Page 1 of My Mismatched Valentine

CHAPTER 1

Maggie

“I’m going to kill him.”

The words are hot on my lips, my fists balled above the keyboard as I glare at the offensive image on the laptop screen. IknewI recognized Dustin. I fucking knew it.

Weeks ago, when I was sorting through matchmaking applications for my Valentine’s themed comeback event, I kept returning to his submitted photo. He seemed familiar, but I couldn’t pinpoint why.

I hold up the paper file I’ve compiled on Bachelor Number Seven, comparing the photos. The picture he submitted seems to suggest a small town, easy-going, rugged, outdoorsy family man. The man staring back at me from the computer screen is polished, clean-cut probably allergic to dirt under his fingernails. He’s obviously a world-traveled, business professional.

But not justanybusiness professional.

He’s the heir toWilde Luxury Log Cabins.

Dustin Wilde—not Williams as he put on his application—is worth billions.

Unless he has a twin he never mentioned on the extensive questionnaire he submitted—doubtful—he lied.

I press both palms into my cheeks, groaning in frustration.

What a fucking dilemma.

Less than three hours ago, everything was going perfectly for my holiday-themed matchmaking event. Eight out of eight couples in love? That had to be a record in this industry.

Less than two and a half hours ago, Marjorie Collins, head writer for the Ever After Review, was following me around like a doting puppy. She couldn’t get enough of all the romantic details. The woman was eating up all the romance my couples were oozing into the air. Her article, at least the bits she kept muttering as she scribbled, promised to revive my reputation as the best matchmaker on the West Coast. The headline was shimmering like a banner over my future success:Famous Matchmaker, Maggie Parsons, Knocks Valentine’s Day Out of the Park!

There was only one snag.

DustinWilliamsdidn’t show up for the candlelit dinner on Day One. I thought he might’ve changed his mind and was too chicken to tell me. Why else would my seventeen phone calls and nine emails go completely unanswered? Either that or he was dead, and by the time I made my decision, I really didn’t care which. I was desperate.

So, I begged my brother to fill in as Bachelor Number Seven. The whole event was based around couples meeting as blind dates. In three days, they’d go their separate ways and never see each other again. No one would ever know I made the switch. No harm, no foul. Right?

To my complete surprise, Kash fell madly in love with the woman I’d matched to Dustin. And judging by the stars I saw in Charlotte’s eyes this morning, she feels the same way about my brother. I didn’t feel an ounce of guilt for the sly switch-aroo until no-show Bachelor Number Seven unceremoniously arrivedatThe Caribou Creek Lodge,crashing the private breakfast I’d arranged for the couples’ final morning.

Ms. Collins stood on the outskirts as the drama unfolded, eating up every salacious detail. The reporter’s pen only paused long enough for her to snap a couple pics of Charlotte’s tear-stained face.

And the gnarly feeling in the pit of my stomach hasn’t let up since. I fish a bottle of antacids out of my desk drawer and crunch a couple down with a swallow of tepid coffee.

Okay, in hindsight, maybe I should’ve been honest with Charlotte about the substitute from the beginning. At least it would’ve spared her some trauma when Dustin showed up and surprised us all.

I sigh, kneading my temples as I try to sort through this mess. I need to prioritize. What to do first? Charlotte? Apologize again? No. I think she needs a moment to process. I know she’s upset, but I suspect it won’t take her long to realize that Kash is her forever person. I’m convinced she ended up with the man she was always meant to find: my brother.

That thought alone doesn’t kill the nerves churning in my belly. Right. The article. Should I talk to Marjorie? I have no idea what she’s going to do with her piece now that it’s morphed from cover story to exposé. Her words could be the revival of my dead career. Or the end of it.

But her article isn’t the biggest concern I have.

I actually feltbadfor Dustin.

He’d been stranded in another country by a bad storm that took out power and cell towers. He had no way of letting me know why he was delayed. And when he showed up, he ran right into the discovery that I’d given away his perfect match to someone else.

Not perfect. Not with all the lies on his application.

I slam my laptop closed, grab the teal personnel file I’ve compiled on Dustin, and yank my car keys off the small table beside my front door. Karl, my orange tabby, lifts his head from his perch on the back of my couch. He pretends he’s not a sucker for the jingle, but he’s not fooling anyone. “I’ll be back, bud. Try to stay out of trouble when I’m gone, mkay?” His smug, indifference suggests he couldn’t possibly be bothered togetinto trouble. Tell that to the car keys I found under the fridge last week.

I’m due to meet Dustin for a late lunch to discuss howIcan make this misunderstanding up to him. I had every intention of finding him a match from the hundreds of submissions I still had in my possession. Hell, I was willing to scour Caribou Creek and convince the single women in this small mountainside town to throw their name in the hat if I had to. His match could be right down the block.

I wanted to make things right.

---