by Arthurs, Nia
I recognize Brendon immediately.
Teale does too.
We wait for them to catch up to us.
Brendon acknowledges me with a smile and Teale with a nod. “What are you doing here?”
“Griff’s wife just had a baby,” Teale says. “You?”
“Just an allergy check. The doctor wants to make sure Ari’s meds are working.”
“Hi, Teale,” the little girl says.
I arch an eyebrow at Brendon. Who’s she?
“This,” he says with a grin, “is my little sister, Ariya.”
The other eyebrow hikes to join the first.
I glance at Brendon’s very pale skin and grey eyes to Ariya’s brown skin.
Teale nudges me in the side.
I straighten and offer my hand to the kid. “Hi, Ariya. It’s nice to meet you.”
“I can’t say the same.” Ariya huffs.
My eyes widen.
Brendon chuckles sheepishly. “Ari, that’s not nice. This is Teale’s fiancé, remember? We talked about this.”
“No!” Ariya stomps her little foot. “Teale promised he’d marry me.”
I cover my mouth to hide my amused laugh.
Given Teale’s history, I’d been dreading the day I ran into one of his exes, but I never banked on this.
Teale drops to his knees so he’s on eye-level with Ariya. “Hey.”
“Hey,” she says, pouting hard.
“We’re friends, right?”
She nods.
“Guess what? As your friend, I want you to be happy. I want you to do well in school and grow up and meet a guy who loves you as much as I love Zania.” Teale takes my hand. “On that day, I’ll be really happy for you.”
“That day won’t come until she’s thirty,” Brendon grumbles.
Ariya glances up and asks innocently, “By then, will Zania be dead?”
Now back the hell up…
Brendon winces. Grabs his sister’s shoulders. Steers her toward the hospital doors. “We’re just gonna go.”
“But I want Teale!” Ariya’s protests echo until she’s out of sight.
I blow out a breath. “Isn’t she a little young for you?”
“Don’t start.” He shakes his head.
I hold his hand as we stroll to the car. “You know, I’m glad I met her.”
“Who? Ariya?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because seeing Cobie and Griffin’s baby made me want a kid so badly and now…”
He chuckles. “Now?”
“I can wait.”
He laughs out loud.
I lean my head against his arm and sigh happily. “I love you.”
“Love you more.”
“It’s always a competition,” I mumble.
He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “I’ll let you win sometimes.”
I stop. Pretend to wave to the hospital door. “Hey, Ariya! You can have him when you’re thirty!”
He sends me a cocky smirk. “It’s too late. I’m stuck to you.”
“I’ll pry you off.”
“Won’t work. You’re mine.”
“I’m yours?”
“You heard me.” He slips his shades on. Climbs in the car.
I grin hard and press a hand to my beating heart.
I’m pretty sure I’ll never get over the way Teale makes me feel.
But I can’t let him see that.
His head is too big already.
Composure in place, I climb into the passenger seat, ready to put him back in his place.
And he smiles.
Because neither of us would have it any other way.
THE END
* * *
Hello! Thank you for coming along on this journey with me. If you enjoyed this story, I would be honored if you would let others know by writing a review on Amazon. Your recommendation will help other fans of interracial romance find my work and it would mean the world to me. Thank you for your support!
Love, Nia
A Word From The Author
As a special thank you for buying this e-book, I want to send you another one completely free of charge! You can get it by clicking below.
Direct Link: Click Me!
When you subscribe, I’ll also send you updates when new books like this are available.
I would love to hear from you at [email protected]. You can also follow me on IG: Nia Arthurs @nia_bks and Twitter: @niaarthurs
Also by Nia Arthurs
The Taming Series
Taming Mr. Jerkface
Taming Mr. Charming
Taming Mr. Know-it-all
Taming Mr. Darcy
The Richards Books
Call Me Torn
Call Me Broken
Call Me Lost
Standalones
Chasing Daniel
The Switch
Axle’s Secret
The Good Brother
Something New
Love In Many Shades Series
Cece & David
Cece & David 2
Cece & David 3
Cece & David 4
Lovesick Series
Play
Dance
Trust
Sneak Peek: Be My Always
Make It Marriage Series
The Make It Marriage Series is a spin off following Kayla and the other matchmakers at the Make It Marriage agency.
Swipe on for a sneak peek of Be My Always— Kayla and Brendon’s story.
Enjoy!
Chapter 1
Kayla
The lifestyle reporter has a thing for smirking.
Or maybe he’s just trying hard to hold back a laugh.
He clutches a thick tablet in his pudgy grip like it’s an extension of his very self and slouches in his chair.
As if he doesn’t care.
As if we’re not mid-interview.
I tap my nails against the back of my phone.
Try and fail to tamp down my rising irritation.
To hell with this journalist-exposé-wannabe who thinks my life’s work is beneath him.
If I hear one more condescending question...
The smile remains on my face despite my rising irritation.
Media interviews are a part of my job whether I like it or not.
Whether this journalist is a prick or not.
I keep my voice level. “Matchmaking is still relevant.”
“In this age of online dating?” He smirks again. Yeah right.
“I help people make real connections.” My gaze slides over his overtly skeptical expression. “Even jerks who’d be better off staying single.”
The insult flies way over his head.
Disappointing. I was hoping to piss him off and cut this boorish interview short.
I’m so done with this guy’s B.S.
“Love can’t be manipulated by strangers.”
Shows how much he knows.
Manipulation is the name of the game. My mission is to cut through the screen-savers, the lies, and the catfishing and get to the meaty stuff. “Feelings can’t be controlled, but intimacy between like-minded people can lead to love. Our strategies have proven that.”
“Strategies? Care to share?”
I look at him with a frown and toss my hair over my shoulder. “If I told you trade secrets, it wouldn’t be good for business, now would it?”
“I guess so.” He laughs. A high-pitched, yapping sound.
Damn, he’s annoying. It’s difficult to stay seated and professional.
My fingers clutch the handles of my chair. I start to push up. “Is that all?”
“One more question.” He tilts his head to the side. Drops his eyes to my ring finger.
I know what’s coming.
Why do they always go for the jugular in these stupid interviews?
“What about you?”
“What about me?” I play dumb.
“Have you found lo
ve?”
“I don’t plan to.”
His face wrinkles in confusion. A matchmaker uninterested in her own romance? I understand. I’m not exactly fitting the stereotypes here.
But at least I got him to drop that stupid smirk.
I feel a pair of eyes barreling into me. From the corner of the room, Venus crosses her arms. Don’t mess this up.
Though my fellow matchmaker and friend isn’t actually saying anything, I can hear her loud and clear.
A wave of annoyance washes over me. Venus is much better at these inane conversations than I am. And she actually enjoys them too.
Too bad I’m the one suffering.
Interviews are supposed to be a reward for good performance. Something I’m guilty of. Highest number of matches three years running. Whispers around the office claim I’m Cupid.
It’s dumb.
And untrue.
I don’t fly around in diapers trying to impale my clients with arrows.
As much as I’d want to do that sometimes.
Impale my clients, not wear diapers.
If I don’t watch myself, Venus will catch up to my record soon enough and then she’ll be the one in this chair.
I’m sure she’s looking forward to it.
I used to at one point.
When I’d first started the job, young and starry-eyed.
Before Drew…
Well, I definitely won’t discuss that here with this ignoramus.
I shoot the reporter an innocent look. “Everyone is different, but my personal beliefs have nothing to do with our results. We have enough satisfied clients to prove we’re on the right path.”
Venus flashes me a thumbs-up from the sidelines.
I barely restrain the eye-roll.
When will the torture end?
The guy leans forward, intrigued.
Not now, obviously.
He slants me a smile. The first genuine one since I sat down beneath the blaring lights and introduced myself as a matchmaker. “How does it feel, giving women their happily ever after without getting your own?”
“Who said marriage is the only happy ending a woman can have?”
“If it wasn’t, your company would’ve gone bankrupt long ago.”
“Maybe people are just tired of hook-up culture.”
“Casual sex is on the rise.”
“Getting naked with a man for one night does not translate to a lasting, solid relationship.”
He arches an eyebrow.
I quirk my lips. “You want to talk statistics, let’s talk.”
“It sounds like you’re getting defensive.”
“You’re missing the point.”
“And that is?” He leans forward.
My eyes narrow. Last I checked, this was an interview, not a therapy session. I’ve been through enough ‘so how do you feel about that’ moments to recognize when someone’s prying.
Damn him.
And damn his silly little magazine that’s clinging to relevance too.
But I can’t say any of that. I’m getting paid to promote my company and I won’t jeopardize my position because of this twat. “The point is… Make It Marriage isn’t a hook up service. We don’t use algorithms to sort through a million dating profiles. We help real people make real connections. My happy ending is wrapped up in theirs.”
He stares me down. Searches for signs of a crack he can exploit.
I hold steady.
Meet his gaze.
He backs off. Surrenders with a nod. “How noble.”
I shrug.
“Thank you for the interview, Ms. Montgomery. It’s been a pleasure.” Liar.
“I had a lot of fun.”
Okay. So maybe that’s the pot calling the kettle black.
He extends a hand.
I shake it firmly.
He holds on when I try to pull back. Barely-there lips curl into an oily smile. “If you’re free after this—”
“I’m not.” I yank my hand back. Subtly wipe it against the side of my red pencil skirt.
It won’t be the first or the last time a male interviewer asks me out after learning I’m a single matchmaker. It’s like a primal side of men awakens when they hear those words. Grunts of conquer, conquer echo in their head.
Lord, I hate it.
I hate all of it.
“Kindly see yourself out from here.” I rise from the chair and move to the door.
It’s bad manners to leave before the journalist, but I don’t have the patience to endure another moment.
A quick, staccato rhythm—stilettos bashing hardwood—tells me that Venus is following. The rhythm quickens. She’s behind me. Then in front of me, shooting me a dark look with equally dark eyes.
I try to lengthen my stride.
Doesn’t work.
Wavy reddish-brown hair slaps her back with each quickening step. “Did you have to shut him down like that? Now the last thing he’ll remember is your attitude.”
“I don’t owe him a date.”
Venus glances over her shoulder at the door I just vacated. We have an interview room here at the agency. It’s small and cramped and not very welcoming, but it’s not used for anything else.
Her gaze returns to me. “I’m not saying you had to accept. Just… cut him some slack. He shot his shot.”
“A severe miscalculation on his part.”
“Men like to fix things.”
“That’s assuming I’m broken.”
“And?”
“I’m not. I like being single. It’s ten times better than being in a relationship.”
“Says the woman who sets people up for a living.”
“I never said I was uncomplicated.”
Venus huffs. “You’re such a Scrooge. How the hell are you so successful?”
“Luck?”
“Maybe you really are Cupid.”
I groan. “Don’t you start too.”
Venus chuckles. “He might be on to something. When was the last time you’ve gone on a date?”
A date?
An ache springs to life in my head.
A hammer against my skull.
It’s immediate.
Painful.
I flinch. “No.”
“No?”
“I’m done with dating.”
I don’t even deserve to think about it.
Not after everything.
“How bout a tryst then?”
I stop. Tryst? What are we? In the nineteenth century. “Would I summon the guy via carrier pigeon?”
“If you’re into that.” Venus smirks.
She doesn’t give a damn about my sarcasm.
Sometimes, I hate her too.
“There’s another bachelorette party tonight…” She wiggles perfectly groomed eyebrows.
Around here we have enough bachelorette party and wedding invites to fill the building.
“I’m not going.”
“I knew you’d say that.”
“Then why bother asking?”
“Because,” she slides in front of me, barring me from getting into my office, “you need to loosen up.”
“And letting a strange man of questionable sexual health screw me will help?”
“Exactly.” She winks.
“I’ll pass.” I try to move past her.
Venus slaps her palm on the door. “I’ll pick you up at eight. Wear something tight and slutty.”
“Sure I will.” I gesture to the office. Out of the way.
Her playful expression sobers. “I’m worried about you, K.”
The words are sincere.
And she has a reason to be.
A reason I haven’t admitted to anyone.
Not even my close friends.
A reason that’s taken over my life.
When did I become so unrecognizable?
I pause in the doorway.
Another wave of hopelessness attacks me.
I didn’t start out being th
is much of a downer.
I was always on the quiet side but this…
It feels like I’m living life in a cage. A prison with no escape.
Work became my sunshine.
And sleep became my only way to cope.
I don’t even count the days anymore. They all kind of blur together in one big mush.
I’m not really living.
Maybe something does need to change.
Venus is already turning away when I push out a sigh. “I’ll meet you there.”
She whirls around, big smile on her pretty face and hope in her eyes. “In something slutty?”
“Goodbye, Venus.” I grab my door. Push it forward.
“Keep it low-cut,” she presses her face into the sliver of space left and gestures to her chest. “You’ve got a nice—”
I slam the door.
My headache worsens.
I’m already starting to regret this.
Chapter 2
Brendon
The bar is crowded for a Friday night. Not that I expected any less. My team is crunched around a booth, trying and failing to act like they belong here. Like they fig.
They don’t.
None of us do.
This bar is a popular in the heart of an artsy suburb. It was made for hipsters with beards and dumb causes.
We’re clearly misplaced in our business suits and perfect ties and capitalist airs.
Not that I care.
If I have to suffer, I might as well suffer with a well-made brew.
A full mug lunges through the air. The suit next to me stumbles to his feet.
Terrence.
He’s already piss-drunk and we haven’t even been here an hour.
Every eye turns his way.
He grins. Revels in the attention. “Here’s to Brendon and another successful merger!”
I nod my thanks.
“And screw all the people who call you a puppet behind your back! You deserve this, man!” Terrence hoists his glass as he completes his toast—that somehow feels like an insult.
Everyone around the table squirms in discomfort.
