Page 66 of Heat Me

"And who’re you?"

"Storm Nolan. I'm a representative of the company Day works with," I said, unsure how much his parents knew. Maybe they wouldn’t approve of their son attending a marriage contract fair?

The alpha frowned and yelled, "Day, someone's here for you!"

A thin omega came down the attic stairs. Out of all three clients, this one was definitely the least attractive. He was medium-tall height, probably about 5’9". Holding a cigarette in his hand, he walked past me without inviting me inside, his expression making me feel like a hated repossession agent—and I’d met quite a few of those.

"What's the matter? You're really screwing this up, you know? I've been waiting another month for pairings, and nothing's come of it," he snapped, taking a deep drag of his cigarette.

I studied him closely. Day Sanderson looked older than his age. His complexion was unhealthy, almost grayish, and his lips were pursed in anger. He looked far worse than forty-two-year-old Darien Ferro. Small wire-frame glasses perched on his thin nose didn’t do him any favors either.

His facial features weren’t particularly striking. His overall thinness made his cheeks appear bony and sunken, and his nose sharper. The only redeeming feature was his cloudy gray eyes, framed by long eyelashes, but even they held a hostile unease. His mousy brown hair, slicked back into a tight, high knot at the nape of his neck, added to the unfriendly aura.

Day’s piercing gaze felt like steel blades cutting into me, his brows furrowed so deeply that a long vertical wrinkle creased his forehead. Honestly, it wasn’t surprising he struggled to find pairings. From what I knew, all his contracts had been related to surrogacy—never a typical marriage contract.

"We are aware that your contract is nearing its end, so we have one final proposal: participating in the open fair and auction. These events attract many interested parties, even outside our client base, so the selection is much wider…" I said in my most professional tone. Sure, it sounded scripted, but there wasn’t another way to present it.

Day narrowed his eyes. "I don't feel like sitting in a glass booth to be ogled like a showroom exhibit," he exclaimed, and I almost felt relieved. The tablet under my arm already had the open contract prepared. No need to drag this out.

"Unfortunately, for the contract to be fulfilled on our side—and for you to receive the agreed compensation—participating in one open fair is mandatory."

I knew my tone was colder and less patient than it had been with Star or Darien. But I was tired, missing Damien like crazy, feeling desperate to just finish this meeting and leave.

Day rolled his eyes, snatched the tablet, and stared at the screen.

Then he exploded, "You bastards! A bunch of sneaky fuckers, that's what you are! I told you from the start I didn’t want those damn open fairs—they’re for desperadoes!"

"Your situation is quite difficult—"

He growled angrily, his temper flaring. "It’s outrageous! You accepted my conditions, took my money, and promised miracles! Damn scammers! I only got two pairings, and one of them was with an eighty-year-old!"

"That’s why we’re trying a different approach now," I said calmly, attempting not to antagonize him further. "A fair is a good opportunity to meet someone. I know it’s not the most discreet option, but, honestly, our main service is fairs and auctions of marital contracts. The majority of pairings happen at these events, not through our matchmaking agency."

"I signed your damn form to—"

"I understand, Mr. Sanderson. But if you wanted to completely avoid this possibility, you should’ve signed up for a regular online dating service. Auction and fair houses offer a broader range of services, and in some cases, attending a fair is an obligatory part of the contract. We use every possible method, which is why we’re more efficient and why people continue to choose us. When traditional processes don’t work, fairs are often the only solution."

Day tilted his head and hissed, "You’ve got the talk down, don’t you? How long did you practice that official spiel? You call yourselves expert matchmakers, huh? To me, you sound like scammers. Efficiency? My ass! I only got two pairings—two!"

I pressed my lips together and stayed silent. He had a point.

Day furrowed his brows. "And what if I don’t find anyone there, huh?"

I was tempted to suggest he quit smoking—it made him look ten years older—but I bit my tongue.

"I’m asking you! What if the fair fails?"

"Then we’re obligated to pay a fine. That’s obvious."

That quieted him a bit. A strange, almost sinister smirk crossed his face, and I had a bad feeling he was planning to sabotage the event.

But what should I say? I couldn't predict exactly how the fair would go. Day was the only one about whom I didn’t have a clear premonition. Nothing came to mind—no match, not among my cousins, for sure. Yet, I still had this vague feeling that he should attend the fair.

I sincerely hoped he wouldn’t be the only one without a happy ending, after all…

Day kept that smirk on his grayish face. "Fine. Since you’re putting it that way, I’ll show up," he said wryly. "Let’s see if there are any candidates out there for me."

He took another drag from his cigarette, exhaling smoke into the sky.

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