Failure to Match: An Enemies to Lovers Billionaire Matchmaker Romance

I fumbled my way into the private bathroom with a rough shoulder, half-blind. But at least I managed to keep the tears from falling until I’d yanked on the tap to drown out their accompanying sobs.

The pain was physical. I was shattered. My heart had been ripped in half and left to bleed out.

I tried to convince myself that this was all for the best; that I should’ve been happy for him. He’d finally found someone he liked.

Their compatibility scores were solid. They had similar lifestyles, wanted similar things, shared agreeable views on core issues, and Miray was beautiful, successful, and highly intelligent.

As his friend, I should’ve been happy for him. I wasn’t.

Selfishly, I didn’t want him to be with anyone else. Illogically, I hated her. Unreasonably, I wanted to march up to their table and politely ask Miray to take her hands off my man.

But I couldn’t do any of that. Because I’d still wake up tomorrow morning wanting love; and he’d still wake up tomorrow morning not believing in it. The best thing I could do for myself was to let him go. My heart was bleeding, and my stomach was twisting, but the pain was temporary. It wasn’t like I’d still be pining after him in fifteen years. Not like I was going to regret not listening to my gut.

Oh god.

I was going to vomit.

Every last one of my internal alarms was blaring, screaming at me to go get him. This felt… so fucking wrong. Like I was making a huge mistake and⁠—Content (C) Nôv/elDra/ma.Org.

Knock knock knock.

I sucked in a sharp breath, jolting upright. How long had I been in here for?

Knockknockknock knock knock.

“Just a sec!” I should’ve cleared my throat first, that crack in my voice had been very telling. I shut off the tap and made quick work of swiping away my tears. My mascara was smudged, my eyes puffy, my cheeks blotchy, but it was as good as it was going to get.

Now all I had to do was sneak out of here without running into Jackson.

I had no idea how he’d reacted. The second she’d leaned in, I’d shot to my feet, ripped my gaze away, and ran straight out of the⁠—

Knockknockknockknockknockknockknock.

Wow, what the hell?

Frowning, I threw open the bathroom door… and immediately attempted to close it again. But Jackson’s hand shot out just in time.

My heart had gone from dead to racing, a swarm of angry bees buzzing over my skin. I’d done my best to clean up, but the evidence of what I’d been doing was pretty damning, and it was all over my face.

His eyes were drunk and hazy as they swept over my features, gathering data, and just as I was about to twist away from him and hide the extent of my misery, I noticed the shadows clouding the skin under his eyes. The somber set of his mouth.

My stomach flipped.

I meant to ask him what he was doing. Where was Miray? Why was he here and not with her? And why was he looking at me like I’d ruined his life? But I couldn’t seem to find my voice.

Not when his half-blinks slowed to a complete stop. Not when he reached for my arm and pulled me into the dimly lit hallway. And not when he traced a jagged line down my cheek and neck with the pad of his finger.

I guess I’d missed a tear stain or two.

“Again,” he whispered, and my cheeks flared bright crimson. I was aware of how much I’d cried in front of him, he didn’t need to point it out like that. But then he said, “My fault. Again.”

What? No it wasn’t. He was allowed to kiss whoever he wanted; how I felt about it wasn’t on him.

He swallowed, cupping my face with his palm. With a delicate sweep of his thumb across my cheekbone, he said, “I am not worth your tears, Jamie.”

With that, my throat clogged up and a fresh bout of tears sprang to my eyes. How dare he? But before I could string together a semicoherent argument, disproving his very incorrect theory about how much he was worth, he said, “I stopped it. She didn’t… we didn’t kiss.”

The rush of relief was so instantaneous and heady, it made my knees weak. I released a breath, my lashes fluttering as the crushing weight lifted from my chest.

“That’s… too bad,” I said quietly. “I thought you guys were really hitting it off. In my professional opinion⁠—”

“Stop. Just… stop.” His voice was gruff with exasperation as he stepped forward. “Does this feel right to you? Does seeing me with someone else feel right? Because I’m losing my fucking mind over here, Jamie. It’s fucking horrible.”

“How I feel about it shouldn’t matter.”

He was holding my face with both hands now, tilting it up as he moved even closer, crowding me. I should have told him no; should have put some distance between our bodies. But I’d missed him so much that I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I stupidly leaned into his touch.

“How can you stand it?” His voice was raw, anguished. “How is it fair that you’re only halfway there, but I can’t fucking breathe anymore, Jamie?”

I blinked, on the brink of a heart attack. “You’re drunk.”

“Why can’t I breathe? What did you do to me?”

“I don’t think you know what you’re saying.”

“I know exactly what I’m fucking saying. I know exactly how much I fucking miss you. I know exactly how fucking wrong it feels with these other women, and what just happened out there was the last fucking straw. I don’t care about the⁠—”

FLASH.

Awareness tugged at my gut, and I knew, before I tripped back a step and swiveled toward her, I knew. There, at the end of the short hallway was Miray, phone in hand, expression contorted with pure rage.

She’d heard everything.

Shit.