Page 87 of Miss Matched

Kennedy

“Youdon’thaveto do this,” Luce reminds me as I pace my office. I’m surprised I haven’t worn a path in the carpet walking in anxious circles over the past few weeks.

Hearts Inc. is bursting at the seams. Clients are flooding in, producers are trying to talk me into a reality television show. I had to hire two additional employees just to get through screenings of new applicants. On top of that, the Singles Ball is this weekend, and if all goes well, we will officially be on the map.

But somehow it still doesn’t feel like enough. Because no matter how busy I am, I find time to think about Zac.

He hasn’t called, hasn’t reached out. His face pops up in my news feed even when I continually block the stories. His body remains a fixture in my dreams.

When I checked in on his dad, we purposely talked around the subject of him. I asked how he was feeling, and he asked about business, dancing around the elephant in the room.

Breathe.

Zac might have plowed a bulldozer through my life, but I’ve survived worse, haven’t I?

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. Every nerve ending is on edge with what I know I need to do to move forward. Officially putting the past in the past. Starting with Zac, and ending with my final PR loose end—Paul.

“I’m ready,” I say with confidence, and I hope Luce buys it.

“Remember, let me do the talking,” she says. “They’re here to settle. This is a good thing.”

“Got it.”

“Kennedy.” Luce holds on to my shoulders. “You’re the toughest woman I know; you’ve got this.”

“High compliments coming from the ice queen.” I smile.

“The highest.” Luce shoots me a devious grin. “Now let’s get this over with and then pump ourselves full of margaritas.”

I nod as she gives my shoulders a final shake before leading me to the conference room.

As I turn the corner, I’m faced with Paul for the first time in six months. He looks much older than I remember. He’s still boyish for his age, with his reddish-brown hair and freckled cheeks, but his facial hair is grown and unkempt, and the lines around his eyes have deepened.

When Paul looks up at me, he’s a defeated version of the man I took on as a client. Eyes that were once lit with hope are now doused.

“Ms. Stevens.” His sharply dressed attorney stands. He shakes Luce’s hand as his eyes rake over her.

“Mr. Roberts.” She smiles.

I take the seat directly across from Paul, unnerved that he hasn’t taken his eyes off of me. They’re fixed on whatever he’s reading on my face.

Paul’s attorney opens a file with a slap, and it makes me jump. I shouldn’t be this nervous. I know we have the upper hand, and they’ve come waving white flags in surrender.

If Paul’s eyes would just let go.

Mr. Roberts slides a piece of paper over to Luce. “Our settlement request,” he says. “We’re here today to apologize for my client’s actions and to assure you that he has no intention of acting upon them further.”

She takes the sheet and skims it.

“This figure”—Mr. Roberts points to a number halfway down the page—“is our offer.”

“I’d like to talk to her alone.” Paul cuts in with the scratchiness of a raw throat.

His attorney leans over to whisper in Paul’s ear, but he’s already shaking his head.

“That’s not possible,” Luce says flatly. “My client could have taken this to court. Instead, she agreed to this meeting. No further accommodations will be made.”

“I’m very sorry,” his attorney says to her with an annoyed grimace toward Paul. He leans in again, but Paul shifts away.

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