Failure to Match: An Enemies to Lovers Billionaire Matchmaker Romance
Failure to Match: Chapter 30

I hopped onto my laptop as soon as I was showered and dressed, and threw myself into work, hoping it would distract me. Except I’d been staring at the screen for just under an hour, and the only thing I’d done was open Alice’s email and click on her first listed candidate.

Miray Kaya.

Thirty-four years old. Former gymnast and current CEO of Counter Couture—the largest vegan, cruelty-free, and sustainable clothing brand in the country. She had an MBA from Cambridge with a concentration on sustainable business, had won numerous innovation and ethical fashion awards, and was quite possibly the most beautiful human being in existence. She was stunning.

Like, her photos straight-up did not look real.

Under the Consultant Notes section, Alice had written:

Shares client’s views on the romanticization of romance itself (though not as strongly). Much more interested in compatibility than love. Would consider an open marriage under the right circumstances but would prefer to maintain a sexual relationship and sleep in the same bed as primary partner, as both activities heavily promote bonding between mates, which strengthens the foundation for raising and co-parenting future children. She is well-read on the topic and is happy to discuss the science behind it at length.

Overall compatibility score of 90.3 based on available data. Higher-than-normal error margin is expected due to limited/ undisclosed information pertaining to client A’s: childhood and upbringing; interpersonal relationships; attachment style; conflict resolution style; sexual preferences.

Under private notes, she’d written:

Nope, pictures aren’t photoshopped. Believe it or not, they actually don’t do her justice. I’ve got major hair/face/body envy. I don’t think even Ripper would turn her down.

I felt a little sick to my stomach, to be honest. I knew I had to keep it moving and open the next profile but couldn’t bring myself to do it. This was exactly why Charmed (and almost all other reputable matchmaking services) had such strict policies and guidelines prohibiting their consultants from getting physically or romantically involved with their clients.

The conflict-of-interest bit was a very real thing. I was living it.

I shut my laptop, stood up, and started pacing. There were only two possible ways this thing with Jackson could end—with me agreeing to sign the contract, or him marrying someone else. There was no third option.

If I didn’t sign the contract, our little affair would have to end in two weeks.

If I did sign the contract, it would have to end at the one-year mark, and I’d lose my career over it.

Again, there was no magical third option. I wasn’t going to delude myself into thinking that, somewhere along the line, Jackson would change his entire belief system and confess his undying love to me. I also didn’t trust myself to not fall for him and definitely didn’t hate myself enough to⁠—

I halted when my phone dinged.

UNKNOWN NUMBER

Oh, there we go.

UNKNOWN NUMBER

Did you do it?

UNKNOWN NUMBER

I think so.

UNKNOWN NUMBER

How do you know?

UNKNOWN NUMBER

I’m in the next room, Molly. You can just come talk to me.

MOLLY

Well that wasn’t the plan, was it?

UNKNOWN NUMBER

Hush.

MOLLY

She hasn’t even joined yet.

UNKNOWN NUMBER

She has.

MOLLY

How do you know if she hasn’t said anything?

UNKNOWN NUMBER

It’s all automatic, isn’t it? I did exactly as Bensen’s boy said.

MOLLY

I don’t think it worked, Mabel. It would have told us so.

MABEL

It did tell me so.

MOLLY

Well, why didn’t it tell me so?

MABEL

How should I know that?

MOLLY

Call the boy back and ask.

MABEL

All right.

Biting down a smile, I typed out a response.

ME

If it helps, I’m here

MABEL

I knew it.

MOLLY

Well, why didn’t you say something earlier, dear?

Sorry. Didn’t want to interrupt

A handful of minutes ticked by without a response, though Mabel’s typing indicator kept flicking on and off. Then:

MABEL

That’s quite all right. We were just wondering if you’ve had a chance to visit the library is all.

Not yet, no

To be honest, I’d forgotten they’d even mentioned it. Eons had passed since the night they’d snuck over to my suite. Two lifetimes’ worth of orgasms had been experienced.

MOLLY

That’s too bad. Are you busy now?

We’ve got new matches for Jackson. I’m going over their profiles.

MABEL

Oh, well that can wait, can’t it?

MOLLY

We’re feeling a bit under the weather, you see, and were wondering if you’d be willing to run a few errands for us.

At the library.

I’d never met two people so relentlessly entertaining. They’d really grown on me. Before I could respond, Mabel started typing again.

MABEL

It’s a bit urgent, I’m afraid. We’ll need it all done while the Young Master is preoccupied.

Wait. I thought Jackson would be at the library. Wasn’t that what they’d been insinuating before?

What’s he doing?

MOLLY

No time for that now, dear. First things first, you’ll need to grab the key.

There’s a key? To the library?

MABEL

Jackson started locking the door when you arrived.

That probably means he doesn’t want me going in there.

MOLLY

Well, he doesn’t need to know, does he? We’d go ourselves if we weren’t so terribly ill.

Tell me the truth, how much trouble will I be in if he catches me?

MOLLY

We’re not exactly sure.

MABEL

Apart from Jackson, Molly and I are the only other people who have ever been allowed in.

MOLLY

Not to worry, though, dear. We just need you to grab a couple of books for us, nothing nefarious.

MABEL

We’re bedridden and wasting away, aren’t we, Molly?

MOLLY

If the illness doesn’t take me, the boredom will.

You’re terrible liars.

MABEL

The key has been tucked under the vase to the left of your suite. Avoid the main kitchen area at all costs.

More instructions to follow.

The silver skeleton key was, in fact, tucked under the very large, very irreplaceable-looking vase to the left of my suite. It was also looped through one of those rainbow twill necklaces kids made at preschool. The colors were worn, and the fraying twill had been tied in three separate places—but not as a method of repair. Trapped above each knot was a bright blue plastic pendant in the shape of a letter. J, M, and M.

I should have taken it as a warning.

I didn’t think I’d ever been as unprepared for something as I was for what was on the other side of that door. Then again, if Molly and Mabel had tried to describe it to me, I wouldn’t have believed them.

I hadn’t moved in a very long time. I’d unlocked the door, stepped through what must have been an invisible portal, and promptly froze.

It was beautiful. In every sense of the word, Jackson’s library was breathtakingly and awe-inspiringly beautiful.

It also made no fucking sense whatsoever.

The only things that sort of checked out were the floor-to-ceiling bookcases that lined three out of the four walls… but even those had been drawn and painted on. Everything had been drawn and painted on. There were tiny little flowers and leaves and stars and candy-colored critters etched into every wooden surface in the room.

It was nothing like the rest of the penthouse.

There was color everywhere, and so much sunshine. How could there be so much more light spilling through these windows compared to the rest of the penthouse? It was like I’d been trudging through perpetually grey weather and hadn’t realized it until I’d stumbled onto a field of flowers on a clear summer day.

And this room actually looked lived-in. There was a red blanket thrown haphazardly over the side of a dented, wrinkly leather couch, a forgotten mug left on top of the drawing-covered coffee table, and a handful of dog-eared books with bent covers lying around in various unkempt positions.

Even the Persian carpet was faded and aged.

I loved it. All of it. It was homey and cozy and beautiful, and had I known it existed, I would’ve spent a hell of a lot more time in here over the last couple of weeks.

Did Jackson know his library had been vandalized by a group of children of varying ages and drawing skill levels? Because if not, he was going to throw a fucking fit when he found out.

The mug user hadn’t even bothered with a coaster. It was bad.

What is this place?

Was it a setup? Had I been sent here as bait because they needed someone to blame for the mess? Ria always said it was the innocent-looking ones you had to watch out for.

MOLLY

It’s the library, dear, we’ve talked about this.

Okay, well, at least now I knew where Jackson got that specific aspect of his humor from.

No, I mean what’s with the drawings on everything?

MOLLY

Oh.

Yes, well, the old Master Sinclair wasn’t all that happy with Jackson’s interest in art, you see, so we had to get creative.

MABEL

He didn’t leave us much of a choice in the matter, I’m afraid.

MOLLY

Not after he tore up the sketchbooks we bought Jackson and left the wee little love weeping in our arms on his fifth birthday.

I blinked down at the screen.

His dad had done what?

MOLLY

And he didn’t stop there.

MABEL

Went as far as to ban sketchbooks, coloring pencils, and all painting supplies from the whole house. Staff’s quarters included.

MOLLY

But he never did say anything about fabric dye, did he?

MABEL

He did not. And there was no mention of wood or furniture or books or makeup brushes, either. Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the FindNøvᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

MOLLY

So, we went out and bought as much dye as we could carry, gave Jackson a little tutorial, then set him loose in our quarters.

MABEL

Fantastic at keeping secrets, the Young Master. Always has been.

MOLLY

We still use the bed frames he painted on, but the rest of the furniture is housed safely in the library.

MABEL

We insisted he keep it all.

I looked around again, paying closer attention. Sure enough, there were a couple of dressers tucked between bookcases, a side table, and a small vanity I’d missed during my initial scan of the place.

Jackson did all this?

MABEL

Quite wonderful, isn’t it?

I walked over to the closest bookshelf and knelt down to study the paintings at the very bottom. The progression of Jackson’s age was clear. The farther up I moved, the more detailed and advanced the art became.

It was so, so lovely.

The big, clumsily painted flowers gradually morphed into intricate vines snaking around meticulously detailed dragons and Monarch butterflies. The oversized stars with shaky lines became vibrant patches of a starry night sky. There were mystic forests with animated trees and talking gnomes. Woodland creatures playing in moonlit waterfalls.

It was brilliant. Every inch of wood told a different story, and I lost track of how long I spent going around the room, drinking it all in.

Then I decided to pull out a random book off the shelf and open it. I gasped, my mouth falling open.

At some point in the later years, Jackson must have managed to get his hands on some real art supplies, because I didn’t think you could sketch anything with this level of detail using a normal pen or pencil. It was fucking magical. Castles and crows and lions and lilies and pirate ships and swordfights sketched over the words, interacting with chapter titles and depicting underlined passages.

Anything and everything he’d ever drawn or painted was probably preserved in this room, etched into an item or a piece of furniture. I’d never seen anything like it.

Molly and Mabel had been silent over the last… however long I’d been here. Not by accident, I suspected.

Which books did you need me to grab?

MABEL

Oh, darn. I can’t seem to recall the title of mine.

I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my mouth as I typed out my response. Of course she didn’t.

Do you remember anything about the cover or spine? Or an approximate location?

MABEL

I think it had a dark green cover. Try the small bookcase beside the baby piano.

What baby piano?

I definitely didn’t see one of those in here.

MABEL

It’s down the steps, dear.

What steps? I walked around the room again, checked underneath some of the bigger pieces of furniture, but nothing. And just as I was about to ask, my phone dinged.

MOLLY

Try rubbing the genie lamp.

Again, what genie lam—oh, never mind. It was on the bookshelf to my left, perched beside a leather-bound version of The Arabian Nights.

I rubbed it. I still don’t see any stairs.

MABEL

Try again. Make sure you give it a good scrub.

Still nothing.

MOLLY

You might have to use one of your wishes to make them appear.

My grin widened slowly.

Molly and Mabel Harrison, are the two of you fucking with me right now?

MOLLY

We wouldn’t dream of it, dear, would we Mabel?

MABEL

Certainly not.

MOLLY

Try opening the lid.

Done. Still nothing.

MABEL

Now say the words: open sesame.

They were one hundred percent fucking with me, and I two hundred percent didn’t give a damn. This was kind of fun.

“Open sesameohmygod.”

I half tripped on my own feet when the shelf moved, my palm flying up to my chest.

Because, again, it fucking moved—slid three feet back, then rolled aside to reveal a small set of stairs, leading to a secret room!!!!

Holy fuck. YES!

I’d always, always, always wanted to partake in secret room shenanigans. This was amazing. Ria was going to lose her mind when she found out.

OMG!!!!

MOLLY

It is rather whimsical, yes.

MABEL

We never could keep up with Jackson’s imagination, could we?

MOLLY

We tried our best, Mabel. That’s what counts.

Honestly if he kills me for sneaking in here tell my parents I said it was worth it

MABEL

IOI.

MOLLY

I don’t think that’s the expression, Mabel.

lol

I officially loved those two. Almost as much as I loved this magical library.

Tucking my phone into my back pocket, I hopped down the five steps, my heart fluttering with giddy excitement. There were only a handful of bookshelves down here. The rest of the space was peppered with even more art-covered furniture—chairs, desks, bedside tables, and, yup, there it was… the sweetest little kids’ piano. It was adorable.

Found the piano.

MOLLY

That one was a bit trickier to keep under the radar, wasn’t it, Mabel?

MABEL

Very much so. We had to coordinate with Mikey on that one.

Mikey? Like Jackson’s driver, Mikey?

MABEL

The very one. Though he was Richard’s driver back then.

MOLLY

We could only allow the Young Master to practice when his father wasn’t home. Mikey would provide us with that information.

MABEL

Richard would’ve had our heads otherwise. He was convinced that music and art would make the boy “soft” as he put it.

Who taught Jackson how to play?

MABEL

Bensen to start.

Rahul’s daughter-in-law took over when Bensen was fired. He’s the barber, dear. I’d imagine you’ve met him by now.

Something severely unpleasant tugged at my chest. The reason why Jackson kept so many members of staff—the reason why he had “a person” for everything—wasn’t because he was useless and incapable of self-sufficiency. It was because they were his people. His family. He kept them around out of love, not necessity.

My heart inflated, a thick wad of cotton forming in the pit of my throat. In hindsight, I could see why they were so insistent I’d misjudged him.

Why was Bensen fired?

I assumed Jackson had rehired him at some point, likely when he’d been old enough to get a place of his own.

There was no immediate response, which gave me time to meander around and take in more details. Like the framed picture Jackson kept on an old desk tucked in the corner of the room. He must have been twelve or thirteen at the time, sporting a Santa hat and a mouthful of braces. Embracing him were Molly and Mabel, and the Grinch smiling evilly behind them was… a much younger Bensen, I was pretty sure.

It was far more precious than it had any right to be, and definitely wasn’t helping the tightening in my throat.

MOLLY

Do you see a bedside table with a big cactus drawn on one side?

Yeah

MOLLY

The book I need you to grab for me is in there. Second drawer.

Okay, so they weren’t going to tell me why Bensen was fired which, of course, only made me more curious. I opened the drawer she was talking about, but there was no book inside it. There was, however, a journal.

It was bookmarked in multiple places.

If this is Jackson’s diary I’m not touching it with a ten-foot pole.

I drew a hard line at reading another person’s most private thoughts without their explicit consent. And I wasn’t willing to steal it for Molly, either.

MOLLY

It’s not his, dear. It’s mine.

Oh. Fair enough.

Okay. I’ve grabbed it. I’m looking for your green book now, Mabel.

MOLLY

Actually, can you check a few things for me first? I need to make sure it’s the right journal.

Okay what should I check?

MOLLY

Why don’t you flip to the first marked page.

A fair warning though, dear…

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