Page 60 of Miss Matched

Monica squeals so loud it echoes.

“Sorry,” she says to the group standing near us.

“That’s my girl.” Luce winks.

“You’re going to get married and have babies.” Monica claps quietly. “Like, ridiculously adorable babies. And can we have movie nights at that penthouse because OMG I’ve only seen pictures of it from the Home Decor article but, gah, it must be incredible—”

“Mon.” I turn her to face me and hold on to her shoulders. “You’re spiraling. It was just sex.”

“Hot sex with Mr. Sex-on-a-Stick himself, Zac Vincent,” Luce points out.

I almost wave her off, but I just grin instead. Because she’s right: the sex was scorching. Toe-numbing, mind-blowing, rock-the-fucking-world earth-shattering. And it must be written all over my face because the girls give my shoulders an excited shimmy.

If only I could be excited with them. No matter how impossible it was to drag myself out of Zac’s bed, the moment I did, I was flooded with the reminder that it was a terrible mistake. He’s paying me to find him his soulmate. Sleeping with him is a giant conflict of interest.

My stomach sinks.

“He’s still a client,” I say to Monica and Luce, bringing my feet crashing back to Earth. There’s no way to fully cover the tinge of disappointment in my tone, even if I smile through it. If what happened actually meant something, he could have terminated our contract. But he didn’t. That tells me everything I need to know about what our time together meant to him.

“I know, hon.” Luce rubs my arm with sincerity. “That’s for the best anyway. Love ’em and leave ’em, right?”

Monica frowns, and I say, “Right.”

For a girl who is well versed in leaving, with Zac it feels surprisingly difficult.

Sam and Racine have been working from their apartments since the incident at the office, so my first day back is quiet. Zac’s people have come and gone. They replaced the broken window, and to an outside eye, it looks like nothing happened. But as I step into the dimly lit office, the energy is different.

I remember opening Hearts Inc. The business started in my living room. I took on a few paying clients at a time as I got it up and running. One referral led to another, until I could finally rent my dream space.

I may have grown up without a home, but my business didn’t. And right now, its home feels violated.

I head to my desk, focusing on the click of my heels against the floor like it’s any other day, flipping on light switches, watering plants, trying to forget the weight behind the silence.

On the plus side, without Sam regaling the office with his conquests and Racine arguing with him as an outlet for her sexual frustration, I get through my work in a third of the time it usually takes. If only the quiet emptiness didn’t come with a growing strain in my neck.

I check in on my clients. Martin is nearing the three-week mark with Gail, and even Chad has moved on to date number four with someone. With less oversight needed on their progressing relationships, I’m ready to open up spots for more clients. I noticed a steady increase in applications after the article about Zac working with me was published—another reminder of the long list of why I need to keep this professional.

A business arrangement, that’s all this is. And I’m holding up my end of the bargain.

Zac had his third date with Jasmine last night, and I haven’t heard from him since. I wish I could say every second isn’t eating away at me, but the gnawing in my gut proves that it is.

Did it go well, will he want to keep seeing her?Did he take her back to his penthouse and use her to erase the memory of me from his bed? Am I a memory worth holding on to in the first place, or was the whisper or our time together gone the moment I left?

The front door to the office closes, and it makes me jump. I double-check my calendar; there are no appointments or meetings. Paul wouldn’t be bold enough to show his face here after all that’s happened, would he?

My heart’s racing as Zac rounds the corner.

“Hey, Cupid,” he says, the sexiest grin stretching his face.

He’s casual for the middle of the week: slacks but no suit jacket, with his tie pulled loose around his neck. Bright green eyes pin me to my seat. Add that smile and my nickname, and he very well might be here to level what’s left of my resolve.

“Zac.” I nod, praying it comes out steady.

I dodge his stare and click around on my computer. Luckily, he can’t see the screen from where’s he’s standing, or he’d know I’m opening and closing windows in a lame attempt to seem busy.

“It’s quiet out there; where’s shaggy blonde dude and the redhead?”

“They have names,” I say. “Sam and Racine. And they’re not here.”

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