3. Margot
3
MARGOT
I ’ve spent years refining the art of the perfect match. There’s a science to it, psychological compatibility, shared values, the delicate balance of chemistry and logic. Love isn’t just a feeling; it’s an equation, a formula that, when done correctly, leads to long-term happiness. And I’ve mastered it. I spent years studying relationship psychology, analyzing compatibility data, and refining my ability to predict long-term success. While others relied on gut feelings and fleeting chemistry, I perfected a science. I knew how to pair people based on what truly mattered, shared ambitions, complementary personalities, and values that could stand the test of time. My success rate at Perfectly Matched was unmatched, and I wasn’t about to let that change now.
And yet, for all my expertise, for all the time I’ve spent fine-tuning this formula for others, I haven’t been able to make it work for myself. I’ve tried, I’ve dated men who fit the algorithm, who checked every logical box, but none of them ever feltright.Maybe because, deep down, I know I’ve poured everything into this company, leaving no room for distractions like love. Or maybe… maybe I just haven’t found someone who could keep up with me. Which is why I refuse to lose to Grayson King. The moment I step out of that conference room, I have a plan. If Grayson thinks he can charm his way through this, he’s in for a rude awakening. I don’t operate on charm, I operate on results.
I need to find the most difficult client we’ve ever had. Someone even Grayson, with all his ridiculous charisma and effortless charm, can’t possibly match successfully. Someone immune to reliable data, to whatever instinctual nonsense he claims makes him a better matchmaker than me. And I know exactly who that client is: Elliot Pierce. Tech billionaire. Emotionally unavailable. Possibly allergic to the concept of romance.
The man is brilliant, but he has the personality of an overpriced paperweight. He’s tried Perfectly Matched before, only to reject every potential partner because, in his words, "relationships are distractions." Perfect. If Grayson is going to fail spectacularly, Elliot is the one to make it happen.By the time I reach my office, I’m already dialing Elliot’s assistant.
"Hi, Jenna, it’s Margot Evans from Perfectly Matched. I have an exclusive offer for Mr. Pierce that I think he’ll want to hear."
I hear her hesitant pause on the other end. Elliot doesn’t do matchmaking anymore. He made that clear when he stormed out of his last consultation, after telling his date that small talk was "a redundant social obligation" and suggesting their next outing be a silent reading session in separate rooms. Before that, there was the time he left a woman at a Michelin-star restaurant because she took too long deciding between salmon and steak. Oh, and my personal favorite, the time he scheduled a conference callduringa first date because, and I quote, "romance should not disrupt productivity." Then there was the woman who made the mistake of ordering a cocktail, Elliot proceeded to spend the evening explaining the inefficiency of alcohol consumption on cognitive function. Another date ended abruptly when he asked his companion for a detailed five-year personal and professional growth plan, she thought he was joking. He wasn’t. But that’s the beauty of desperation, mineto win, andhisto prove something to the world.
"I’ll check his schedule," Jenna finally says, sounding wary. "What’s the offer?"
I smile. "A guarantee. Elliot Pierce is about to meet his perfect match." What I don’t say? That match is going to be Grayson’s problem.
After hanging up, I stride across my office and pull out the master client list from my desk. If I’m going to make sure Grayson crashes and burns, I need to craft this situation with surgical precision. Elliot isn’t just any client, he’s anightmareclient. Brilliant, driven, and impossibly stubborn. No one has ever gotten past his defenses, and I’d bet my entire shoe collection that Grayson won’t either. I flip through Elliot’s past consultations, reading the notes our matchmakers took during his last disastrous attempt at finding love. "Uncooperative." "Dismissive." "Claims love is an inefficient use of time." Oh, this istoogood.
I glance at my calendar. If I time this right, Grayson will walk into the meeting completely unprepared. The key to winning isn’t just setting up an impossible match, it’s making sure he never sees it coming. As I type up the appointment details, my phone buzzes with an incoming message.
Grayson: Already plotting, Evans?
I smirk at the screen.Wouldn’t you like to know. A moment later, his reply comes through.
Grayson: You’re not the only one with tricks up your sleeve. Hope you’re ready to lose.
I roll my eyes, tossing my phone onto the desk. He’s cocky, but he has no idea what’s coming. Grayson may know how to charm his way out of a bad date, but Elliot Pierce is immune to charm. The man has probably never laughed at a joke in his life. Feeling smug, I sit back in my chair, satisfied. By the time this is over, Grayson will be questioning everything he thinks he knows about matchmaking. And me? I’ll be one step closer to winning Perfectly Matched . Because losing isn’t an option. Not for me. If I lose, I don’t just walk away from a company, I walk away from years of proving myself, of fighting to be taken seriously in an industry where charm and personality often outweigh skill. If I lose, it confirms every doubt, every whispered comment that I was only given this opportunity because Arthur King took me under his wing. It would mean that Grayson was right, that instinct and luck matter more than strategy and expertise. No. I won’t let that happen. I won’t lethimwin. I’ve come too far, sacrificed too much, to let Perfectly Matched slip through my fingers now.
The fluorescent lights of the grocery store hum overhead as I steer my cart into the produce section, barely registering the splash of color from the rows of peaches and heirloom tomatoes. I grab a bundle of kale without looking, my thoughts still buzzing from my call with Jenna.
This is it. My opening. If I get this right, Grayson won’t even see it coming.
I pause at the avocados, give them a professional squeeze, and toss two into the cart. Elliot Pierce is the ultimate challenge. Unmatchable. Untouchable. And now, Grayson’s problem, it’s almost poetic. Some people unwind with yoga or binge-watching murder documentaries. I strategize while picking out cilantro. The average person might not see the battlefield here, but for me, this is war, and every lemon, every box of pasta, every smug man in a tailored suit is a piece in the larger game.
Just as I’m reaching for a head of garlic, a high-pitched wail erupts from the next aisle over.
"Iwantthe dinosaur gummies!" a little boy shrieks at the top of his lungs. His mother, clearly two seconds away from a full mental collapse, gives him the classic death glare, but he doubles down, kicking the front wheel of their cart for dramatic effect. "Youpromised!"
I glance over, catching a glimpse of her juggling a half-squashed loaf of bread, a toddler trying to wriggle out of the seat, and what I assume is a rapidly disintegrating will to live.
Despite myself, I smile. Not the smug kind, but the warm, unexpected kind that sneaks up on you when life feels a little too real. It’s cute. Loud. Chaotic. A tiny disaster in lightning-fast sneakers, and thank God it’s not mine.
I maneuver toward the dairy aisle, dodging a teenager arguing with his mom about oat milk. Grayson thinks he can just waltz in with his easy smile and magazine-cover face, impress everyone with his so-calledgut instinctsandnatural connection to people . Please. I’ve spent the last eight years building this company, watching it grow from a tiny app to the most trusted name in modern matchmaking. I did the research. I ran the tests. I’ve earned every inch of this success and now I have to fight to keep it.
I toss a tub of Greek yogurt into the cart with unnecessary force, earning a curious look from an old woman reaching for cottage cheese. I offer a polite smile, but inside, I’m reviewing battle strategy. Elliot is the first step. Grayson will crash and burn trying to navigate that man’s emotional minefield. After that, I just need to keep applying pressure and keep him off-balance. Keep proving that I know this business better than anyone, because if I lose? It won’t just be my company. It’ll be my legacy, my name, everything I’ve worked for reduced to a footnote in someone else’s success story and the worst part? Grayson wouldn’t even gloat.
He’d just flash that maddeningly sincere smile, say something annoyingly respectful like“It was never about beating you, Margot”…as if that would make it better. Spoiler alert: it wouldn’t.
I’m halfway through self-checkout when my phone buzzes again. A calendar notification: Consultation Confirmed – Elliot Pierce.
I stare at the screen for a moment, pulse steady, lips curving into a grin. Showtime. I scan the last item, a pint of rocky road I absolutely didn’t need, and head for the door, cart squeaking behind me.