Page 3 of My Mismatched Valentine

“I’ll take a stack of banana pancakes,” Maggie orders without consulting the menu. Her hand hasn’t lifted from the bright teal folder since the moment she slapped it on the table. She clenches one side, showcasing manicured, polished nails. They’re the same deep shade of red that I remember from the night I met her. Only then, they were curled around a glass of wine. “With strawberries and whipped cream on top.”

Fuck me.

I’m clearing my throat when the server turns to me. Not my fucking fault that I immediately picture Maggie covered in whipped cream as I feed her chocolate covered strawberries. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

Our server chokes on a laugh but, admirably, doesn’t lift her eyes from the notepad. “Got it,” she promises and beats a hasty retreat.

“I’m waiting, Mr.Wilde.”

I’ve always hated formalities. I understand why they exist and respect them, but they feel so impersonal. The night we first met, we dismissed formalities immediately. They had no place in our conversation. If Maggie hadn’t been so utterly devastated bya fresh heartbreak, I dare say that decision would’ve followed us into the bedroom. I’d give damn near anything to hear her call out my name in a raspy, dripping-with-pleasure voice as I show her a euphoria she never knew existed. “Please, call me Dustin.”

Maggie lets out a heavy exhale, leveling me with her scariest glare yet. “I don’t have time for liars, Mr. Wilde. I certainly don’t have any interest inhelpingone. Give me one good reason I shouldn’t get up from this table right now.”

“Banana pancakes.”

“To go boxes,” she fires back, reaching for the coat tucked into her booth. I’m certain it’s a bluff as she doesn’t actually move to put it on. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

“You’d hate to miss out on my delightful company.” I flash her the smile that once caused her to blush and drop her head onto my shoulder. I’ve never forgotten the floral scent that invaded my senses. I’ve searched the world trying to figure out the perfume she wore that night.

“Delightful is hardly the word I’d choose.” She shoves an arm into one sleeve of her coat, causing my pulse to double.Not a bluff.After all this time, I’m not ready for Maggie to storm out of my life after only a few minutes together. Not like this.

“The truth is I didn’t want anyone to know I had money, Ms. Parsons. People look at you differently if they know your net worth. Surely you understand that?” My words have the desired effect. Maggie slides the arm of her coat off and shoves it aside, in time for the arrival of our breakfast-for-lunch meals to be delivered to the table.

“You’re not supposed to lie to your matchmaker,” Maggie says once our server leaves. She stabs her fork into the stack, right through the center of a strawberry. “That makes my job a lot harder. I require complete transparency, Mr. Wilde.”

“I didn’t want to marry someone who only saw dollar signs.”

The fork she holds hovers above her plate. A strawberry teeters and rolls off, dropping back onto her plate. “You do know this was simply a dating event, right? Ablinddate event at that.” Her gaze flickers across the table, meeting mine. “I made no promises or guarantees about marriage.”

“I understand that.” If it were up to me, I wouldn’t be in such a rush to find a bride. I’ve never been the type to make rash, impulsive decisions. But my head has been stuck inside a foggy cloud of grief over losing both my parents in the same tragic accident a little over a year ago to the day. I lost sight of so much during that time. Hell, if it weren’t for my faithful assistant Jerry, I wouldn’t have known what was going on in my checked-out state. None of that matters, though, because now the clock is ticking like a bomb.

The future ofWilde Luxury Log Cabinsidiotically relies on my finding a wife.

Awesome fucking clause, Dad.

“Why would you even toss your name in the hat?” Maggie asks between bites, licking her lips to recover traces of whipped cream. As grave as this situation is, it doesn’t stop my overactive imagination from picturing those lips wrapped around my whipped cream covered cock. In all my years on this earth, I’ve never once brought dessert into the bedroom. But it’s all I can think about now.With Maggie. “If you really are searching for a wife—and believe me, the jury is still out on that one—why not hire someone to find one for you? You certainly have the resources to do so.”

“Because you’re the best at what you do, Ms. Parsons.”

“Flattery isn’t going to help your case.”

“You’re the only one I trust.” I cut into my stack of pancakes and spear a bite with my fork. “And I’m almost out of time.”

Maggie stills, her stern expression softening. “Please tell me you’re not dying,” she whispers.

“I’m not dying.”

Her relief is evident in the way her shoulders drop. Admittedly, I’m a little touched though I probably have no right to be. “Then what’s the rush?”

“I need to marry by February fourteenth, or I lose control of my family’s business.” My throat tightens as I imagine the cock sucker Martin Sloan erasing all traces of what my family imbued intoWilde Luxury Log Cabins. If only I’d opened my fucking eyes and realized what he was up to sooner, I wouldn’t be in this desperate situation.

“You’re unbelievable,” Maggie hisses, tossing her fork onto her nearly full plate and reaching for her coat again. “Why in the hell would I help you?”

My pulse grows erratic. I have no other choice but to pull out the only ace up my sleeve. I lift my phone from my shirt pocket, unlock the screen to the article I last pulled up, and slide it across the table. With the way Maggie’s eyes double in size, I’m certain this is the first she’s seen of the horrific write up about her event. “Because I can help you fixthis.”

CHAPTER 3

Maggie

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