Page 4 of In A Mood For Mr. Wrong

“Youarethe idiot she’s forced to tolerate,” he agrees cheerfully.

“She challenged me like we were negotiating a hostage situation,” I say, shaking my head. “All spreadsheets and strategy and that voice she uses when she thinks she’s the smartest person in the room.”

“She usually is.”

“Iknow! That’s the worst part.”

Jax bursts out laughing. “Oh man. You’ve got itbad.”

“I don’t ‘have it’ anything,” I protest.

“You’re monologuing about her wrist flicks and eye daggers. That’s at least two stages into denial.”

I drop my head against the back of the booth and groan. “I am not into Margot Evans.”

“Sure, sure,” Jax says, sipping his drink. “You just think about her in your spare time, dream about making her furious, and signed up for a company-wide competition just to spend more time making her sweat.”

“I didn’t sign up, it was court-mandated matchmaking combat,” I explain.

“That’s a long way to say ‘I’d risk public embarrassment to impress a pretty girl.”

I throw a napkin at him.

He catches it without blinking. “Look, man. You’re clearly in it now. So either go all in, or fold before she burns your entire ego to the ground.”

I smirk. “What makes you think I’m not the one holding the cards?”

He just laughs again. “Because, King, you’re already bluffing, and I think she knows it.”

I raise my glass, letting the ice clink against the rim. Let her think I’m bluffing. Let her think I’m playing games, because while Margot’s busy calculating every angle, I’ll be watching for the opening she doesn’t see coming, and when the time’s right, I’ll win the company. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll win something else too, not that I’devertellherthat.

3

MARGOT

I’ve spent years refining the art of the perfect match. There’s a science to it, psychological compatibility, shared values, the delicate balance of chemistry and logic. Love isn’t just a feeling; it’s an equation, a formula that, when done correctly, leads to long-term happiness. And I’ve mastered it. I spent years studying relationship psychology, analyzing compatibility data, and refining my ability to predict long-term success. While others relied on gut feelings and fleeting chemistry, I perfected a science. I knew how to pair people based on what truly mattered, shared ambitions, complementary personalities, and values that could stand the test of time. My success rate atPerfectly Matchedwas unmatched, and I wasn’t about to let that change now.

And yet, for all my expertise, for all the time I’ve spent fine-tuning this formula for others, I haven’t been able to make it work for myself. I’ve tried, I’ve dated men who fit the algorithm, who checked every logical box, but none of them ever feltright.Maybe because, deep down, I know I’ve poured everything into this company, leaving no room for distractions like love. Or maybe… maybe I just haven’t found someone whocould keep up with me. Which is why I refuse to lose to Grayson King. The moment I step out of that conference room, I have a plan. If Grayson thinks he can charm his way through this, he’s in for a rude awakening. I don’t operate on charm, I operate on results.

I need to find the most difficult client we’ve ever had. Someone even Grayson, with all his ridiculous charisma and effortless charm, can’t possibly match successfully. Someone immune to reliable data, to whatever instinctual nonsense he claims makes him a better matchmaker than me. And I know exactly who that client is: Elliot Pierce. Tech billionaire. Emotionally unavailable. Possibly allergic to the concept of romance.

The man is brilliant, but he has the personality of an overpriced paperweight. He’s triedPerfectly Matchedbefore, only to reject every potential partner because, in his words, "relationships are distractions." Perfect. If Grayson is going to fail spectacularly, Elliot is the one to make it happen.By the time I reach my office, I’m already dialing Elliot’s assistant.

"Hi, Jenna, it’s Margot Evans fromPerfectly Matched.I have an exclusive offer for Mr. Pierce that I think he’ll want to hear."

I hear her hesitant pause on the other end. Elliot doesn’t do matchmaking anymore. He made that clear when he stormed out of his last consultation, after telling his date that small talk was "a redundant social obligation" and suggesting their next outing be a silent reading session in separate rooms. Before that, there was the time he left a woman at a Michelin-star restaurant because she took too long deciding between salmon and steak. Oh, and my personal favorite, the time he scheduled a conference callduringa first date because, and I quote, "romance should not disrupt productivity." Then there was the woman who made the mistake of ordering a cocktail, Elliot proceeded to spend the evening explaining the inefficiency ofalcohol consumption on cognitive function. Another date ended abruptly when he asked his companion for a detailed five-year personal and professional growth plan, she thought he was joking. He wasn’t. But that’s the beauty of desperation, mineto win, andhisto prove something to the world.

"I’ll check his schedule," Jenna finally says, sounding wary. "What’s the offer?"

I smile. "A guarantee. Elliot Pierce is about to meet his perfect match." What I don’t say? That match is going to be Grayson’s problem.

After hanging up,I stride across my office and pull out the master client list from my desk. If I’m going to make sure Grayson crashes and burns, I need to craft this situation with surgical precision. Elliot isn’t just any client, he’s anightmareclient. Brilliant, driven, and impossibly stubborn. No one has ever gotten past his defenses, and I’d bet my entire shoe collection that Grayson won’t either. I flip through Elliot’s past consultations, reading the notes our matchmakers took during his last disastrous attempt at finding love. "Uncooperative." "Dismissive." "Claims love is an inefficient use of time." Oh, this istoogood.

I glance at my calendar. If I time this right, Grayson will walk into the meeting completely unprepared. The key to winning isn’t just setting up an impossible match, it’s making sure he never sees it coming. As I type up the appointment details, my phone buzzes with an incoming message.

Grayson:Already plotting, Evans?

I smirk at the screen.Wouldn’t you like to know. A moment later, his reply comes through.

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