Page 43 of The Match Faker
“You did it, Dad. You found the one good thing about my job,” Nick says, his tone dry as a desert. “This is Jasmine, by the way.”
“It’s nice to meet you, sir.” I hold out my hand.
He looks me up and down before taking it. He doesn’t leer so much as catalog, assess. This guy definitely judges books by their covers.
The first time Mitchell introduced me to Anaïs and Butch, Anaïs gave me this same thorough review. I hate myself a little for how eager I am to be considered good enough. Clearly, I haven’t grown much since that last introduction.
Nick is stiff, his posture rigid as his father shakes my hand, his grip firm.
“The elusive Jasmine,” Mr. Scott says, his chin lifted. “It’s nice to finally meet you. What do you do?”
This feels like a test. “I work for an interior design firm,” I say, though the statement sounds more like a question, as if I don’t actually know where I work. “Haüs Interiors?”
His face lights up. “I’ve heard of them. They do good work.”
A breath of relief escapes me. “Right.” Finally, a chance to put The Binder to good use. “I’m sure there’s some professional overlap between interior design and office furniture supply.”
Mr. Scott’s smile grows. “I’ve met Butch once or twice when I was in the city for meetings. Maybe you can get Nicholas a job at Haüs since he refuses to come sell for me.”
Nick leans forward, his chest a furious presence behind me, his body heat soaking into me. As I shift out of his way, I catch a glimpse of his expression. It’s tighter, angrier, than any look I’ve ever seen from him, his eyes narrowed and his mouth a thin, sharp line. He looks like he’s about to say something he’s going to regret.
“Listen, old man.”
Part of me wants to hissdrag him, Nick, but I grab his arm and hope to god the pressure I place on his forearm, my nails digging into the delicate skin of his wrist, conveys something along the lines ofI don’t like my dad either, but this is not the time, Nicholas.
“Old man?” Mr. Scott spits.
Before he can muster a response, Mindy is there, slinking beneath her husband’s arm, wrapping both of hers around his waist. Her presence softens him, turning him from hard-ass businessman moonlighting as a father to slightly squishy grandpa in a cardigan.
“You know, Jasmine.” Her eye contact borders on maniacal. She’s clearly had experience distracting these two from tense moments.
The rest of Nick’s family continues on around us. This must be normal for them, their father and their second-youngest brother butting heads. Rather than come to Nick’s defense, they let it happen. At the very least, Jade has always had my back when I needed it.
“Nick never told us how you two met.”
“How we met?” Panic builds in my chest, making it hard to breathe, because all my brain can come up with now is the silly, convoluted truth. If I ask them to please hold while I run out tothe car, they’ll find that suspicious. I can’t help my frown, until the memory comes to me. In The Binder, Section 2.3: Backstory: Met at grocery store.
Except Nick hated that and we never came up with an alternative.
It’s been an interminably long amount of time now since Mindy asked. At least it feels that way, but if I open my mouth, it won’t form the right words. With my luck, I’ll blurt out,It’s all a lie. Forgive me, Mindy!
“I never told you because you’d never believe it,” Nick says.
He mimics his parents’ pose, putting his arm around my shoulders and giving me a squeeze that probably looks gentle but feels a lot likecalm the fuck down, Jasmine, Jesus.
“We met at the grocery store.”
As I look up at him, I don’t have to feign the adoration on my face.
He’s using The Binder. Instantly, the pressure in my chest loosens, and air fills my burning lungs.
“We were both reaching for the last bag of flour.”
Mindy laughs, but James scowls. “What were you going to do with flour?”
Nick’s grip tightens on me. I squeeze back.
“Just had a hankering for cake, Dad.”