Failure to Match: Chapter 27

Jackson Sinclair may not have any tattoos, but Daniel Omori sure did. Two full sleeves of them, in fact. Maybe even more. He was also tall, had a spoiled pet, an Australian accent, and worked as a sushi chef.

Oh, and I’d definitely known of him before we met. Very much so.

“It’s not him.” Jackson shoved himself into the backseat of his town car, sliding right up against me as the door shut behind him.

“I’ve always wanted to live in Japan,” I sighed wistfully. I may have been poking the bear a bit, but he was so cranky about the whole thing that I couldn’t help myself.

Jackson glowered down at me, and I pouted up at him, pretending like I’d drank the Kool-Aid. “Do you have any tattoos?” I asked.

His brows drew together all unhappy-like. He hesitated for a beat. “No.”

“A name that starts with a D I don’t know about?”

His jaw locked.

“Then it has to be him because I haven’t met anyone else in the last month that fits that exact description.”

“It’s not him.”

I cupped his cheek. “And to think you introduced us,” I said softly, forcing my lower lip to wobble. He had murder in his eyes. “We’ll always be grateful, Danny and I. You’ll get a toast at our wedding for sure.”

Hot air shoved out of his nostrils. This was so much fun.

“Over my dead fucking body, Jamie.”

“You don’t even believe in tarot or anything occult-related,” I reminded him, letting my hand—and the ruse—drop. “Why are you so worked up?”

“You believe in it.”

“I never once said I believed in tarot. The details she gave were kind of freaky, though. She described him to a T.”

“It wasn’t all accurate. Last I checked, Omori didn’t come to you with an offer that would veer you off whatever path you had your sights set on.”

“Wrong. I was going to look for another job as soon as the Immersive was over. If I accept Daniel as a client, I’d have to stay at Charmed. There’s your veered path right there.”

He was going to challenge me every step of the way on this, I could see it in the stubborn set of his jaw. Not that it mattered. I didn’t care who Imogen had been referring to in her reading, or what the details were. I was never going to end up with Jackson.

I wanted love, connection, a partner I could share my life with. Jackson needed a temporary wife who’d sign a contract, maybe give him a child, and happily walk away from it all when the term of their agreement was over. He couldn’t do an ever-after, and I couldn’t do without one.

We’d make each other miserable.

I held up a palm when he opened his mouth again. “I’m not going to argue about this with you. We have more important things to talk about.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

“Supervised dates, Jackson? A full coaching package? Suddenly you’re on board?”

For the first time since he’d stomped out of Minerva’s office without so much as a goodbye, his scowl eased a touch. “I changed my mind.”

“Really?” My brows arched as I folded my arms over my chest. “You want me on all your dates, critiquing every little move you make?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “If I must suffer through them then so do you. Plus, you did say that if I had any personal areas of concern, you’d help me work through them.”

He was up to something. There was no doubt about it.

He nudged closer to me, his massive thigh pressing to mine. “We can go over the details later today. But first, we need to feed Cat.”

We? “Why would we do that?”

He frowned at me like I’d asked a stupid question. “Because he hasn’t had his breakfast yet.”

That wasn’t what I meant, and he knew it.

“I don’t know what you’re scheming, but I can almost guarantee it’ll end with a bite mark,” I warned. “And blood.”

He smirked to himself. “We’ll see.”

Toebeans was perched beside his empty food bowl when I opened the door, simmering in hanger-induced rage. He growled when he saw me, because how dare I?

“Hi, cutie. I’m sorry we’re so late⁠—”

Jackson snatched my wrist as soon as I stepped into the suite, stopping me in my tracks. How could one person generate so much electricity? One small touch and every inch of my skin buzzed with it.

“Where’s his food?” he asked.

“Um… bottom cupboard. Far left.”

“Can I do it?”

I hesitated. “I mean… you could try.” But why would he want to?

“Thanks.”

Normally Toebeans would have been entangled between my ankles by now, noisily screaming about how neglected and famished he was while simultaneously making it as difficult as possible for me to get to his food bowl.

Then again, normally I didn’t have a Jackson Sinclair accompanying me to his mealtime.

His tail stopped flicking as Jackson stepped closer, a warning growl rumbling from his chest. This wasn’t going to work. Jackson wouldn’t even make it to the cupboard before being forced to back off.

“Watch your ankles,” I warned.

Jackson came to a stop around six feet from his target. Then he slowly, carefully, crouched down.

Wrong move. Toebeans bared his sharp fangs, ears flattening as his pupils flared.

Uh Oh. “Jackson⁠—”

“Hello, Cat.”

Toebeans froze. His fangs retreated. His ears flicked.

“That’s right,” Jackson murmured, “you recognize my voice, don’t you?”

I bit into my lower lip as Toebeans and his one brain cell tried their best to slot the puzzle pieces together. Why did the half-giant crouching in front of him sound like his palace overlord? It made no sense!

“Here’s the deal,” Jackson went on, daring a small step forward. Toebeans watched him warily but didn’t show any new signs of aggression. “I am going to use this hand right here to reach into the cupboard beside you, and I’d very much appreciate it if my skin wasn’t shredded in the process.”

Another step forward.

I couldn’t decide which was more amusing—my wide-eyed, dumb-struck cat, or the duck-walking half-giant at his mercy. I did, however, know which one was more endearing. How could I not, when it was making my heart want to burst?

“You may sniff me if you’d like.” Jackson held out a cautious hand with his next step, but Toebeans didn’t move.

It took almost a full minute of patience and stillness, but it… it worked. My lips peeled apart as Toebeans took one tentative step forward. Then another. What the hell?

“Come on, little one. It’s all right.” The coax was so soft, so gentle, that it made my chest ache.

My lungs seized when Toebeans leaned his head forward, but instead of sinking his teeth into Jackson’s outstretched arm, he carefully sniffed his fingers.

“Good boy. Well done.” Jackson smiled and it broke a piece of my heart clean off. “You see? I’m not so bad.”

While Toebeans was busy trying to decipher why this man sounded and smelled exactly like his new favorite place on earth, Jackson reached over with his other hand, opened the cupboard I’d referenced earlier, and successfully retrieved a small silver tin of cat food.

“Here.” He peeled back the lid while Toebeans watched, keeping his movements smooth, slow, and steady.

Toebeans eyed him, trying to gauge his exact level of threat as his breakfast was served. Jackson didn’t push him, though. Instead, he lowered into a seat right beside the food bowl, stretched out his legs, pressed his back to the cabinets, and feigned focused interest in the content labels of the empty can.

Toebeans watched him cautiously, waiting to see what he would do. When Jackson remained disinterested in further engagement, he chirped a soft, questioning “Meowr.”

“Bluefin tuna, mussels, and quinoa, huh?”

“Meowr.”

“Sounds rather foul. Is that why you’re not eating it?” Jackson turned his attention to me. “Has he ever tried Wagyu beef?”

I pressed my twitching lips together and shook my head.

He held up the tin and frowned down at Toebeans. “This isn’t gourmet anything, Cat. You’ve been duped by Adolf.”

“Adrien,” I corrected. “And that’s not why he’s not eating.”

“Why aren’t you eating?”

“Meowr.”

I walked over and took a seat beside Jackson’s feet, facing the two of them. “Go on, cutie. I’m watching.”

He continued to hesitate, still somewhat unsettled by Jackson’s presence. Eventually, though, the hunger won. He ate slowly at first, not taking his eyes off the potential threat. But once it was clear that Jackson had no interest in stealing any of his mashed-up tuna, he munched faster, bushy tail swishing happily.

“Can’t believe you pulled it off,” I said to Jackson. “This is honestly impressive. Other than Adrien, we’ve never been able to get him to warm up to a man before. Not even my dad.” And it hadn’t been for a lack of trying.

“Send me a recording of his voice. I’ll have Cat obsessed with him in no time.”

I huffed a laugh as Toebeans crawled onto my lap for his mandatory post-feeding cuddle time. Scratching his neck and ears, I began asking him a string of nonsensical questions in between head kisses.

Smooch. Who was the most handsomest boy in the whole wide world? Smooch. Who had been such a good and patient boy while waiting for his breakfast all morning? Smooch. Who was the most majestic kitty king with the most majestic kitty palace anyone had ever seen? Smooch. Smooch. Smooch.

It was all fine and great until, from the corner of my eye, I saw Jackson’s hand twitch. And damn it to hell, another piece of my heart snapped off.

With a small sigh, I held out my palm. “Give me your hand.”

He didn’t even attempt to mask his excitement as his massive palm landed in mine. I bit back my own smile, guiding his fingers forward so Toebeans could sniff them again. When he didn’t hiss or swipe, I said, “Try scratching behind his left ear.”

It worked.

It frikkin’ worked. Toebeans was allowing a practical stranger to pet him, and all it took was a massive cardboard palace drenched in Jackson’s scent, a recording of his voice on an endless loop, and… ah, yes, the portraits. How could I forget about those?

“He’s so soft.”

I hummed in agreement. He was super soft. A total cuddle slut too when he was in a snuggly mood.

“I can’t believe he’s actually letting you touch him.”

“Just wait,” Jackson murmured. “By the end of next week, he’ll be all snuggled up on my lap, purring away.”

A hurricane of butterflies erupted in my chest when I pictured it. The air was stripped right out of my overinflated lungs. My pulse stuttered.

Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to give Daniel that call he’d asked for, since he’d given me his business card and everything…

“You okay?”

“Huh?” Meeting Jackson’s curious gaze was a mistake. It only made the fluttering worse. “I’m fine. Why?”

“You very suddenly stopped moving,” he pointed out. “And breathing.”

Had I? “I was just trying to remember where I put the business card.”

His fingers slowed their scratching, his eyes slimming dangerously. Almost like a predator locking in on its prey. It made my clit flutter.

I cleared my throat and tore my gaze away from him. It messed with my thinking when he looked at me like that, and the quicker we could have The Talk, the better.

“Listen, about last night…” I trailed off. Why did I trail off?

My hesitation provided him with just enough space to say, “I’d like to do the coaching orientation as soon as possible.”

Okay, sure, “But first we should… I really think…”

The statement was at the very tip of my tongue, short and simple: it can’t happen again.

That was it. That was all I had to say.

If I didn’t end it here—if I allowed this… thing between us to escalate any further, I’d end up getting hurt. I knew what I felt, and I knew where it was all headed. It would be really, very stupid of me to keep going down this path.

Both for my emotional well-being and my career.

Jackson waited for me to say it, watched quietly as I struggled to get the words out. The silence stretched and stretched… until it started to feel like a dare.

I licked my drying lips. “What I’m trying to say is that last night really shouldn’t have… and we can’t⁠—”

I was going to say it that time, I swear. But just as I was about to get the words out, an overstimulated Toebeans twisted in my lap and sunk his teeth into my hand.

“Ow,” I noted flatly. That was, uh, definitely a lot harder than he usually bit. Normally it was a playful little nip or a quick swipe of his paw to let me know he was all done.

Normally he didn’t break skin. Or growl like that.

“What’s happening?” Jackson’s fingers had gone still, a frown pinching at his handsome features.

“Nothing. He’s just letting us know he’s done being petted.”

Jackson lifted his hand right away and another corner of my heart melted. Toebeans leaped off my lap and trotted toward the door, tail swishing as he licked his lips, satisfied. It was palace time.

I stretched my hand as Jackson pushed to his feet. “I swear he’s somehow become both more cuddly and more grumpy with age. It’s almost—what are you doing?”

He rattled the small first-aid kit he’d grabbed from the linen closet before sinking down beside me again. “Give me your hand.”

Th-thump. “I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“It’s not a big deal.” It was the teeniest, tiniest bit of blood you’d ever seen. I might as well have accidentally poked myself with a pin.

… Okay, maybe it was a little bigger than that, but not much.

He gently grabbed my wrist anyway, and then I had to sit there and watch him carefully clean and disinfect the small cut, apply ointment, and cover it with sterile dressing. Massive overreaction. I’d barely needed a Band-Aid.

But the damage was already done. My heart squeezed and sang as I watched him, sparks nipped at my soul, and it felt like I was floating.

“There.” Jackson smoothed a thumb over the applied dressing, then kissed it. “All better.”

… He kissed it.

I was lightheaded, couldn’t breathe, and I swear if I didn’t tackle him to the floor and permanently fuse our mouths together for eternity I was going to burst into a fluttering swarm of butterflies and die.

I snatched my hand out of his grip and all but flew to my feet. “Excuse me for a moment.”

Fight or flight kicked in; autopilot took over. I scooped up Cat—no, sorry, Toebeans—and marched out of my suite.

I was in so much trouble.