Page 40 of Miss Matched

“He did me and Monica a favor getting us in tonight on short notice.” Kennedy crosses her arms over her chest and faces me. “I didn’t realize he’d be here. Trust me, if I had, I would have avoided his single-minded ass. And I don’t appreciate what you’re insinuating. Chad’s a client.”

“Like me,” I point out.

She pulls back like it stung. “I’ve got my hands full enough already. I don’t need you bailing on your dates, partying around town, and adding to it.”

“It’s just a guys night. Nothing else.”

“Noted,” she says through gritted teeth.

I’m not sure when I crossed my arms over my chest to match her, but I realize I have.

She changes the subject. “How did it go last night with Chandry?”

It hasn’t taken me long to learn a little bit about Kennedy’s defense mechanisms. She uses work as a means of deflection. Any time things get serious or complicated, she shifts into Ms. Professional and uses it against me, reminding me I’m just her client. As if that isn’t already crystal clear.

“Fine.”

“Fine?” she repeats.

I shrug and try to bury my smile because I want to be mad at Kennedy for shutting me out, but she looks so fucking adorable when she’s irritated and flustered.

She waves a hand in a circle between us. “Fine how?”

“She ate more than just a salad, which I appreciate.” I’m so sick of women who live off dry lettuce. “But there won’t be another date. I’m not into that sort of thing.”

That gets her attention. “What sort of thing?”

“Furry fetishes.”

Her eyes get wider than I’ve ever seen them, and it makes me want to take her to my bed with that same amazement.

“Furries, as in—”

“Fluffy costume sex.”

She chokes on a breath. “How does that even come up in conversation?”

“Apparently your suggestion that I start talking about deal-breakers over dinner had unforeseen consequences.”

Kennedy shivers. “Yikes. I’ll note it her file so we pair her accordingly next time. Sorry about that.”

“She was nice.” I shrug. “And it did keep the conversation interesting.”

She laughs, and I inch closer, like there’s no option for my body but to draw toward that magnetic sound. A buzz in my pocket pulls me back.

I find a text from one of the board members with a link to an article and a thumbs-up.

Match Made in Billionaire Heaven! Who will snag Zac Vincent’s heart?

“Everything okay?” Kennedy asks.

I turn my phone her direction so she can read the screen. There’s a picture of Samantha and I outside a restaurant, looking cozy. The article details a night of dinner, wine, and footsie under the table. They remember an awful lot for me not noticing they were there.

“Guess our plan is working,” she says, a hint of something I can’t place in her tone.

The media is already speculating who Kennedy will set me up with, guessing everything from proposal time frames to what the china at our wedding will look like.

Another piece falls into place.

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