Page 24 of Miss Matched

“Thanks for the contracts, Tiff,” Zac says, ignoring her comment, and I can’t help but wonder if the reason he brushes it off is that he doesn’t agree. Not that I should care.

She nods and follows Tate out of the room. “See you tomorrow, boss.”

Zac waves a hand a hand in her direction, then motions for me to take a seat.

I pick the farthest cushion on the couch, thinking distance will at least keep my head screwed on straight. But it doesn’t work, because he follows and sits on the cushion beside me.

“They like you,” I say, eyeing the now-empty hallway.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he says. “I’m a likable guy.”

“Clearly. I’m just observing.” I fold my hands in my lap and try to maintain my composure. The assertive Kennedy who first met him folds away with each flick of his gaze. “You can tell a lot about a person by the people they surround themselves with.”

“Please don’t ask Samson his thoughts, then. You might change your mind about me.”

Samson Hollingworth. The name rings a bell. He’s someone high up in Zac’s company, but that’s all I know about him.

“Tiffany and Tate are clearly loyal,” I tell him. “It says a lot that your employees seem to have warm feelings toward you. Especially as a man of your status.”

“My status?” Zac gets up and walks to the bar in the corner. “You say that like it’s different from yours.”

“It is.”

I worked hard for what I have now. An apartment I own, nice things I treat myself with on occasion. A comfortable living. But make no mistake, there’s an ocean between Zac’s life and where I came from: futon beds, trash bag suitcases, shared bedrooms. Moving from house to house and family to family with no connections or roots. Much less status.

“Only if you say so.” His eyes narrow. “I think you underestimate yourself, Cupid.”

If only he knew how right he is.

“Drink?” he offers, waving a glass my direction.

“Water.”

He nods, pouring himself two fingers of whiskey then setting both drinks down in front of us.

“That’s quite a stack you’ve got there,” he says, eyeing the files sticking out of my bag.

“Don’t worry, they’re not all for you. But we should get started.”

He takes a drink and sits back, always looking. Always scanning. Watching me like I might as well be naked.

I pull out the top file and grab my pen.

“As we discussed on the phone, I’m here tonight for the in-person portion of the initial screening process.”

“The fifty pages of questions I answered at the office aren’t enough?”

“Those help with the basics. But there’s a large part of matchmaking that’s much more… personal.” I pause as Zac leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. “A questionnaire will only tell me so much about a person. I need to know you. The in-between stuff. The stories, the struggles. If this is going to work, then I need to learn what makes Zac Vincent tick.”

“Interesting,” he says. His smile dares me to continue.

“You ready?”

“If you think you can handle it.”

I’m honestly not sure I can.

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