Failure to Match: An Enemies to Lovers Billionaire Matchmaker Romance

We made it.

Barely, but we made it.

And, apparently, so had Imogen. Minerva had invited her tarot reader to our meeting, which meant that Jackson’s theory regarding his own attendance likely wasn’t that far off.

“You’re late,” Minerva said as soon as we were guided into her home office. She was sitting on one side of a square oak table, a purring Harry cradled to her chest. Imogen occupied the seat beside her, shuffling a deck of black cards. She paid us no attention.

We weren’t late, but I wasn’t going to argue with her.

“My fault,” Jackson said as soon as I opened my mouth to apologize. “I was taking care of an urgent work matter and lost track of time.”

My heart did a breathless backflip when he pulled out a chair and gestured for me to sit with a secret wink. I took it with a whispered thank you, warm goo dripping down my chest. He didn’t have to take the blame for me like that.

“Really?” Minerva’s tone was so sharp it was borderline sarcastic. “Because from what I hear, you haven’t been doing much work at all this week.”

Jackson said nothing as he took a seat next to me. My smile died.

That wasn’t information she’d gotten from me.

“Do correct me if I’m wrong, Jamie, but isn’t the whole point of you shadowing him at his office to observe his regular schedule, habits, and interactions?”

“It’s part of it, yes.”

“And? Has he been cooperating?”

I shifted in my chair as I shot a quick glance to my left. Jackson’s expression was blank.

When I didn’t immediately answer her, Minerva said, “Let me rephrase. Has Jackson conducted a single in-person meeting at work over the last week with you in attendance?”

Damn. This wasn’t how I thought this meeting would start.

“No,” I eventually said. “But it’s fine. I’ve been able to gather the information I need to satisfy that dataset regardless.”

Beside her, Imogen’s mouth quirked. She hadn’t said anything—or even looked up—since we’d arrived. She was just sitting there, shuffling and flipping her cards.

“How so?” Minerva asked.

I shrugged. “He’s taken meetings over the phone, and I’ve looked at relevant, publicly available corporate data.” That all counted. “More importantly, I’ve witnessed how he is with his household staff. It’s told me almost everything I need to know about who he is as a boss. I assume most of the data I’d gather from a regular workweek with him would likely be redundant, though I could be wrong.”

I could feel Jackson watching me from the corner of my eye, but I kept my attention fixed on his aunt.

“What corporate data?” she asked curiously.

“Namely turnover rates and other publicly available information pertaining to employee satisfaction with the CEO. The year before Jackson took over the position, Sinclair Group was grappling with a whopping turnover rate of 27 percent, up 1 percent from the previous year. There were reported issues of widespread dissatisfaction among employees regarding management, company culture, and opportunities for internal growth. Eight months after Jackson took over, that number went down to 20 percent. The year he did an in-depth review of the leadership teams within the organization and removed individuals who had an overall negative impact on culture and morale, it dropped to 14 percent. Last year, he managed to bring it down to 8 percent.”

All three of them were looking at me now. Minerva with her thin brows arched all the way up, Imogen with that amused, knowing smirk still toying at the corner of her painted mouth, and Jackson—I wasn’t sure about him, actually. I could feel his eyes on me but that was about it.

I cleared my throat and straightened my spine. “I did initially question his lack of productivity at the office. I couldn’t wrap my head around how the CEO of an investment company this large could hand off all his work for a full month just because he felt a little inconvenienced. However, after learning about the initiatives Jackson has taken to retain talent and prioritize employee well-being and satisfaction, I’d say it’s impressive. Most companies struggle to cover a month of work for their regular employees, let alone the responsibilities of a CEO. Effective delegation of duties and ensuring there are no gaps in workflow when an employee is indisposed are highly valuable skill sets. I don’t think it’s laziness, I think he’s just incredibly good at his job.”

I was starting to sound defensive even to my own ears. The way Minerva had accused Jackson of slacking over the last week made it seem like she was questioning his abilities to lead the company. I may not have seen him actively work, but those numbers didn’t lie.

Her attention slid to Jackson, lingering, assessing. I wondered what she saw that made her brows tick like that. Unless my peripherals were wishful little liars, he hadn’t taken his eyes off me once during my whole speech.

It was a little distracting. I wanted so badly to look at him.

“If I may.” It was Imogen who spoke. Her voice was husky, curious, and surprisingly serene. “What exactly does all of that have to do with finding him a wife?”

Her hands stopped shuffling when a card jumped out of her deck. She flipped it over and placed it next to the one already on the table. A crowned man holding a sword, a crowned woman holding a cup. From where Imogen was sitting, the man was upside down. To me, he was right-side up. Handsome fellow. Great authoritative scowl.

Her mouth twitched again.

I smoothed my palms over my jeans. Something about her secretive amusement was making my stomach squirm. “Jackson is a caretaker at his core and significantly more nurturing than our original data suggested, though I’m not sure he recognizes these qualities within himself.” If he did, then he was actively attempting to hide them from people he didn’t trust. Actions didn’t lie, though. “His first focus as CEO was correcting a culture that had resulted in widespread employee dissatisfaction. His household staff are all extremely well taken care of and most of them have been working for him for well over a decade. That’s all in addition to my own experiences with him over the last week. In my professional opinion, he’s more likely to thrive in a relationship where the quiet nurturing side of him is recognized and appreciated, but not taken advantage of.”

That last part was imperative.

“Your own experiences,” Minerva repeated slowly. I couldn’t tell whether it was a statement or a question.

“That’s correct.”

“Elaborate.”

Imogen was all but laughing to herself now as she flipped card after card, and it was clawing at my confidence. What the hell was so funny? What was she seeing?

“Um…” I blinked away from the table, pulling my thoughts back together. I wasn’t really sure I believed in tarot—or anything occult-related—so her behavior shouldn’t have bothered me so much. “There was an incident last week with some broken glass,” I said, keeping it as vague as possible. “The way Jackson handled the situation, how quick he was to jump in and help, reaffirmed my observations.”

There. A short summary of what had happened without going into any intimate details. Minerva didn’t need to know that he’d carried me out of the room and gently plucked shards of broken glass out of my hair.

My chest squeezed and leaped at the memory, and I had to fight back a smile.

Minerva didn’t look satisfied with the lack of details in my story though, and before she could push for more, I tried to derail her by blurting the first thing that popped into my head. “He’s also significantly more playful than we’d⁠—”

Imogen burst into a throaty laugh, cutting me off. She muttered something to Minerva in a language I didn’t recognize, her voice brimming with pure glee.

I scanned the cards in front of her again, trying to get even a speck of meaning from them. But all I saw were the people in crowns, two dogs howling up at a moon, a young man with a small sack slung over his shoulder, and two gold chalices. There were no labels, no descriptions, no words. I had no idea what any of it meant.

“Keep going,” Minerva said, pulling my attention back to her.

Suddenly, I couldn’t wait for this meeting to end. I wanted out before Imogen saw a whole bunch of things that I didn’t want her to see. How humiliating would it be if the cards showed her all the secret things I wasn’t supposed to be feeling? Oh god, what if she said something?

It wasn’t even a big deal.

Everything was under control.

Just a stupid little crush that would go away in no time.

I cleared my throat again. The sooner I gave Minerva the information she needed, the sooner I could bolt. “All I’m trying to say is that Jackson’s original profile was so heavily flawed that it was actively working against us, which is why we had such a hard time finding him a suitable match. A new one has been set up and will be updated frequently as I gather more data over the upcoming weeks. For now, our focus will be to find someone compatible with what we currently have on file for him and, more importantly, someone who either shares his views on romance and relationships, or is at least open to them.”

Jackson was not going to be happy with someone who believed in fairy tale endings, soulmates, or any of the more idealistic notions of romance and relationships. Forcing him to fall in love was never going to work. He would be much better off with a great friend, a partner in crime that he enjoyed spending time with—someone who shared his beliefs and didn’t hold any long-term expectations that wouldn’t be met.

Jackson marrying someone who did believe in those things would be nothing short of a living nightmare. He was charming, attractive, funny, caring, and so many other secret, wonderful things. It would be so easy for his wife to fall in love with him, and to develop a foolish, desperate hope that one day, if she tried really hard and showed him just how good she could be to him, he’d maybe love her back.

Then their one-year contract would end, and she’d be forced to leave him. Or worse, she’d beg and plead and convince him to stay married to her, and he’d force her to sign a postnup agreement, detailing his plans to get “his needs met elsewhere.” Because twelve months was long enough for the lust and attraction to wear off. Twelve months was long enough for him to get bored of her.

He’d shatter her heart and step all over it, and she’d have no one to blame but herself. Because he’d told her exactly who he was and exactly what he wanted, and when people did that, you were supposed to listen.

You couldn’t force someone to change for you.

I wasn’t a fool.

“I think that’s the most important part,” I reiterated. “Because he has such specific and unconventional views of romance, the two of them need to be on the same page about their expectations and what they hope to gain from the relationship. Otherwise, we’d be setting them up for disappointment in the long term. It wouldn’t work.”

Jackson was drilling holes into the side of my face with the intensity of his gaze. My eyes may have been on Minerva, but I could only see him.

I was aware of his every movement, the harshening rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers had slowly curled into fists on his lap. I couldn’t decipher the expression he was wearing though, and it was becoming excruciatingly difficult not to look.

“All of this is detailed in the weekly progress report I’ve drawn up, a finalized copy of which will be emailed to both your team and Jackson’s first thing Monday morning. But there is one other pressing matter I’d like to discuss in person,” I went on. “I realize that my original recommendation was for Jackson to receive intensive coaching on how to conduct himself on dates, however, I no longer believe that’s warranted or necessary. There are a few things we’ll need to go over, but they’re brief and can be covered in under an hour. I strongly suggest we hold off on anything further until after his first date.”

Minerva rolled her lips, studying me. “And what then? We’d discussed supervised meetings for him to ensure he doesn’t… That everything runs smoothly.”

Babysitting. She was concerned he’d intentionally throw the dates again.

“I can accompany him to the first one.” I really didn’t want to, but I’d do it. “If it goes the way I suspect, he won’t require further shadowing unless he specifically requests it. In fact, if my presence continues to be a distraction to Jackson at the office, we can also cut back on the work shadowing a week early, and I should be able to move out by⁠—”

“No.”

I looked at him then. His tone demanded it.

“Pardon?” Minerva said.

Jackson held my gaze, eyes narrowing. “No. I want the coaching, the shadowing, and all of the handholding I was threatened with when this whole nightmare started. You’re not moving out until the agreed-upon thirty days are over.”

Shocked. Silence.

Imogen had stopped shuffling and flipping her cards, Minerva was gaping at her nephew like he’d produced lightning out of thin air, and I couldn’t so much as breathe. He wouldn’t let me.

“You… you want her to stay?” Minerva asked.

“You’re forcing me to get married.” He made no effort to temper the bitter resentment dripping from his voice as he peeled his gaze away from mine. “You’re forcing me to then stay married for a year, and I’m relatively certain that, at some point, you’ll also force me to produce a child to secure the precious familial line you’re so concerned with. I no longer have a fucking choice in the matter, so my only option is to, at the very least, find someone that doesn’t make me want to set myself on fucking fire. The more information Jamie has, the higher her chances of success are going to be. Wouldn’t you agree?”

That was the bar he’d set. That was his expectation of marriage. He simply wanted someone that wouldn’t make him want to set himself on fire.

I ripped my eyes away from him, ignoring the painful throbbing in my chest.

“Oh, stop being so dramatic,” Minerva scoffed with a barely contained roll of her eyes. Harry stirred in her arm, ears twitching. “You have lived a life of sheer privilege, and I simply don’t care what it is you think you are further owed without sacrifice. You’ve studied under the best tutors, attended the best post-secondary institutions money could buy, and been provided with every material thing you could ever want. Millions of people would sacrifice a hell of a lot more than a single year of marriage to switch lives with you. It is not unreasonable for me to ask that you also produce an heir and⁠—”

“I can have a child without⁠—”

“You are not having a child out of wedlock,” she snapped. “You of all people should know what happens when the men in this family attempt to raise children without the aid of a proper, loving mother. The cycle ends with you, Jackson. I will not have you repeating what that vain, repulsive bitch and Richard⁠—”

“I am not my father!” Jackson roared. His voice ripped through the air, making it ring. Every muscle in his face and neck was taut, his lips rolled back in pure rage.

Imogen tsked. “Naughty, naughty,” she cooed happily, grinning down at the table.

Minerva blinked over at her. “I’m sorry?”

“The cards,” Imogen answered. I couldn’t tell whether she was unaware of the crippling tension in the room, or simply unaffected by it. “They want to play. I’m starting to see why your nephew’s presence today was so… encouraged.”

Minerva’s shoulders eased an inch, her interest piqued. “What does that mean? What are they saying?”

Jackson leaned back in his chair with a deep sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face like he couldn’t believe his life had been reduced to such nonsensical bullshit. My fingers itched to reach out and smooth out his frown, so I curled them into fists and shoved them underneath my thighs.

Imogen hummed noncommittally, which only made Minerva more desperate for answers. “What is it? Am I wrong about this?”

“They don’t want to talk about that,” Imogen said, placing one deck down only to pick up another. “They don’t want to talk about you. They don’t want to talk about him.” She paused, she grinned. “They only want to talk about her.”

All eyes were on me again.

“Me?” Why me? I had the least interesting energy in this room right now.

“You.”

A card jumped out of the deck she was shuffling, landing smack in the middle of the table. This one did have a label on it. In bold white letters etched into a matte-black background, the card screamed: DEATH.

Oh good.

“Would you like to hear what they have to say?”

“Are they going to tell me how little time I have left to live?” Because I’d rather not know.

Her smile widened. “No. It’s about your love life.”

That snagged Jackson’s attention. His body went rigid for a moment before he forced it to relax again.

“I’m not sure if my love life would be an appropriate topic of conversation at a client meeting,” I tried.

Another card slid out of the deck. PAGE OF SWORDS, it read. The page had no swords on it, though. It was as black as the DEATH card, with a few grey lines scribbled in the background.

“You’ll want to hear it,” she said. “There’s nothing here indicating that you’ll feel otherwise once the message has been relayed. I’m not channeling any regret.” Her mouth twitched again. “Not from your end, at least.”

“We don’t mind.” Minerva nudged to the edge of her seat, eyeing the cards. Though her interest in the reading was likely more geared toward an explanation as to why Jackson’s presence had been so “encouraged.”

“You can tell me to stop whenever you wish,” Imogen offered. “Though, again, I really don’t see that happening here.”

I shifted in my chair. My knees were starting to feel weirdly clammy. “All right,” I agreed slowly. The peer pressure and curiosity had won.

Honestly, as long as she didn’t reveal my teeny, tiny, not-at-all-a-big-deal crush on Jackson, we were golden. And if the whole tarot thing wasn’t a hoax, then maybe I’d get some answers as to why I’d had such relentlessly terrible luck in⁠—

“Your luck has turned, but you’re not seeing it.” She tapped an untitled card with a mauve fingernail. It depicted a woman tying a blindfold around her own eyes. “The universe is trying to give you exactly what you’ve been asking for, but you’re turning it away because, on the surface, it’s not what you expected. Either this has already happened or it’s about to.”

The tension in my shoulders relaxed a touch. That was just vague enough to make my bullshit meter ding. I’d always suspected that tarot was more about reading the client than the cards.

So, I nodded politely and listened.

“You’ve met a man recently,” she went on, “certainly within the last month or so, though the cards are indicating that you knew of him for quite a while before that.”

That… was a bit more specific.

“He’s going to come to you with an offer… or maybe he already has. The timeline isn’t being made clear to me.” Her head tilted to one side, amber eyes gliding over the cards spread out in front of her. She hadn’t looked at me once since she started, so either my theory about reading the client was wrong, or her peripheral vision was excellent. “It’s interesting. Almost like they’re being intentionally vague about it. What I am being shown clearly is that this man will come to you with a proposal of sorts, and it’s going to lead you to everything you’ve always wanted. However, the presentation is… it’s almost as though the package is deceiving and will veer you off the path you had your sights set on. It does not look like what you want because it’s not… but it will lead you to it. There is no doubt about that here. The doubt all lies within you.”

My heart was pounding against my skull. Jackson’s whole body was slowly starting to twist in Imogen’s direction, and I swear he even leaned forward at one point, trying to sneak a proper glance at the cards.

“If there’s any confusion as to who this might be, or if you’d like some signs to look for when you do meet him, there are a few very… specific things I’m channeling.” Her impish smirk returned as she met my gaze. It made the hairs on the back of my neck rise. “He’s tall,” she said, and my throat went tight. “I’m hearing an accent…”

I should have stopped her right there. This was the exact direction I’d been hoping she wouldn’t go in.

But I said nothing. My tongue was swollen deadweight.

“There’s also an emphasis on food… seafood specifically. Either sushi or something very niche within that type of cuisine that you’ll enjoy together. And I’m being shown a pet. A well-loved one… quite spoiled by the man. It could be his or yours.” She stopped for a moment, her gaze flicking over to my left. Whatever she saw made her smirk again. Almost like this was a game to her. “He’ll have a bunch of tattoos… or perhaps some sort of scarring that’s oddly shaped. Around a dozen of them. Maybe more.”

Wait. Did Jackson have any tattoos? He hadn’t taken his shirt off last night or this morning, so I couldn’t be sure…

“I’m also seeing the letter D being significant in terms of initials or… hmm, perhaps a sign of some sort.”

I frowned. Jackson Parker Sinclair. There wasn’t a single D in his name, and I was pretty sure that if he had a dozen tattoos, I’d have⁠—

Oh.

Ohhh.

She wasn’t talking about Jackson.