Page 4 of Match Me if You Can

Cathryn Zander? Nope. Another one Ace would eat alive.

Darcy Thompson? No, definitely not.

Elisa Chiu? That’s a possibility. Although, she’s shy. The attention and pressure of this sort of contract may be too much. Still—I snag the folder—it’s worth asking her.

Francesa Rivane⁠—

“How much do you want?”

I freeze, halfway through shoving Francesa’s file away, and rotate slowly back around, fixing the man with my iciest expression, Elisa’s folder clenched in my fingers. “Excuse me?”

He’s chewing gum, I realize. Chewing gum during a business meeting.

Jesus Christ.

Fucking hockey players.

He blows a bubble until it pops, his tongue snaking out so skillfully to capture the remnants that I get why the fragrance company wants him to be the face of their project. Sex sells and the flutter between my thighs is a crystal clear reminder that Ace has it in spades. “How much”—another bubble—“do you want?”

I mentally start calculating my new—as of the email I received earlier this morning—monthly expenses, wondering if I can kick this man out of my office and still renew my lease, keep my receptionist, and fuel my shoe habit.

I can keep two of the three.

And not my shoes.

Ugh.

Fine. Easy enough, I’ll cut back on⁠—

My gaze hits the sparkling jewel on the tops of my pumps, the little flash of bling that drew me to them in the store.

Can I live without a receptionist?

Fuck. No, I can’t.

And, anyway, I can’t let Josie go. Not only is she capable, but she’s the guardian for her nephew and he’s not at an easy stage.

Ten and lost his dad, lost the only parent he ever knew.

She needs this job, and the full-time benefits I provide for her.

So, it’s cutting my shoe budget and also maybe my weekly DoorDash…and my monthly facial.

My temple starts pulsing and I barely resist lifting my hand to rub at it, barely resist revealing another small slice of weakness.

This man will pounce.

He’ll take advantage.

I know it. I’ve…lived it.

I toss the folder in his lap. “Elisa is perfect.”

He opens it, gaze going down to the page.

I hold my breath as he pauses, as he appears to be reading—if asshole hockey players can do such a thing.

He flips to the next page.