Page 28 of Meet Cute or Your Money Back

“Already? That’s so fast.”

“We like to move quickly when there’s a potential prospect,” I say. “Plus, just because you hit it off at one event doesn’t mean our job is over. I’ll walk you through the first three dates of any interested suitor.”

“What’s the event?” she asks as Biscuit pauses to sniff a bush, his leash jangling.

“It’s a gala for the local animal rescue.”

Her eyes light up at that and she spins to look at me, herarm extended as Biscuit tries to get her to continue walking. “The Tuxes and Tails Gala?”

I nod. “That’s right. If you’re free Saturday, I’m going to get us tickets.”

“But that Gala is a hundred and seventy-five dollars for a single ticket!”

“That’s right.”

She blinks at me. “I…I can’t afford that.”

“I’ll take care of the tickets, Allie,” I say. “That’s part of what your fee covers. Pricey tickets to things like galas or sporting events or any other place that might have your soulmate waiting for you.” Shockingly, I manage to saysoulmatewithout rolling my eyes.

“Oh,” she says quietly. “Well…that’s easier. But…we…we haven’t prepped for anything remotely gala-like. I can’t waltz in there unprepared, can I?”

Biscuit finally wins out and we start walking again. “Allie, you don’t need preparation to be yourself.”

“Easy for you to say,” she mutters. “You didn’t flash an entire restaurant tonight.”

I smother my smirk as another flash of heat spikes in my cheeks. “I promise, I’m not trying to turn you into some sort of Cinderella,” I say, my tone firm, but gentle.

“Could’ve fooled me,” she shoots back.

“Listen to me.” There’s a surprising gentleness in my voice that makes me pause, but I quickly shake it off.I have to win this client over, I reason with myself,for the sake of the mission. “I wasn’t watching you tonight because I want to change you, but because I want tounderstandyou. I’m trying to find you a Prince Charming who gets that, who wants you exactly as you are. No fairy godmothers or transformations required.”

When she next looks up at me, the frost melts from herfeatures. The shadows play across her face, dancing over the soft bow of her lips and ski slope of her nose. A strange warmth blooms in my chest, one that has nothing to do with the night’s breeze catching her hair and blowing across her forehead.

“Okay,” she relents and she seems to surprise herself as much as she does me. “But if this turns into a pumpkin disaster, I’m blaming you.”

“Deal,” I say, swallowing the chuckle in my throat. “No pumpkins. Promise,” I reply with mock sternness, and we resume our walk with Biscuit happily and obliviously trotting a few steps ahead of us.

“Besides,” she adds, “if I’m going to meet Prince Charming, I should probably make sure he likes dogs first, right?”

I nod. “My thoughts exactly. We can’t have a Prince Charming who’s a cat person. Perish the thought.”

She mock shudders. “Ugh, absolutely not. Or worse even, a Prince who’s allergic. And of course, any potential Prince Charming will be contingent upon Biscuit’s approval.”

“Oh, of course,” I say. When I slide a glance in her direction, there’s no missing the twinkle of victory in Allie’s eyes.

The streets are quiet, save for the distant hum of city life in the distance and Biscuit’s paws padding against the pavement. I stay alert, my senses sharpened by years of training that never really go dormant. Allie, on the other hand, seems to float beside me in her own little optimistic bubble.

A prickle of unease shoots down my spine as I hear the slight rustle of clothing ahead of us. Which wouldn’t be a big deal except for the fact that there are no people on the sidewalk except me and Allie.

“You may not believe me,” Allie rambles on, “but Biscuit is averygood judge of character—” Her words cut off as I stop abruptly, touching my fingers gently to her wrist. There’s something—or someone—ahead of us; an inkling of shadowed movement coming from the alley that doesn’t fit the sleepy tableau of the neighborhood.

“Stay behind me,” I murmur, turning slightly to shield her. It’s automatic, the protector role, but with Allie it feels different—more personal, like there’s more at stake than just doing a job.

“Wha—” she starts to question, but I silence her with a look.

It happens fast—the rustle of fabric, the faintest whiff of desperation, a blur of movement—then a shadow detaches itself from the darkened glass of the storefront we’re passing and a figure darts for Allie. He’s a kid, no more than seventeen or eighteen, eyes wide and wild as he lunges for Allie’s purse.

But I’m faster.

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