Page 31 of Meet Cute or Your Money Back

We walk in silence after that, our steps synchronized but our minds miles apart. The night wraps around us like a shroud as we turn the corner, reaching the familiar street she lives on, the tension still crackling in the air. By the time we reach her front door, I don’t have a clue what she’sthinking. She turns to face me, her silhouette framed by the soft glow of her building’s porch light.

“Here we are,” I mutter, stuffing my hands into my jacket pockets, feeling a chill despite the warm summer evening. “Safe and sound.”

“Thanks for...the walk.” There’s a softness to her tone; a brief crack in her armor that makes me want to reach out and hold her, if only for a second.

“Thanks for letting us crash your dinner,” I say as she and Biscuit step inside the open front door. I want to say more, tell her how she drives me crazy. Tell her how she makes me feel the stirrings of things I thought were long dead. How no client has ever wormed their way under my skin quite like she has. But the words don’t come; they tangle in my throat, stubborn and unyielding.

“See you at the gala, Thatcher.”

“Try not to get into any more trouble before then,” I warn.

“Trouble is my middle name,” she quips, but the laughter doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Good night, Allie.”

“Night.” She gives me one last look, a cocktail of emotions swirling in those hazel depths, before the door clicks shut.

Alone on her stoop, staring at the closed door, I’m left grappling with the one question I can’t answer: Why in the hell does a girl like Allie Larsen needmyhelp finding her Prince Charming?

With a sigh, I turn away, already dreading the upcoming gala. Because if there’s one thing I know for certain, it’s that with Allie, the unexpected is always just around the corner.

“Come on, old man,” I mutter to myself, turning away. Ineed distance, space to figure out why this spitfire of a woman has me twisted up in knots.

As I walk back through the sleeping city, I can’t shake the feeling that something about Allie Larsen is changing the game.

And I don’t have a playbook for whatever is coming next.

Chapter 10

Allie

“Thatcher?” I call out, the heels of my shoes clicking against the pavement like a clock counting down to something inevitable. And there he is, standing by the entrance to the Westin hotel, where inside a ballroom for the Tuxes and Tails Gala awaits us. His figure somehow imposing yet reassuring in the soft glow of the streetlights.

“Ready for your mission, Agent Larsen?” Thatcher asks as I close the distance between us.

“Meet Cute or my money back, right?”

“That’s right. Successful meet cute guarantee.” His smirk twitches the tiniest bit toward his eyes as he holds up an earpiece for me to take.

I snort and take the earpiece from him, pausing before I tuck it in. “This thing’s been sanitized, right?”

“Do I look like the kind of man who wears dirty earpieces?” His green eyes glint with that familiar seriousness.

“Fair enough,” I mutter before tucking it into my rightear and smoothing my hair down to cover it from view. “Testing? Testing?” I whisper.

“Roger that,” Thatcher’s voice crackles through the earpiece. He pauses to adjust the black tie of his tuxedo. “Communication is key.”

“Got it, boss.” My tone is light, teasing, trying to shake off the nerves bubbling up inside me.

He turns my chin to the side, his touch soft as he adjusts the earpiece slightly for me. “I prefer sir, but Boss will do nicely, I suppose,” he quietly jokes. A shiver tumbles down my spine as his fingers brush the sensitive skin of my neck.

“So…” I clear my throat as his thumb and forefinger smooth a single curl of my hair. “Am I here to meet anyone specific? Or overall you think there might be a fellow dog lover inside this gala made exactly for me?”

“I have someone specific in mind,” he says simply. I wait for more information, but he offers no further details.

“And? Who is he?”

“Nice try, Allie,” he replies, a hint of amusement lacing his otherwise stern tone. “You’ll know when it’s time.”

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