Page 2 of Sly Like a Fox
Her friend had “accidentally” left the card on the counter, so I’d swooped by and picked it up on my way out the door after finishing my cheap Americano.
I flip over the card again now.Specialized matchmaking for unique shifters who don’t fit traditional molds.The tagline makes me snort.If fox shifters don’t fit traditional molds, I’m the poster child for nonconformity.What have I got to lose?A quick call yields me an immediate appointment.
The walk to Romance Expected takes twenty minutes through downtown traffic, because no way can I afford a cab.I practice my sob story the entire way, perfecting the right balance of vulnerability and strength.My fox instincts make it difficult to appear genuinely helpless rather than calculating, but I’ve had years of practice.
The building’s wedged between a nail salon and a ramen shop, which seems like the universe mocking my current diet.A modest sign in swirling script beckons from the glass door.I climb the narrow stairs, trying to calm the flutter in my stomach.This has to work.I’m running out of options.
The waiting room surprises me with its welcomeness.The walls are painted a cheerful red, adorned with floral patterns, while a small table holds a neat stack of magazines about shifter culture and relationships.A tall shelf displays Polaroid photos of smiling couples in cheap but colorful heart-decorated frames.Some look like awkward prom pictures, but they’re all genuinely happy.
I study the photos while waiting.A massive bear shifter stands with his arms wrapped around a tiny hummingbird shifter.A serious-looking wolf woman poses next to a grinning golden retriever shifter.Each couple appears mismatched by traditional standards, yet they exude a sense of contentment and joy.
Maybe there’s hope for me after all.
“Hello, there.Give me just a second.”
The voice comes from behind the front desk before a woman emerges with a wide smile.She’s about my height with vibrant auburn hair styled in a sleek bob.The subtle markings around her eyes remind me of red panda coloring, and her bold red kaftan accentuates both the room’s color theme and her curvy frame.
“You must be here about our services.I’m Regina Carrington, but everyone calls me Red.”
Her smile seems genuine.“I’m Jenna Johnson.”I smooth my jacket nervously.“I called earlier about a consultation?”
“Of course.Let’s chat in my office.”
I follow her down a short hallway, automatically cataloging escape routes and noting the security camera in the corner.Just a precaution from my years of…experiences.Her office explodes with color.A shelf behind her desk is overflowing with red panda figurines along with a bulletin board covered in more successful match photos labeled with names and dates.
“Have a seat.”She gestures to a comfortable armchair.The scent of vanilla and something faintly fruity wafts around me, likely her perfume.“So, tell me what brings you to Romance Expected.”
I settle into the chair and launch into my prepared speech.“I’m having trouble finding compatible partners through traditional dating methods.I’ve heard wonderful things about your success with unusual shifters, and I thought—”
“Hold up.”Red raises a hand, her eyes twinkling with amusement.“Let’s skip the rehearsed part and talk about what you really want.”
Heat floods my cheeks.“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“You’ve been practicing that speech.Your scent shifted when you started talking, and your body language is completely different from when you walked in.”She leans back in her chair.“Fox shifter, right?You’re reading me just as hard as I’m reading you.”
My judiciously constructed mask crumbles.“Is it that obvious?”
“Only to someone who spends all day with shifters trying to be someone they’re not.”Her expression softens.“Let’s try again.What do you really want from a relationship?”
The honest answer sits in my throat like a stone.Financial security.A man who can take care of me so I never have to worry about eviction notices or ramen dinners again.Someone rich enough that I never have to go back to my parents and acknowledge they were right about my “unrealistic expectations.”
Looking at Red’s kind, knowing expression, a different truth spills out.“I want someone who doesn’t immediately assume I’m trying to con them.”The words surprise me with their rawness.“Every time someone finds out I’m a fox shifter, they either expect me to be some master manipulator or they think I’m going to steal their wallet while they’re distracted.”
Red nods thoughtfully.“The stereotypes are frustrating.”
“It’s more than that.I am cunning.I am strategic.Those aren’t character flaws.They’re survival skills.Every guy I’ve dated either wants me to tone it down, or he thinks it’s some kind of sexy game until he realizes I’m actually smarter than him.”
“That threatens them.”
“Exactly.”I lean forward, surprised by how good it feels to say this out loud.“I don’t want to be someone’s pet fox or their exotic conquest.I want a partner who appreciates my mind, not just tolerates it.”
Red’s smile widens.“Now we’re getting somewhere.What about financial stability?Is that important to you?”
I hesitate.Admitting I want a rich boyfriend makes me sound shallow, but lying to a professional matchmaker seems counterproductive.“I’ve been broke my entire adult life,” I say.“I’d like to not worry about money for once.Does that make me a gold digger?”
“It makes you practical.There’s nothing wrong with wanting security.”She pulls out a tablet and starts tapping notes.“Anything else I should know?”
“I have terrible taste in men.”
