Page 3 of No Match Found
It was followed by another two dings, the soundtrack to my life. My eyes begged to dance over to the screen, but I kept them on my guest.
Mr. Wilder smiled, like he could tell it was taking all my resolve to ignore them.
I offered an apologetic groan. “Let me just silence those.” I leaned over and grabbed my mouse to mute the volume, but my eyes snagged on the message from Brooke.
URGENT
I dismissed it, but a new message popped up immediately.
DO NOT IGNORE ME, VIV!
I hesitated for a fraction of a second, but Mr. Wilder’s steady gaze had me dismissing it and navigating to the volume menu.
I clicked the mute option as a third message popped up from Brooke.
That’s Grant Wilder! From Threadline.
These words meant nothing to me, but it was obvious they should have, which only made my chest tighten uncomfortably.
I couldn’t help myself.
I quickly typed,Meaning…?
The response from Brooke was immediate.
He’s been called the rising king of takedown journalism.
My eyes whipped to the man I was stuck with for the next hour—a man who looked like a cat tracking a mouse that had wandered into the wrong room.
TWO
A shotof nerves zapped my heart, and still, Mr. Wilder watched me with the sort of ghost-like smirk that made me wonder if he could see the reflection of Brooke’s message in my glasses. His own glasses would have to be modern tech marvels for him to see that much detail from this distance. The simple tortoise-shell frames and a few faint scratches on the lenses made the likelihood minimal.
Still…it felt like something was faintly amusing to him.
Couldn’t he look around or check his texts in the name of human decency? This laser-like gaze made me feel on edge—and I didn’t scare easily.
“Busy woman,” he said.
“Comes with the territory.” I went to dismiss yet another new message. An article was attached:The Productivity Myth: What Taptrack Promises vs. What It Deliversby Grant Wilder.
My stomach sank. I remembered Taptrack. They were set to be the next big thing in workplace productivity. I’d looked into the software myself.
Then, suddenly, they’d gone under, though I’d never known why.
Was Brooke implying it had been Mr. Wilder’s doing?
My stomach clenched. What might he do with Matchify?
I forced myself to breathe. Taptrack had been employee surveillance dressed up as productivity. They weren’t synonymous with Matchify by any means.
I clicked out of the message and turned back to Mr. Wilder. “Sorry about that.”
“No need. I was in good company.” He glanced to his left at Cam Carter. “Is this your personal match?”
I offered a polite laugh while mentally adding a task to my calendar: strangle Brooke. “More like an office mascot.”
A laugh flashed through Mr. Wilder’s eyes. “Ah, yes.” He put a friendly hand on Cam’s two-dimensional shoulder, which contrasted sharply with his own well-formed and very four-dimensional one. “Hollywood actors. Known for their integrity and stable love lives.”
