Failure to Match: An Enemies to Lovers Billionaire Matchmaker Romance
Failure to Match: Chapter 21

“Behold!”

Looking slightly more wild-eyed and unhinged than I’d thought possible for him, Jackson threw the set of double doors open to reveal…

“Oh. My. Fucking. God,” I breathed, frozen stupid.

“I know.”

“Jackson…”

“I know.”

“This is…”

“I know.”

I gaped at the colossal… palace. It was a full-on palace stuffed into the empty suite down the hall from mine.

A palace made out of cardboard.

“Oh. My. Fucking. God,” I said again. Toebeans was going to lose his fucking mind.

“Yes,” Jackson purred. “She’s exquisite.”

My mouth was still hanging open. “How did you…” Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Money.”

“In less than six hours…”

“Money.”

“This is… holy shit, that’s a throne.” Which meant that by the end of today, Toebeans Maguire would have sat on three separate thrones, all of which had been custom-made just for him.

Jackson strutted into the suite, all arrogance. “Adderall might have built Cat a room full of intricate toys and accessories, but if Cat is anything like Harry, then he’s significantly more interested in the boxes those toys come in.”

“You know his name is Adrien.”

Jackson frowned at me. “Then why did you tell me it was Toebeans?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose as the laugh escaped. He had a very specific brand of humor—one that should have annoyed the hell out of me—and it was growing on me at an alarmingly rapid pace.

“I can’t believe…” I trailed off, unable to think of the right words.

It was incredible. There was a clock tower (with an actual working clock that doubled as a treat dispenser), stables (housing horse-shaped scratch posts), a dungeon (with cardboard mice trapped behind steel bars), and… and just so much more.

There was even art! Images and shapes that had been carefully carved into the cardboard walls, arched windows with stained glass, and a colorful little outdoor garden with battery-operated butterflies!

It was fucking magical.

“When did you even have the time to make this happen?” I asked.

“I was at my desk all afternoon. What else would I have been doing?”

I blinked up at him. “Working.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jamie.”

Jesus Christ. I really could not with this man.

But also, like, how genuinely sweet was this? I was trying really, very hard to stop my heart from melting over it, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted to hug him. I didn’t, but I wanted to.

Jackson rubbed his hands together. “Shall we bring Cat in? See what he thinks?”

I held up a palm to stop him. “A few questions before we do that.” Although I was honestly a little afraid to ask. “One, why does it smell like you in here?”

It was like someone had rubbed him all over this room.

“Ah, yes, you’re going to love this.”

I bit down my smile.

“You said Cat likes Adrien because of his scent, right?”

My heart skipped a beat. “That’s just a theory. We’re not actually sure…”

He waved a dismissive hand. “Either way, having my scent associated with all this is probably going to help him warm up to me.”

I crossed my arms over my pounding chest, like that would help protect it. “What about the pictures?”

Along the walls of the palace were framed pictures of Jackson’s face, all in varying sizes and expressions.

“Brilliant, no? Same idea as the scent.”

“You’re unhinged. This”—I flapped a hand around—“is unhinged.”

He grinned. “Would you like to hear the best part?”

I guessed it immediately. It was the emphasis he put on the word hear that tipped me off.

Jackson clapped his hands together twice.

“Hello, Cat. This is Jackson Sinclair, your favorite male human. You love me, and you love my voice. You do not hiss when I am near, especially not in my home⁠—”

I clapped, cutting the recording off. My chest couldn’t handle much more. This was… I was just… Every single piece of data we’d accumulated in Jackson’s profile was incorrect. None of this aligned with the information we’d been provided by his team.

He was so much more… Honestly, I’d never met someone quite so…

“What do you think?” he asked before my thoughts could fully form. His expression was slowly sobering. “I know it’s unhinged, but do you… like it?”

He stepped closer. I meant to take a step back.

“It’s…” I trailed off, my blood thrumming as his gaze met mine and softened. “I don’t… really understand why you did this.”

There was a long, dense pause. “I want Cat to like me.”

My fists dug into my ribs as my pulse scrambled for purchase. “And why’s that?”

“Because.” His head slanted to one side. “I’ve decided that I like… him.”

Whatever response my brain pieced together died in my throat when Jackson tilted my chin up, thumb caressing my skin.

“I find Cat intriguing,” he murmured, and I was convinced my heart was going to beat out of my chest. “I’ve never been outwardly loathed like that before. People always pretend.”

Willing my voice not to crack, I said, “So… you only like him because he doesn’t fall at your feet like everyone else?”

Jackson dropped his hand.

“You have no idea how rare—how fucking refreshing—that level of honesty is when you’ve spent your whole life not knowing whether the people around you are there because of you, or your money.” His throat worked with a rough swallow, eyes sliding between mine. “I like that he doesn’t put up with my bullshit just because of my family name. That he refuses to be bought with my money.”

We were still talking about Toebeans.

Yup. We were definitely still talking about my cat, so if my heart could stop trying to beat itself into cardiac arrest now, I’d sincerely appreciate it.

“You want to know the real reason I was so rude to you on our first date, Jamie?” His voice dipped to a low gravel, snaking through me like ivy. “I was trying to see how far I could push before somebody finally told me to go fuck myself.”

My breath hitched when his thumb caressed my chin again, my lips drawing his gaze when they peeled apart.

“Sixty-seven matches,” he said, hooded eyes locked on my mouth. “Every single one of them wanted something from me—wealth, status, connections—but none of them wanted me.”

Every time I thought of something to say, the words would melt away before they reached my tongue.

“I could have gotten away with murder on those dates. They would have helped me bury the body in exchange for a ring and no prenup.”

My lips twitched. “You’re so cocky.”

The corners of his pale eyes crinkled a touch. “It’s not just women, either,” he whispered. “Why do you think Molly is so concerned with my lack of friends?”

“I assumed your lack of friends was largely due to your personality,” I teased lightly.

His teeth tugged at his smiling lower lip, and a fresh wave of heat washed over me. “I told you I like it when you’re mean to me. I’m starting to think you’re doing it on purpose.”

“That’s because your ego truly knows no bounds.”

He was still holding my chin, still caressing it. And I was still letting him.

Why was I still letting him?

My tongue darted out to wet my lips and, again, it immediately drew his attention. This time, his gaze darkened, his smile fading.

I saw the signs. All of them. The glazed look, the slack mouth, the lean-in.

And I still didn’t see it coming.

I still gasped when his lips brushed mine, featherlight. Still blinked in surprise when tiny little sparks traced that exact spot. But I didn’t pull away.

Jackson waited, drawing back just an inch to see if I would bolt. But I stayed rooted on the spot, utterly transfixed. He did it again—the lightest brush of his lips along mine, and when my eyes fluttered shut, he…

Oh.

Oh, whoa.

The first press of his lips was soft, testing. The second pulled a frail whimper from my throat. My hands moved, tracing his biceps as they curled around me. I was pulled flush against him, right before my feet were lifted off the hardwood.

My arms snaked around his neck, every last semicoherent thought in my head melting into shapeless putty when his tongue traced the seam of my lips. Another helpless sound escaped as my lips parted. I clutched onto him tighter, my core clenching as my whole body sparked to life. He tasted like mint and molten sugar, and when I teased his tongue with a shy lick, his chest vibrated with a pleased groan.

I couldn’t breathe. Between the fiery sparks racing through my lungs and Jackson crushing me to him, I couldn’t get enough oxygen. And I couldn’t seem to care.

Was this what kissing was supposed to feel like? Because holy shit had I been doing it wron⁠—

“Oh!”

My eyes flew open.

“Oh, what now, Mabel? Surely you—oh!”

Shit.

Shit shit shit shit shit.

My heart stopped beating when the voices registered. I tried pulling back from Jackson, but he wouldn’t budge. Also, my bottom lip was currently wedged between his teeth.

Fuck me.

“Out. Out out out out!” one of the sisters hissed as I wriggled in Jacksons arms. The man was built like a marble fucking statue. He’d lifted me no less than a foot off the ground and was showing exactly zero signs of physical exertion.

“Jackson!” I hissed when his mouth moved to my jaw. I mean, it did make my eyes roll to the back of my head, but only a little… until he licked at that one spot just underneath my earlobe. A piece of my soul died then. “Jackson, we should, um, I need… should stop. There’s… people here.”

That was about as coherent as I could be with him nipping at my earlobe like that.

His embrace only tightened. “Go away,” he grumbled unhappily, even though I was pretty sure the sisters were long gone by now. “We’re busy.”

He sounded very growly and a little drunk.

“Jackson,” I tried again. The fact that I could even form the word was a miracle. He was very, very, very good with his tongue. Very excellent.

“You taste like peaches.”

“That’s… anatomically… impossible,” I panted.

“Tell that to your skin,” he said before licking my jaw again.

I clenched around nothing, my core burning. “Jackson… look at… me… please.”

Reluctantly, he peeled his mouth away from my neck and glared at me with hazy, melted-blue eyes. The man was pouting.

“Molly and Mabel… saw us,” I explained, still fighting for air.

“Okay.” His eyes locked in on my lips again. He leaned forward.

My palm pressed to his mouth before he could kiss me, which made his eyebrows crumple. Like he truly didn’t understand what the problem was.

“What are…” My lungs were all but heaving, yet none of the hoarded oxygen was able to reach my brain. “You kissed me. Why would you do that?”

He cocked his head and quirked a brow, my hand still pressed to his mouth.

Little by little, the realization seeped into my skin.

Little by little, I started to panic.

“Why would you…” Did he have any idea what he’d just done? How something like this could impact my career? “We’re supposed to be friends!”

His brows slammed together at that, then he nipped at my fingers. I kept them secure over his mouth, my eyes narrowing. My senses were returning bit by bit, the gears in my head groaning to stiff motion.

“Put me down.”

His arms tightened around me for a single stubborn beat before he gently placed me back on the carpet. He did not look happy about it.

“Listen to me very carefully,” I said, still not having peeled back my hand. My confusion was very quickly morphing into hot panic, nipping restlessly at my skin. “This—whatever it was—never happened, okay? I’m going to go to my room and finish prepping for our interview tomorrow, you’re going to go explain to Molly and Mabel that this was just a misunderstanding, and then we’re never going to talk about it ever again.”

Then I made the mistake of pulling my hand back.

“No.”

My fingers dug into my palms. “I wasn’t asking.”

“And I’m not going to pretend like we didn’t just make out,” he said. “You know what we should do instead? Talk about it.”

“That sounds like the worst possible course of action.”

“Effective communication is the cornerstone of any healthy relationship,” he pointed out.

The tips of my ears tingled. I was in so much fucking trouble. “You and I are not in a relationship.”

He tutted. “We’ve got a professional relationship, not to mention a budding friendship that requires nurturing⁠—”

“Jackson.”

“You kissed me back.”

I stopped short, my throat constricting.

He took a step forward, eyes searching mine. “You didn’t push me away; you didn’t pull back.”

My mouth stuttered uselessly for a beat. “I can’t… you have no idea what…”

This wasn’t about losing my job at Charmed. If word got out that I’d kissed Jackson Sinclair, my professional reputation would be scorched. I’d be blacklisted.

The industry didn’t fuck around with stuff like this. Getting romantically involved with a client was a massive conflict of interest. I knew of exactly two people who’d been caught doing it, and neither of them worked in the industry anymore.

Not to mention the gossip, the rumors, the unkind labels, and general shaming they’d had to endure…

“What?” Jackson asked when I remained silent.

But I couldn’t tell him, could I? If he knew how big of a deal this was, it would give him a lot of leverage to use against me if this whole friendship thing didn’t work out.

Protocol dictated that I report the incident to HR and take myself out of the situation immediately. Except I’d also royally pissed off my boss, who was a PR genius. She, too, could very well use this against me.

I had no idea what to do.

“Why… just why?” Why had he kissed me? We’d been making such good progress. I didn’t understand.

“Judging by your reaction, I’m not sure now’s the time to⁠—”

“Just tell me! What the hell were you thinking?” He couldn’t be into me. I wasn’t sure he could be into anybody, based on the conversations we’d had about romance and love.

Was it just an attraction thing? If so, why the hell would he act on it, knowing we’d be stuck together for another three weeks? Did he not realize how fucking awkward it would be?

“All right, I guess I’ll just spit it out.” And then Jackson Sinclair, the absolute bane of the last eight months of my existence, looked me dead in the eyes and said, “I was thinking that you and I should get married.”

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