by the bathroom. I would’ve noticed a box full of blank contracts.”

My eyes land on the planter in the corner of the office. The overgrown fern that Darcy gifted the agency years ago. It’s set atop a tall stand draped in creamy damask satin. Except it’s not a stand. It’s a filing cabinet. A holdover from Khala’s agency days, when filing cabinets lined the entire wall of our former cramped basement office. I’d kept this one for sentimental reasons. I’d forgotten all about it.

I hurry over. Pulling back the satin, I give each metal handle a firm yank. They’re locked. Every single drawer. Were they locked before? I don’t know what I expect to find in here, but I know I need to get into this filing cabinet. Now.

“I need a key.” My voice wavers. “Where am I going to find a key for this ancient thing?”

“I can get you in there without one,” Fiona says. She grabs a paper clip from Borzu’s desk and unwinds it with one long twist, not so much as scraping her red fingernails. “These are old-school—doesn’t take much to get them to open.”

---