Page 17 of Miss Matched

Racine avoids my eyes.

“Racy, don’t be like me, playing matchmaker while forgetting to just play. Get out. Date. Have fun.”

“I know, I know.” Racine shakes her head, but I don’t think anything is getting through. Her eyes land briefly on Sam’s office before she smacks a palm on her head like she’s trying to kick out a thought.

“How was girls night?” She changes the subject.

“The perfect escape. That’s why I keep bugging you to join us.” I poke her on the arm.

“I don’t think Luce really likes me.”

“Luce is Luce. She doesn’t act like she likes anyone. Trust me, if she didn’t like you, we would all know about it. She’s not exactly subtle.”

Racine nods, but it contradicts the pucker on her face. It’s hard to be reassuring when it comes to Luce. She’s a great friend, but no doubt intimidating to anyone who doesn’t know her. I’m not sure if it’s because she grew up surrounded by men, or if it’s that she’s more comfortable arguing on the courtroom floor than making nice conversation with a new person, but she doesn’t open up without lots of history with someone or a lot of vodka.

“Kenz,” Sam says in a hushed voice as he hurries over to us. “When were you going to tell me we had a new client? I don’t have any of the paperwork ready. My computer is still running like shit. IT can’t figure out what’s going on with it. And before you ask, no, I’m not downloading porn at work. But that’s beside the point. Also, I can barely keep track of the douche patrol we’re still coordinating dates for. I’m going to need a month off to make up for this overtime—”

I cut him off. “Sam, breathe.” Both of my assistants are burned out, and it’s not a good sign. “What are you talking about? I haven’t taken on any new clients since Martin.”

Sam pauses, looking over his shoulder to my closed office door and then back to me.

“What’s going on, Sam?”

“He said you spoke Friday.”

“Friday?”

It’s as if my tongue suddenly swells in my mouth, making it harder to breathe. We might have talked about work, and, yes, he knew the name of my company, but that was the extent of our conversation. After all, if anyone can get a date without my help, it’s him.

“Who, Sam?” I ask, already knowing the answer but dreading it anyway.

“Zac Vincent.” He says it like he can’t believe it himself.

Racine gasps beside me.

“Geez, Racy, try not to come at the mention of him.” Sam crosses his arms over his chest.

Racine’s mouth falls open in surprise, but she quickly recovers with a frown.

“Jealous?” she says in a cool tone before spinning to walk to her desk.

Sam stands frozen in place with a hardened expression.

“I don’t know what that was, but I hope you know we’re circling back to this later,” I tell him.

“It’s nothing,” he says, but I’m not buying it. “Besides, what’s with Mr. Hotshot? I thought we were maxed until one of our über-douches fell in love.”

“We were—I mean, we are,” I say, tilting my head back and taking in a deep breath. “I met him Friday night, okay, outside the mixer.”

“And it just slipped your mind?” Sam’s eyebrow lifts.

“There was nothing worth mentioning,” I say. “I’d just reigned in Chad, and I stopped by the bar for a quick drink, like I said.”

“And you ran into the richest man in the city—scratch that, the country.”

“That too.” He isn’t letting it go, but this is Sam. “We said hello, made pleasantries, and that was it.”

Sam nods. “So he’s not a new client? Because he says differently.”

Wonderful. I don’t need this right now, especially with a hangover. I’m in the middle of trying to clean up my own PR mess after Paul went to the press to smear my company’s name, and Zac Vincent is no doubt going to try to use me to sweep up his problems. When did being cupid get so damn difficult?

“I’ll take care of him,” I say.

Sam smirks as I brush past. “Oh, I have no doubt about that, Kenz.”

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