Xavier

"Delivery, Sir." With a smile, Annie placed a potted plant and stack of papers before me. "Compliments of Perfect Match."

I poked my pen into one of the frilly flowers. Petals of ebony silk, its yellow stamens showered pollen onto my desk. Irises.

"They're black."

"Quite symbolic. The color represents major life changes or transitions." My assistant had always had this quiet-lecturing ability to humble me but exercised it more as she approached retirement. But she'd worked with my father, and I hated the idea of disappointing her. "And they smell heavenly compared to this new paint killing our brain cells."

"It's supposed to be low VOC." The pollen streaked my sleeve as I swept it off my desk. The metal and glass were as cold and unforgiving as Boston's foggy, gray spread beneath my windows, but I didn't need more reminders of how Iris affected me. My blood pressure spikes whenever I thought of her were enough. "Take this out of my sight, please."

Annie placed the plant on my bookcase, where I'd see it whenever looking at the door.

"Much better." Another smile at my expense. "Good luck with their amendments."

Amendments? Our draft was iron-clad, what the hell would they amend? "Dear Mr. Dalton," I read off the cover letter. "We have given your contract a scrutinous consideration. Everything's sufficient except for one condition, but don't worry, we've summarized it in an amendment."

Don't worry. Those patronizing words struck an ache in my chest and strained the atmosphere. Nothing good ever came from don't worry, spoken by blank minds who lacked tangible solutions and advice.

Don't worry, it'll be fine. Don't worry, he'll pull through.

"PS, please accept this gift as a sign of our willingness to find modus vivendi..." I muttered her 'middle ground' bullshit and flipped to the contract's amendment page.

Both parties agree that, for Mr. Xavier Dalton to be matched by Perfect Match, Inc., he must be deemed a qualified candidate, and shall submit an honest, forthright application—

"What the fuck?" I stood so fast, my chair scooted back. Some joke had to be here, but instead of a punchline, I only found a notarized seal and the I's in Iris Miller's signature dotted with hearts.

Miniature stabs of insults.

This...this... She wanted me, owner of more properties than anyone else in this city, including hers, to prove I qualified as a millionaire.

Unbelievable.

Company shares aside, my personal cash balance could buy her block, let alone that pathetic single-office. The fact I'd already purchased it and provoked her was too much fun...

Until it backfired.

"Unbelievable..." I paced laps around my desk. Pulled into an agreement wasn't my plan. Neither was caressing her legs while cleaning her knee scrapes, but I couldn't let her stand there bleeding.

Iris, nose scrunched and ready to punch my lights out, was almost as attractive as her slanted back over her desk, half-lowered eyes shadowed by her lashes. Even the recall begged me to cross the professional line.

It'd been a long time since I'd knelt between a woman's legs, and hers were a sensational tease. Shadows masked how much she was affected, but her flustered desire taunted me to lock her door, drop back onto my knees, discover what she really thought of me, and lavish the fiery sass out of her...

Or, better, properly stuffing that smart mouth shut.

I'd never rolled over so much for an offer. Like a begging dog. Only for her to act like I'd wasted her time.

And now, she wanted the dog to jump through fiery hoops.

"You sound desperate," I parroted her and glared at the plant filling my office with a powdery, floral-sweet scent. "More like desperate to dissolve her company into nonexistence. That's what I should've done instead of assuming she's a rational businessperson."

Persuasion was my favorite dance. In-person visits made opponents feel advantageous, and I could read people. The difference between a hesitant no and an afraid of appearing too eager yes was subtle. Every no could be converted into a mutual yes.

Iris was an 'over my dead body'-no, but this? Too fucking far. She wanted me to apply to be her client. The amendment words blurred as blackness edged my vision.

"Fucking audacity!" The heat this insufferable woman burned through me returned like wildfire. Sweat trickled down my lower back, so I shrugged off my jacket and hurled it at my coat rack.

The errant toss missed and knocked over the plant. Its ceramic exploded with a crack, littering the floor with broken pieces and strewn soil.

"Are you alright?" Annie's concerned face fell at the mess. "Oh. I'll call the cleaners."

"Unfortunate accident." I retrieved my coat. No matter how hard I brushed at the sleeve, the yellow chalk-like pollen stains remained.

Iris wasn't asking me to prove my worth. No, she wanted to disprove me—my being an ineligible client negated our deal. Bring your most convincing arguments on Thursday. This amendment reeked of desperate backpedaling.

My head threatened to explode. The simplest tasks proved impossible. I pulled up picture after picture of Iris. At a hospital fundraiser, she wore a fitted gown. One endless leg split the long skirt, the dark red painting the devil woman sinful.

Angled cheeks, pointed chin, symmetrical nose, two lush lips, stained crimson—the same had challenged my composure, but the picture blurred the details. Sunlight revealed dark brown highlights in her hair, and dots of light green electrified her brown eyes whenever she ranted like a lunatic.

Toying with her bordered between the cruelest and most enjoyable experience. I wasn't immune from her tight dress's V-neck like an arrow toward her beautiful breasts. Her curved hips and round ass could haunt any man's fantasies, but her spirit was her most attractive feature.

Too bad it drowned in delusion.

The pounds in my head wouldn't dissipate, not even when the floor was clean and Derrick entered with a thick stack of papers. Folders were tucked under his arm.

"When you told me you were being matched." He slammed papers onto my desk and rattled the glass. "I thought you meant a proper tie for your suits."

If anyone else spoke to me like this, put steam hand prints on my desk, and panted like an enraged bull, they'd be escorted out by security, but he was my brother. Without him having my back, one of my former board members would still be skimming cash off the books and tucking it into the g-strings of Dade County's finest strippers.

"Tell me you have something," I snapped.

"Iris Miller, twenty-nine, no stranger to the public eye." His flat tone sounded more like he delivered a motivational speech against his will. "Father a former state Senator Miller, mother a socialite, and brother a renowned heart surgeon at Boston General."

I snatched the papers. Magna Cum Laude in Business from Yale, dropped off the radar until forming Perfect Match two years ago, blooming in potential—begrudgingly, I was impressed, but this was what-type information, not how. How linked her morals and credibility and, so far, she had none.

"What's her relationship status?"

He smirked and crossed his arms. "Interested?"

"Only if she practices what she charges for." No company operated without self-insertion, especially one soaked in as many ideologies as hers. Champion for every success story of united soul mates, my ass.

"I don't get paid enough for running social gossip shit."

"Your ex does."

Outing his source earned me his scowl. "Ms. Miller was engaged, college sweethearts, until eight months ago."

Past tense. Interesting. "Was?"

"You're missing the point. His financial investment office is across the street from where you think she'll relocate." A warning slipped into his voice, "Pretty big slap in the face, even for you."

"Walters and Beckley," I read off his report and pulled up the modest business. No wonder she'd cringed at the address, but Iris' ex increased her stakes to win, not mine. "We'll see if it motivates her more."

So far, hating me seemed enough, but I didn't voice the thought.

"This woman's a distraction." His scrutinous gaze bore into me, concerned. "Remind me again why you, the king of Boston development, couldn't close on a... What did you call it? Hack dating company."

I couldn't look at him any more than disentangle the way she'd entangled me. She released reactions in me I hadn't felt in...ever. Business exchanges never felt intimate. Favors and swaps were common, but not involving me.

"You should've seen her. The woman erupted at a single accusation." While I shouldn't have attacked her business, she begged for a fight. Pricking her pride was as easy as tearing a piece of paper but as dissatisfying as scratching a continuous itch.

Instead of any rational counter, she chose the opportunity to prove me wrong. Why?

"Thanks to you, I have seen her." He rounded my desk and raised his eyebrows at my number of Iris-related browser tabs. "Although, not as much as you. I can't believe this is the woman making your forehead vein pop."

I rubbed my forehead, where a vein was not popping, but its pounding increased when he paused on her hospital fundraiser picture.

"Is she this stunning in person?"

The vision of her beneath me returned. A blush stained her cheeks. Lips parted in flustered breaths. Pupils rounded. My elevated pulse resurged heat through me.

"What do you want me to say? She's beautiful. So are black widow spiders, and I don't want to entertain either. When she speaks, she's insufferable."

"So are you." He pulled upright, the uneven ends of his beard looking down on me. "Back to her business—"

"Glorified hobby," I corrected. "There's no science behind putting desperate, single people in the same room and playing who falls first." He was a perfect example of why Iris' true match bullshit didn't exist.

"Maybe not, but there's money in it. And now ours. We're on the clock here."

"I'm well aware of our time constraints." I stared at his other folders in hand. "Tell me you've also got good news."

"Coffee house." He dropped one on my desk with a plop. "Florist." Another folder–plop. "Dry cleaner, plumber." Plop, plop. "And, the best for last, one reclusive penthouse artist signed."

"Warren's renowned locally." I checked the details. Derrick used my patronage perks to extend the artist's Museum of Modern Art exhibition. "Clever perk."

While I valued my brother's success, it highlighted my failure with bitterness. We both could convince a fish to buy water, but donating a kidney was a better offer than mine with Iris.

"Now he can be renowned in Cambridge."

"Which reminds me..." I stood and entered the chaotic scene of movers and employees unpacking. Box piles remained around Annie's desk, although her folded pile grew taller.

"Confirm my meeting with Perfect Match tomorrow morning at ten. I want all legal heads present. And clear my morning calendar."

"All heads?" She peered at my schedule with wide eyes. "But you're scheduled with—"

"Clear it."

She didn't deserve my sharp tone, but opponents like Iris were dangerous if left unleashed. Manipulative. Reckless. Letting her emotions control her decisions. Her pathetic loophole attempt showed she wasn't afraid to fight dirty.

Neither was I.

Like someone who cared too much, her emotions would be her downfall because fucking with her was exactly how I'd win.

My guard lowered, and Iris delivered a rare first hit, but she'd soon realize how much harder I hit back. Knock-outs, starting with my finger pointed at Annie's phone.

"Get me Walters and Beckley in fifteen minutes."

In my office, Derrick sat in my chair and frowned like he'd overheard my request. "You're not—"

"Just introducing us to the neighbors." I shooed him away. "Move."

His eye roll meant he was onto my true intentions. "You're making things as personal with Ms. Miller as inserting your dumb ass into her clientele base. As much as I want to say you're out of your league here"—he pointed at my Iris search results, which he'd added more tabs onto—"I don't think you're in the same sport with this matchmaker deal."

"I thought it was brilliant."

Or, I did during the moment. Now, I felt like a giant idiot.

"Oh, it is because she has no chance, but think of others' emotions," he warned, grabbing my arm and preventing me from sitting. "Most people use dating services hoping they connect with someone. And you're...well, you."

"I'm what?"

"The biggest asshole I know."

Ouch. I pulled my arm back. Thanks to his ex, he knew some real pricks, but I was the biggest?

"Soulmates. Do you even have a soul to match?"

"Not a word to anyone." My warning should've gone without saying, but the last thing I needed was nonexistent dating eligibility rumors swirling around here.

"No one would believe me. Back to the contracts." Derrick's guarded voice meant incoming news I wouldn't like. "We've got five out of six. Finance reran Perfect Match's projections to twelve mil. Eleven months left on the permits, but we can't move forward without every signature."

"No need to remind me we... Did you say twelve million?" Had my finance division cooked numbers? "For a niche dating company run by a contemptible owner?"

Twelve million for organic chicken shit fertilizer made more sense than gouging millionaires under false promises of true love.

"That contemptible owner paid off the lease the morning before you met." My brother poured more salt onto my wounded ego. "Making Iris Miller a millionaire."

Millionaire? Information that would've been helpful before I'd made an ass of myself. "On paper," I muttered.

"Like it or not, the numbers are in her favor." Derrick's hand dragged down his chin.

"Doesn't matter. She won't win."

Unconvinced, he left as I picked up the report and absorbed the story behind Perfect Match's numbers.

Millionaire. Debt-free. As much as I wanted to claim hindsight knowledge changed nothing, I couldn't deny that it did.

No wonder my offer had insulted her. She didn't need a dime...from me, or anyone else.

I sank back with a frustrated sigh. This would be harder than I'd thought.