Page 18 of Miss Matched

Zac

LookingaroundKennedy’soffice, I’m drawn to the wall of happy couples, wondering how many of them believe they actually found love.

How many are for show.

How many are already divorced.

Not that I doubt Kennedy’s abilities, but, like she said, love is a lot more complicated than shooting a few arrows. Yet here I am, putting myself in the line of fire.

Pretending to be Kennedy’s new client didn’t sound like a bad idea. Not until that shaggy blonde guard dog glared at me, looking like a fuse in his head was about to blow. But I’ve dealt with worse. Sharks in the water, out for blood. And I’m desperate enough to go swimming.

Click. Click. Click.

Kennedy’s heels announce her before the door opens, small-but-quick strides getting louder upon her approach. Each step ticks like a countdown to the moment of truth. Settling down has never been in the cards for me. Wasting my life tied down by marriage and a family? No, thank you.

Ever since I was a kid, my heart was set on building an empire. Establishing clear goals for business, focusing on how to make money and change the world. After all, the rich guys are the ones with the huge houses and the hottest women. And I wanted spectacular, not ordinary.

Eyes from the photos stare at me, making my neck itch at the collar. Getting married. Being a husband. Answering to someone. I’ve made enough bad decisions to fill a graveyard. But pretending to be one of them? If my parents are any indicator, I know how it turns out.

The office door opens, and Kennedy’s heels are silenced by the thick carpet.

“Nice to see you again, Mr. Vincent,” she says with an amused grin. Sunglasses shield her eyes even though it’s overcast.

A delicious coconut scent follows her as she circles around to her desk, and I quickly realize my memory of her didn’t do justice. She’s casual compared to Friday night, but sill heart-stoppingly gorgeous. Silky waves of hair frame her heart-shaped face. A white blouse with two buttons popped at the top reveals a cluster of gold chains that trail from her neck to places I can only dream of going. Dress slacks draw out the length in her endless legs.

This is work Kennedy, slightly different from the version I met over the weekend. Her relaxed demeanor has been replaced by stiff shoulders and a cordial smile.

The picture of professional. And drop-dead gorgeous.

Kennedy pauses before sitting, like she’s waiting to see if I’ll stand to greet her. If it weren’t for the growing bulge in my pants, I would. But apparently one head has given way to the other, so I stay put.

Slipping off her sunglasses, a curious expression crosses her face. Her eyes rake over me as she drops a stack of papers on her desk and sits down. It’s like she’s deciding my fate, and I’m not sure which way the scale is going to tip.

“Let me guess, damage control?” she says with a piercing stare.

“Can’t a man just be looking for love?” I grin, and the faintest hint of pink creeps from her neck up to her cheeks.

She nods, but I know she’s not dumb enough to believe it. A telling tick tugs at the corner of her mouth as she fights a devious smile.

“So, what can I do for Seattle’s sexiest bachelor?”

“Oh, so it’s sexiest now?” I smile. “I’ve been upgraded.”

“I’m quoting the magazine article, don’t get any ideas,” she says with an unapologetic laugh—wild, uninhibited thunder that hits me square in the chest.

What is it about this woman?

“Fair enough.” I cross one ankle over my knee and sit back. “As you’re well aware, I’ve had a little bit of bad press lately. The board thinks it would be a good idea to tone it down. For the sake of the company, of course.”

“Of course.” She nods.

“I figured a woman who can tame the Chads of the world must be a miracle worker, so—”

“You need a miracle?”

“So I’ve been told.”

Deep down, I want her to assure me I’m not a disaster. That I don’t really need a miracle. That I’m not a Chad, or any of her other clients. But she mulls over my request with no reaction on her face, and it sinks my gut just a little.

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