Page 2 of My Mismatched Valentine

But a nagging suspicion that something was a little off sent me on a Google search before I could check my database for possible matches. Since the divorce that blindsided me two years, I’ve learned to trust my gut feelings rather than dismiss them out of hand.

DustinWildehas some nerve lying to me. How the hell was I supposed to do my job if he wasn’t being honest about who he was? Even if he’d arrived to the event on time, I wouldn’t have stood a chance. Those two would’ve been like oil and water.

I pull up toRose’s Dinerand spot Dustin at a window booth, sipping on a drink. I narrow my gaze at him, though he doesn’t appear to notice my arrival. I’ve written half a blog in my head about the importance of being honest with your matchmaker thanks to my prime example of what not to do.Ifmy career is still redeemable at this point, I’ll be cranking that baby out tonight and putting it up on my website.

My hands shake as I shove my car door open. I write it off to frustration, ignoring the wicked, whispering voice in my head that seems to be assessing Dustin’s chiseled features. Of course the secret billionaire would be ridiculously attractive. The pompous jerk doesn’t even need a suit to pull it off.

The diner is uncharacteristically empty, even for midafternoon. I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or if I wanted an audience present when I cause a scene. Either way, I’m thankful Marjorie Collins isnotamong the few patrons scattered throughout. I check twice to be sure.

My gaze lands on the corner booth.

Dustin looks up, his lips lifting into a smile that could make most women weak in the knees. I remember its potency from the photo he submitted. A tiny, selfish part of me wanted to keep him all to myself when I first glimpsed a picture of the candidate. From his stubble-dusted cheeks, to the way his hair falls in perfect, slightly windblown waves, it’s not hard to remember why.Get it together, Maggie. You’re here to rip him a new asshole, remember? And you don’tdateclients. Cardinal rule and all that.

“Ms. Parsons, good to see you again.” Dustin has the nerve to stand up from his booth as if he’s some kind of gentleman. I gulp a swallow, quite forgetting that gentlemen don’tlie, as my gaze sweeps over the blue and green flannel shirt whose sleeves are putting up a valiant effort to contain a pair of very muscular arms.

Damn.

It’s hard to picture him in a ten-thousand-dollar suit. He looks comfortable in his small-town lumberjack disguise. He towers over me, my gaze level with the first button of his shirt. It’s fastened. Why in the hell is it fastened? My fingers twitch.

“Can I help you with your coat?” he asks.

“Hey Maggie,” a female voice yanks me back to reality—thank god!I turn my attention briefly toward the kitchen pass through and see Kinley Gray—soon to be Kinley Jacobs—waving. A shiny diamond on her ring finger catches the light, reminding me I need to RSVP to her wedding. It’s a relief to see a friendly face, but I’ll have to catch up with her later. I have a serious matter to address first.

I wave back in time with a casual shift back on my heel, as if my needing a little space has nothing to do with the man standing a little too close. “Sit, Dustin,” I order before unzipping my coat and tossing it onto the booth seat.

He lifts one corner of his mouth, his sparkling eyes suggesting amusement, as he considers my demand. “Right down to business,” he muses, sliding back into his seat. “I like it.”

I ignore my erratic pulse, slap his teal personnel folder on the booth table, and slip into my seat. His attention flicks to the folder now pressed under my palm and an eyebrow ticks up as if he’s mildly curious. I want to strangle him. Or kiss him.

Get a grip, Maggie. What the hell?

I clear my throat and lean over the table. Because I haven’t decided if I want to cause a scene yet or not—and there’s a slim possibility that Marjorie Collins is lurking in the shadows somewhere—I lower my voice. “You lied to me, Mr.Wilde.”

The man doesn’t flinch. Hell, he doesn’t even blink.

He leans forward, sky blue eyes paralyzing me in place, his low tone matching my own. “Yes, Ms. Parsons, I did.”

CHAPTER 2

Dustin

Maggie Parsons sits up straight in the booth seat, those beautiful brown eyes wide. Eyes that have haunted my dreams for nearly two years. “You admit it, then. You lied on your application.”

“Yes.”

She folds both arms over her chest, no doubt unaware what the gesture does to her tits. That fitted red sweater accentuates them plenty on their own, but the squeeze she’s giving them is causing that delicious cleavage to peek through her neck line. I force myself to keep my gaze locked on hers, shoving down the desire to run my tongue through the valley of her breasts. These primal thoughts have no business out in the open.Not yet. Acting like some arrogant playboy is not the way to convince her that she’sthe one.

“So that’s it? No apology?”

“Surely you can understandwhyI lied.” Though I’m playing things cool, my heart pounds against my rib cage. Maggie Parsons is more intimidating than most business associates I’ve dealt with. Certainly more intimidating than the board president ofWilde Luxury Log Cabins. The fucking snake.

I’m going to let Maggie in about my situation, but that doesn’t mean I want her picking up on my desperation.

She leans back into the worn booth cushions, gaze narrowed and laser sharp. “Do explain.”

The woman who waved to Maggie earlier comes over to our table and takes our orders. Giving me a brief reprieve and a tiny ray of hope. At least Maggie didn’t get up and walk out. She’s staying for a meal.Please, I feel myself begging,don’t order an egg-white omelet. Pick something you love. Cause I have one helluva favor to ask.

I was hoping she’d remember me. It’d make things so much simpler. But the fire in her eyes each time they briefly lock with mine promises otherwise.

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