Page 89 of Meet Cute or Your Money Back

I lost them.

For now.

But I know one thing for sure—this isn’t over.

And the only person who can give me the answers I need is the same man they’re hunting.

Chapter 25

Thatcher

I don’t like surprises. Never have. Not even when they’re good. And these discoveries I’m uncovering about Allie…? Well, they’re not exactly a surprise trip to Vegas.

I had every intention of confronting Allie today, despite Griffin advising me not to. Showing up at her house and asking her to explain herself. But I made the mistake of diving deeper into research first. Search results I had passed over and ignored a few weeks ago because they seemed so irrelevant now are giant, lit red flags in her honor.

And suddenly, I don’t want to see her. I don’t want to talk to her.

I’m scrolling through Allie’s texts—each message another tiny knife to the trust I thought we were building. Missed calls pile up like a testament to her deception. And now, my computer screen glares back with older articles penned by her hand, peeling back the layers of her ambition.

Investigative reporter?That was her dream, not fluff pieces about the latest fad diets or quirky food truck openings.

“Always digging for the bigger story, huh?” I mutter under my breath, feeling the sting of betrayal. It’s like she used me as some steppingstone in her career climb. Except, the ladder she’s on is leaning against the wrong wall.

On my computer, I have a tab open to a single article from years ago, when Allie was in college. One tiny article in her school paper that isn’t about quirky food trends or cozy bistros. Nope, it’s a piece about their Dean of Admissions embezzling money from the school. And Allie was the one who uncovered it.

In the next tab, she’s being interviewed by the local paper as the person who discovered this and there’s a quote:

“Ms. Larsen, you’re so young to have uncovered something so dark about your academia. As a journalism student, was this always the plan?” “Yes,” she states. “I’ve known for years that I want to do investigative journalism. And I knew that no one would take me seriously if I wasn’t willing to get my hands dirty and go undercover.”

Her aspirations stare back at me from the glow of the screen, mocking my gullibility. My mind wanders back to the day we first met when she followed me out of the café into the alley.

She was never looking for a matchmaker. She was following a story.

“I’m a colossal idiot,” I mutter to myself, scrubbing a hand over my face. Allie isn’t just some food critic searching for love. And this isn’t just about some fluff piece on love and matchmaking; it’s deeper, darker. And I let her waltz right into my life with those hazel eyes wide with faux innocence.

Speak of the devil, the front door to my office flies open, and Allie bursts in, her chest heaving with panic.

“Thatcher! Why the hell aren’t you answering your phone?!” She slams the door behind her, twisting the lock.

I sigh and lean back in my chair. “It’s really not a good time, Allie.”

“Yeah? Well, unfortunately, we don’t have much choice.” She sets Biscuit down and rushes to the window, peeking out onto the street below.

“What’s going on? Why are you so jumpy? Or are you undercover on another story, too?”

Slowly, she turns to me. “What did you say?”

“You heard me. Allison Larsen. Aspiring investigative reporter. You’re very good at playing a damsel, I must say.”

She blinks a couple of times, her mouth parted in shock. “Okay, yes, I—I lied to you,” she starts. Her eyes glimmer, tears threatening to spill over. “I never wanted to hire a matchmaker. I saw you at the coffee shop, talking to that girl through the earpiece on that bizarre date and... I had to know more.” Her voice cracks, vulnerable. “I’ve been stuck writing crappy food reviews for years, barely scraping by. I saw this as my chance. But that was before I knew you. Before I…before I cared about you.”

“Did you know Soleil sent Logan to spy on me? To try to peek into my house and find out… god knows what about my life for yourstory?” I watch her closely, searching for any flicker of deceit. If there’s one thing I’m hoping for, it’s that she had nothing to do with that. It doesn’t line up with the Allie I’ve come to know.

“She didwhat?”

For a brief moment, relief sweeps over me. “Yep. I caught Logan prowling around my yard last night. Andyour bosshired him.”

Horror washes over her face, and I believe her shock is genuine. “I swear, Thatcher, I had no idea!” She pauses to pinch the bridge of her nose. “Look, you don’t have to believe me right this second, but I swear to you, I never would have done this if I thought for a second I’d be putting you or Duke in any danger.”

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