Page 20 of Howling Mad
They look good together.A perfect match, aesthetically.My stomach twists uncomfortably.
I sidle toward a large decorative planter shaped vaguely like a cherub with a bow.It’s tacky but offers excellent cover.Crouching behind it, I adjust my position to keep them in view through the artificial foliage.This is fine.This is normal.This is what dedicated matchmakers do.
I’m definitely getting fired if anyone catches me.
They appear to be conversing smoothly, Talia’s animated gestures contrasting with Michael’s more reserved demeanor.She laughs at something he says, tossing her hair in a practiced motion.He smiles politely but doesn’t lean in closer.
Not a disaster but not fireworks, either.I squint through the leaves, trying to assess their chemistry.
“Finley?”
I freeze at the sound of my name, loud enough to make nearby diners turn.
“Fancy seeing you here.On the floor.Behind a plant.Inside a fancy restaurant.”
I whip around to find Penelope standing there, her arms crossed, wearing the expression of someone who’s just discovered Christmas came early.My face burns as I frantically gesture for her to be quiet, which has roughly the same effect as asking water not to be wet.
“What asurpriserunning into you!”She practically shouts it.
I scramble to stand, but my scarf catches on a branch of the artificial plant.I tug it free, causing the entire massive planter to wobble dangerously.I freeze, watching in horror as it teeters, tilts… And crashes to the floor with a deafening thud.
The entire restaurant falls silent.The jazz trio stops mid-note as dozens of heads swivel toward the commotion, including—oh, moon, help me—Michael and Talia.I stand there, covered in fake leaves and potting soil, one arm still tangled in my scarf, with my sunglasses hanging askew from one ear.A plastic cherub’s arrow has somehow become lodged in my sweater, pointing accusingly at my chest.
“I-I was just…” I stammer, brushing dirt from my clothes.“Random quality check.Very standard procedure at Romance Expected.”
The hostess rushes over, horror painting her features.Talia rises from her seat, recognition dawning on her face as she looks from me to Michael.
“You’re kidding,” she says loudly enough for half the restaurant to hear.“Our matchmaker is spying on us?”
Michael stands, too, his expression unreadable.I want to dissolve into the potting soil at my feet.
“This is beyond unprofessional.”Talia’s voice carries across the hushed restaurant.She turns to Michael, her eyes narrowing.“And you!You’re just standing there like a statue instead of reacting or doing something.Is this why you can’t find a mate?No wonder your father says you lack proper wolf instincts.”
My embarrassment vanishes, replaced by a surge of protective fury.“That’s enough.”
Talia blinks, clearly not expecting resistance.“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”I draw myself up to my full height, ignoring the twig still stuck in my hair.“Michael deserves respect, not public humiliation, and your attitude about what makes aproper wolfis exactly the kind of narrow-minded garbage we reject at Romance Expected.”
The restaurant is so quiet, one could hear a pin drop.Waiters freeze mid-step, diners gape, and the jazz pianist accidentally hits a discordant note.
Talia’s eyes widen and then narrow to slits.“Who do you think…”
“Your membership is terminated, effective immediately.”The words fly out before I can stop them.“We don’t tolerate clients who belittle others, especially over outdated stereotypes about what wolves should be.”
The corner of Michael’s mouth twitches upward, so briefly, I might have imagined it.
Talia sputters, flushing with anger.“You can’t do that.”
“I just did.”My heart hammers against my ribs, but I stand firm.“Enjoy the rest of your evening.Or don’t.”
Talia grabs her purse, knocking into a waiter who scrambles to save his tray of cocktails.With a final withering glare at both Michael and me, she storms out, leaving a wake of stunned silence.
I turn to Michael, mortification flooding back now that my righteous anger is subsiding.“I’m sorry for disrupting your evening.”
He studies me for a long moment, those storm-gray eyes unreadable.Then, with deliberate calm, he places some bills on the table and nods politely to the manager.Without a word, he walks past me and out the door.
My heart sinks to my toes.I’ve ruined everything.His date, my professional credibility, and probably my job.I trudge outside, avoiding the stares of the other diners and the manager who’s frantically directing staff to clean up the toppled planter.
