Failure to Match: An Enemies to Lovers Billionaire Matchmaker Romance

You don’t understand just how much twenty million dollars is until it’s staring you in the face, threatening to better your life. You think you do, but you don’t. Not really.

My whole existence flashed before my mind’s eye. Past, present, and future.

My student loans? Gone.

My parents? Retired, their mortgage and line of credit paid off.

I could buy a house with this type of money—anywhere I wanted. I could travel, move somewhere warm, adopt a pony, take up surfing and sailing and the piano and whatever else I wanted.

I’d never have to worry about living paycheck-to-paycheck ever again. This little piece of paper would change my life.

I had to take it. Like, I had to take it. If not for me, then for Mom and Dad. It would be incredibly selfish and stupid of me to not accept this deal. My brain was trying very, very hard to convince me of that. Because among the pure disbelief, excitement, and shaky nerves, there was something else. Something slick, squirmy, and wholly unpleasant.

It struck me that, as life changing as this kind of money would be for me, it wasn’t anything significant to Jackson. I was letting him buy me with what he considered to be pocket change, which made me weirdly sick to my stomach.

Letting my pride and ego stop me from accepting a lifetime of financial security would be a pretty stupid thing to do, though. I had to take it.

But could you sleep at night? Knowing you let Jackson Sinclair buy you like this?

Well, I mean if I could afford a really nice mattress, then yeah. Definitely.

I snatched the check off the desk and ran to the elevator. But instead of going to the bank, my feet turned right when they hit concrete, leading me straight to Umu.

I was an idiot.

Jackson Sinclair had his own private dining room at the most exclusive and expensive Japanese restaurant in the city. Because of course he did.

It was gorgeously decorated—lots of neutral colors, dim lights, and minimalist on-theme furniture—and cost more than my annual salary to retain. I could almost guarantee it.

The cocktail he’d been about to sip froze in the air when the waitress slid the shoji screen open. His lips parted farther. He blinked.

But I was too riled up to revel in it.

My pulse was thundering, my fingers trembling as I all but slammed the check down in front of him. “Twenty million dollars? Is this some sort of sick joke?”

He gaped up at me, eyebrows slowly rising. For a solid minute, the room was silent.

Well, mostly silent. I was breathing quite heavily, having stomped all the way here, and my heart was marching to a pretty violent beat against my eardrums.

Jackson continued to stare, icy-blue eyes gliding between mine. Until, eventually, the one side of his mouth lifted. “All right.” His smooth accent hugged the words in a way that made my stomach swoop. “Sit down, Miss Paquin. Let’s talk.”

Yeah. Fuck no.

I wasn’t another member of his staff. He couldn’t just order me around.

“I’m booking you for a psych eval,” I said. “Next week. Have your team send me your schedule and I’ll work around it. You’ll need a two-hour block.”

His mouth did that tilting thing again. It wasn’t a smile. Jackson wasn’t capable of those.

“Sit,” he repeated, gesturing to the chair across from him.

I rolled my eyes. “Some early coaching advice since, again, you very clearly need it—outside of the workplace, ordering people around is generally not considered an attractive quality. Neither is trying to bribe them or thinking that you can solve everything with money.”

It happened again. The mouth thing.

“Okay. Since you insist, we can stand.”

He rose to his feet and stalked over to me, stopping mere inches away so he could look down at me all smug. “Better?”

I crossed my arms and held my ground. Sure, I had to tilt my head all the way back to maintain eye contact, but I still had my dignity. “It’s great.”

“That hasn’t been my experience, by the way.”

“What?”

“I have yet to come across a problem that can’t be solved with money,” he insisted, just as the soft, clean scent of his cologne hit me. It was highly pleasant, actually. Didn’t suit him at all. “Bribes have worked rather well for me in the past, and as for ordering people around… you’d be surprised.”

Something about the way he said the last part made color threaten to sprout over my cheeks. I brushed it off. “Yeah, well, you can’t bribe your way out of this one, I’m afraid. My soul’s not up for sale.”

His head slanted to one side, his cool gaze sliding over my face. “Everybody has a price, Miss Paquin. We just have to find yours.”

“Okay, telling someone they have a price? Also incredibly unattractive.”

“You’re really not taking the money?” he asked, blatantly ignoring my sage advice.

“I’m really not taking the money.”

“Why? You agreed that was why you were doing this in the first place.”

“I also said I wasn’t willing to put my career at risk.”

He shrugged. “With twenty mill you could set up your own agency. Make your own rules. I was there, I saw the dynamic between you and Valerie.”

“Vivian.”

“Vivian. Sure.”

“Not remembering people’s names is also highly unattractive,” I said. “Clear indication that you’re self-absorbed.”

“I remember the ones that matter. Point is, if you’re the one running things, you don’t have to put up with management and their bullshit. In fact, you’d be paying other people to put up with yours.”

“Nah, I’m good.” I turned on my heel, ready to leave, but stopped when his fingers unexpectedly grazed my sleeve. “What?”

His eyes were narrowed again, but not with scorn. He looked more curious than anything else. “How much to make you go away? Seriously.”

Wow. He really didn’t get it, did he? “Unfortunately, I’m not a problem you can just throw money at.”

“What do you want, then?”

“To do my job,” I said. “The one you insulted this morning which, by the way, is also a highly unattractive thing to do.”

“Your job entails convincing lonely, desperate people that fairy-tale endings are real. I’ve seen the adverts, Miss Paquin. They’re shameless and grotesque. My insults were warranted.”

I bristled. “Okay, see? This is exactly why we needed to do your personality evaluation in person. Cynical wasn’t even on your list.”

“I’m not cynical, I’m a realist.”

“Oh please.” I rolled my eyes, taking a half-step forward. “That’s what assholes say to justify being assholes. You’re also rude, obnoxious, arrogant, and entitled as all hell. Who the fuck thinks it’s appropriate to insult someone’s occupation like that right to their face?”

His lips tilted again. With sarcasm this time. “The current adverts for Charmed push the concept of soulmates, Miss Paquin. And utilizing things such as tarot to help clients find their ‘one true match.’”

My temperature spiked. To be clear, the tarot thing was reserved only for the clients who asked for it. “So?”

“Do you believe in that bullshit? That the universe is alive and helping guide you to the one person you’re meant to be with? Is that why divorce rates in this country are so high? Because people are being guided to their soulmates left, right, and center?”

I had never in my life met someone so relentlessly infuriating. “I believe, very strongly, that there’s someone out there for everyone. And yes, maybe there’s some higher power that’s helping people find each other. I don’t know! What I do know is that romantic love, soul-deep connections, and happily-ever-afters are all real. If I didn’t believe those things, I wouldn’t be doing this for a living.”

“Oh, so you’ve experienced it then.”

It wasn’t until then that I realized just how close we were standing, how hard we were both breathing. I swallowed, staying put. If anyone was going to step back, it was Jackson.

“Not personally, no,” I said. My luck with men and relationships thus far had admittedly not been great. “But I’ve seen it.”

He huffed out a dry, mocking breath. It was almost a laugh.

“I have!” I insisted, even though there was no point. My mouth kept moving, fueled by my bruised ego. “My best friend is on a ten-week honeymoon with the love of her life as we speak. And my parents just had their thirtieth-anniversary last month, and they couldn’t be more in love. So… there you go.”

You know when you say something in the heat of an argument, and it immediately makes you feel juvenile and stupid? Because those points sounded a lot more eloquent in my head than they did out loud.

I cleared my throat and tried again. “I’ve also seen a lot of success with my clients.” Prior to him, that is. Back when I actually enjoyed my job and found it fulfilling.

Jackson quirked a brow, lips rolling like he couldn’t believe just how childish and gullible I was.

It scraped something deep in my chest, and before I could think better of it, I said, “Bet I can prove you wrong.”

I regretted it before the sentence was even out of my mouth. I regretted it even more when he chuckled. It was the first time I’d seen him fully smile, and… damn. All straight white teeth, prominent canines, and masculine charm. As much as I hated to admit it, Jackson Sinclair was hot as sin.

There was a reason so many attractive, successful women were so heartbroken over him. Well, that and all the money, power, and the most eligible bachelor in North America thing.

His personality was shit though, so most of the time it was easy to forget about his looks.

“Last chance.” He slanted his head condescendingly. “Take the money.”

I didn’t know whether to be relieved or insulted that he didn’t take me seriously enough to even acknowledge the bet. My brain said relief, my ego screamed PROVE HIM THE FUCK WRONG. MAKE HIM WEEP FOR YOUR FORGIVENESS.

“I’m not taking the money.” I curled my fingers into my palms. They were a little too tempted to reach for the check. I couldn’t risk it.

His lips were still tilted with amusement as he studied me. “Miss Paquin, a fair warning, I have no intentions of playing nice or making the next thirty days easy for you. Take the money, forge the data, and save us both the headache and time.”

I shot him a wry smile. “Mr. Sinclair, a fair warning, I’m sick of your shit and half the reason I agreed to do this was to make your life as miserable as you’ve made ours over the last eight months. You don’t scare me.”

“That’s what this is about? You’re turning down twenty million dollars for a bit of revenge? A little short-sighted, wouldn’t you agree?” He leaned down an inch when he said the word “short.”

I was five-foot-seven.

He was built like the Abominable Snowman.

If anyone in this room should have been self-conscious about their height, it wasn’t me.

I blinked up at him slowly, sarcastically. “I don’t care how you spin it, you can’t buy my integrity.”

He clicked his tongue. “Like I said, everybody has a price.”

“Oh yeah? What’s yours?”

“Approximately thirteen and a half billion, give or take daily market fluctuations.”

Huh. “Less than I thought.”

His smirk expanded slowly as he watched me, but before he could bite back, two waiters entered the room… and promptly stopped in their tracks, their widening eyes bouncing between Jackson and me. In their defense, we were practically toe to toe.

I took two full steps back, arms folding over my chest again as I gave them my best nothing-to-see-here smile.

“Our apologies,” one of them said. “We’ll have the staff knock before entering the room again.”

Oh, wow, no. “Not necessary. I was just leaving,” I said as they placed the food down. Three stone plates of vibrantly presented sashimi, squid, and caviar.

“You can eat first,” Jackson said, “the order was automatically upped to two when you arrived.”

“No, thanks.” My mouth was watering, my stomach was threatening to growl, but the absolute last thing I wanted to do was sit in that chair.

“You said you wanted sushi.”

“Still do. But I’ve already dined with you once and it’s not an experience I’m willing to repeat. Plus, there’s a sushi kiosk at the mall two blocks down, so I’m all set. See ya.”

I didn’t linger long enough to hear his response.