Not Your Match Read online

  Contents

  description

  title page

  other books by

  copyright

  dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Dear Reader,

  No Match for Love series

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Andi doesn’t believe in matchmaking. But when her best friend buys her a subscription to Toujour, a professional matchmaking service, she agrees to give it a try. She’s matched with a celebrity client, but he can’t make her heart flutter or her limbs turn to mush the way Ben, her best friend’s brother, can with a simple smile.

  When Ben’s fiancée calls off their wedding—for the third time—he flees to Los Angeles, desperate for a new beginning. He moves in across the hall from Andi, his high school ballroom dance partner and his sister’s best friend. Despite nursing a broken heart, his long-forgotten crush flares to life. He’s just beginning to believe he can move past his breakup, and maybe even ask Andi out, when his ex-fiancée shows up on New Year’s Eve, determined to win him back.

  Dating the wrong people has convinced both Ben and Andi that what they really want is each other. All that’s standing in their way is a fake boyfriend, a jealous ex-fiancée, and being afraid to risk their hearts.

  Other Books by Lindzee Armstrong

  No Match for Love Series

  Meet Your Match

  Miss Match

  Other Books

  First Love, Second Choice

  Copyright © 2015 by Lindzee Armstrong

  Published by Snowflake Press

  All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this book can be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without the express written permission of the author.

  Cover Design by Novak Illustrations

  Interior Design by Snowflake Press

  Edited by Kelley Gerschke

  Tooele, UT

  ISBN 978-0-9863632-5-2

  Library of Congress Control Number 2015917240

  Dedicated to my dad, who taught me that reading opens up a whole new world. You’re still my favorite person to talk books with. I love you!

  Andi was reasonably certain she’d be trapped in the stifling conference room until the end of time. It was going to take that long for her supposedly-in-love client to reach an agreement on the prenup.

  At least it wasn’t another divorce case. Though Andi hadn’t ever been married, she and Mark had been together for seven years, and divorce cases reminded her of their messy breakup.

  Andi leaned back in her padded chair and shot Miss Deborah Barrett another glance. Andi hadn’t bothered to find Deborah’s age in her file, but she was pretty sure Deborah was barely old enough to buy alcohol. She wore a low-cut blouse, which emphasized her bought-and-paid-for chest, and had the leathery, tanned skin of someone who’d spent too much time at the Santa Monica Pier with not enough sunscreen. Her arms were folded tight, further emphasizing her breasts, and her eyebrows were pulled down over heavily made-up eyes.

  “I don’t see why you won’t agree to an extra grand a month,” Deborah said.

  Her fiancé, Mr. Trevor Daniels, snorted. “An extra grand a month, paid out over seven years, is eighty-four thousand dollars.” Trevor was at least twice Deborah’s age. His graying hair was trimmed short, and his charcoal suit spoke of the money his Beverly Hills plastic surgery practice afforded him.

  Andi honestly had no idea how the two of them ended up together. Aside from a mutual love of plastic surgery and wealth, the two seemed to have nothing in common.

  Scratch that—she knew exactly why they ended up together.

  Deborah unfolded her arms and leaned across the table, grasping her fiancé’s hand. “Trev, this is silly.” Her voice dripped sweetness. “We aren’t going to get divorced, so why does the amount matter?”

  “Exactly.” Trevor forced a smile. “It shouldn’t matter at all.”

  Andi barely withheld an eye roll. She understood why couples wanted prenups, but all they seemed to accomplish was breeding distrust. Most of her clients were less soul mates destined for an eternity of happiness and more gold diggers looking for a nice alimony check after they did their time. Trevor and Deborah were getting married in a month, and instead of arguing over china patterns, they were in a stuffy attorney’s office arguing over who got what when they eventually divorced.

  Andi’s eyes wandered from the four carat rock on Deborah’s finger to her own bare one. If Mark had proposed six months ago instead of leaving Andi for another woman, would they have decided a prenup was necessary? Probably. And that should’ve told her all she needed to know about the relationship. She’d been an idiot not to dump him first. In the end, relationships weren’t worth the trouble.

  “The two of you are going to have to compromise,” Andi said. She tried not to glance at the clock on the wall. It had to be close to six, which gave her an hour to finish up this contract, buy a birthday present for her best friend, and get to the party. She was so going to be late.

  “Yes, a compromise,” Holly cut in. She was Trevor’s lawyer, and one of Andi’s favorite co-workers. Holly was a few years older than Andi, slender and pretty, but fierce in court. Where Andi hated the divorce and prenuptial aspects of family law, Holly seemed to thrive on it. “I think an extra five hundred a month is more than fair for both of you.” She glanced at Andi for confirmation, and Andi nodded. Anything to get out of this office.

  “Okay,” Trevor said. “But I want the bearded dragon as well.”

  If Andi weren’t such a professional, she would’ve snorted.

  Deborah let out a gasp. “I’ve had Maurice since he was a baby.”

  “And yet somehow I’m the one who cleans his cage and makes sure he gets fed. He likes me better than you.”

  “My mother gave me that dragon as a graduation present.”

  “Yeah, and you’re still upset Maurice wasn’t a Porsche.”

  “If you loved me half as much as you love Maurice, maybe we wouldn’t need a prenup.”

  Ten minutes later, Trevor relented and agreed Deborah could keep the dragon. Andi and Holly stood shoulder to shoulder and watched them disappear into the elevator. The doors closed and the elevator descended, taking a weight off Andi’s shoulders.

  Four years of undergrad work, three years at Stanford Law, and she was reduced to hearing couples bicker about bearded dragons. The only difference between divorce cases and prenups was that in the latter, couples at least pretended swe
etness.

  Were all relationships doomed to failure? The longer she worked in family law, the more she marveled that she and Mark had lasted so long.

  This wasn’t what she’d imagined herself doing as a lawyer. But junior associates didn’t get to pick their cases, even if their dad was a partner at the firm. Not after only a year on the job. So for now, she’d continue working divorces, with the occasional prenup or adoption case sprinkled in.

  Andi should’ve stuck with ballroom dancing, whatever Mark’s opinion on the matter. At least she would’ve have an outlet for her stress. Her mind floated back to Ben, her high school dance partner and best friend’s older brother. Together they had commanded the dance floor. He’d had a way of effortlessly gliding around the room, dipping and swaying and tossing her along with the music. The few times she’d danced with Mark, his movements had been stiff and bumbling, turning dancing into a chore. She still regretted not snagging Ben for a slow song when they’d both been at his sister’s wedding last year. But Andi had been busy with her maid-of-honor duties, and she hadn’t wanted to upset Mark.

  “I didn’t think we’d ever reach an agreement,” Holly said. She leaned against the wall of the conference room and folded her arms. The hallway was eerily quiet, most of the office doors shut tight. “I give that couple two years, tops.”

  “I’ll take that bet. I give them six months.” Andi hated how jaded lawyers in family practice were, but after a year of doing it herself, she understood why. The breakup with Mark hadn’t helped her perception. The fact that he hadn’t actually cheated on her didn’t ease the sting of him leaving for another woman.

  “Loser buys dinner for the winner.” Holly stuck out her hand, and they shook on it.

  “Got any fun plans for tonight?” Andi asked.

  “Just a date with my television. Aren’t you going to a birthday party?”

  “Yes, and I’m running late. Rachel’s already going to harass me for showing up solo.”

  “She still feels guilty about the breakup, huh?”

  “Yes, and she’s convinced the only way to fix things is to find me a boyfriend.” But the last thing Andi wanted right now was another relationship. It wasn’t worth the hassle.

  Back in her office, Andi grabbed the files for her most pressing cases and looked around, making sure she hadn’t forgotten anything. The screen on her computer was dark, pens neatly arranged near the keyboard. She picked up the scratch paper she’d used that day and ran it through the shredder. She put the books stacked on her desk back in their proper place on the bookcase.

  Her eyes landed on the box next to the bookcase. It was taped shut, with Mark’s New York address on the label. She’d looked at that box every day for three months. It didn’t contain anything important, just a few things she’d found lying around the condo—a sweatshirt, a few books, an engraved fountain pen—but she needed to send it to him and close that chapter of her life for good.

  Tomorrow, Andi promised herself as she flipped off the lights. She’d take a lunch break—her first one in months—and deliver the box to the post office if it killed her.

  Too bad it didn’t contain anything she could pass off as a present for Rachel. Stopping by the mall would make Andi even later for the party, but she couldn’t give a card with cash. Again.

  In her car, Andi analyzed traffic on the GPS. Even without a mall stop, the quickest route showed her arriving at Rachel’s at 7:32. She’d have to stop by the grocery store near Rachel’s for a card and write her an IOU for … something. Maybe a sweater or a purse.

  Andi fiddled with the radio, settling on her favorite salsa station. Her foot tapped against the floorboard as she sat in traffic, and she longed to wrap her arms around a tall gentleman and dance. Her mind flashed back to Ben. His arms had always felt strong and secure. She’d taken every dip and jump knowing he’d catch her. No other partner had made her heart race with the quick step and her limbs melt with a waltz.

  She missed dancing. Somewhere along the way, she’d let her enthusiasm for law—and Mark’s opinion—influence her away from it. Come to think of it, she missed Ben. He’d made her laugh, and the hours they spent practicing were the highlight of her day. He’d poked fun at his missteps in practice and hadn’t constantly lectured her about focusing on the future.

  The song ended, and a commercial came on for a day spa. Perfect. She could write Rachel an IOU for manicures and pedicures. The commercial ended, and the DJs started discussing the latest celebrity gossip.

  “Ladies, you’ll want to listen to this,” the female radio announcer said. “In case you live under a rock and haven’t heard, Luke Ryder is looking for a girlfriend. Yes, that’s right. Billionaire CEO of Ryder Communications signed with the dating service Toujour. Now’s your chance!”

  “Why is a billionaire bothering with online dating?” the male announcer asked. “It’s not like he has a shortage of interested women.”

  “You can’t believe everything you read in the tabloids.”

  “Yeah, but he’s a freakin’ billionaire. He’s young, he’s attractive, and he’s rich. Women must be pounding down his door. A matchmaker seems like a weird choice.”

  “Toujour’s not just online dating—it’s a full-service matchmaking company,” the female announcer said. “They claim they can find your soul mate.”

  Andi snorted. There was no such thing as a soul mate, and even if there was, she doubted a dating company could help her find hers. Not that she was looking. Being single suited her fine.

  At the grocery store, Andi picked the shortest checkout line and waited for the person in front of her. She tapped the birthday card against her leg, glancing at her cell. 7:42. This side trip would cost her at least fifteen minutes. The spiky-haired cashier popped her gum as she slowly scanned items, as though she knew Andi was in a rush and deliberately wanted to aggravate her.

  “Andi?”

  The woman standing in line behind her was tall and slender. Her russet-colored hair was pulled up in a top-knot, and her face was clean of makeup. It had been almost six years since Andi had seen her, but she’d recognize those pronounced cheekbones and sparkling eyes anywhere.

  “Elle!” Andi wrapped her arms around the woman and laughed. “It’s been ages.”

  “At least five years,” Elle agreed. “I see your posts on Facebook sometimes, but it’s good to see you in person. You’re working at your dad’s law firm, right?”

  “Yeah, I’ve been there about a year.”

  “I always knew you would do it. In college, you couldn’t stop talking about practicing law at your dad’s firm. I’m so happy for you.”

  “Thank you,” Andi said. She only wished the reality was as great as her dream had been. “What about you? I see you post pictures sometimes so I assume you still dance. Are you competing?”

  “Not anymore. I work for a charity now—Footsteps for Change. We offer free dance classes to underprivileged children.”

  A whisper of jealousy sliced through Andi. What would it be like to help others for a living? But she pushed it away. She would get to pick her cases and focus on adoptions and domestic violence cases—family law that would help instead of hurt—soon enough. “Elle, that’s fantastic.”

  “I really love it. A lot of research has proven that extracurriculars keep kids out of trouble, and dance helps develop their brains. We have a crisis center that’s open twenty-four hours a day so they have somewhere safe to escape to when things get tough at home. It’s exhausting trying to get the charity up and running, but rewarding too.”

  “Your total’s $6.32,” the cashier said, popping her gum.

  Andi fished her debit card out of her wallet and swiped it. “I wish I could stay and chat, but I’m late for a party.”

  Elle withdrew a business card from her purse. “Give me a call sometime. We’re always looking for volunteers willing to teach a few times a month. You’d be perfect for it.”

  “I don’t dance anymore.” The answer w
as a reflex, born from years of turning down anything that might interfere with her plans for law.

  “All the more reason to come teach. Do you have a card? I’ll call you.”

  Andi thought of all the reasons she’d quit dance—the time it had taken away from studying, the physical toll on her body. Mark’s disapproval. “I’m pretty busy these days. But it does sound fun.”

  “We can work something out.”

  Andi didn’t have time to argue. She pulled a business card out of her wallet and handed it over. “I’m sorry I have to run off. We’ll talk later.”

  “Definitely. It was nice seeing you, Andi.”

  “You too.” Andi grabbed her receipt and bag, then waved goodbye.

  She should’ve told Elle no upfront. She didn’t have time for ballroom dance, and she didn’t have a partner. Ben—the only partner she’d felt completely in sync with—now lived in Arizona with his fiancée.

  She didn’t want to dance if it wasn’t with him. It was one of the reasons she’d quit after completing her undergrad degree. None of her college dance partners had held a candle to Ben.

  Andi floored it, and pulled onto Rachel’s crowded street at 7:57 p.m. Nearly an hour late. Christmas lights lined the eaves of the house, and three wire reindeer grazed in the front yard. The porch light illuminated the giant evergreen wreath on the front door. Andi put the car in park and walked up the stately driveway.

  She knocked on the door, stooping low to avoid the boughs of the wreath. A few moments later, she heard footsteps. But they were heavy—not the light steps that accompanied Rachel. Her husband, Adam, maybe? Andi glanced at her phone. 7:58.