Matched. Kelli Ireland

was supposed to meet with when his brother played the one card Isaac had never been able to say no to.

      “I need your help. Bad. I don’t want this to go south, Isaac. Not for me and definitely not for my team. They’re depending on this to pay out. I don’t have the same financial demands thanks to my trust fund, but...” He sat up and leaned forward, forearms propped on his knees, and looked at Isaac with undeniable, wholly authentic sincerity. “They have families counting on them. Most of them have kids. You’re my only family. Forget the capital-investment side of things. Just—” Jonathan tunneled his fingers through his hair “—use an alias for all I care. These people don’t run in your social circle. The chance that anyone will recognize you is slim. I need you, Isaac. As my brother. Please.”

      It was the please that broke him. That and the reminder that, with their father gone and their mother suffering severe dementia, the two of them were truly all that remained of their family. They had each other. Brothers.

      “Don’t expect me to ‘hook up’ with one of the test pool or whatever you’re calling them.”

      “TPCs. Test-pool candidates.”

      “Whatever. I’ll show up tonight, and then I’m out. Nothing more, Jonathan. Promise me you’ll remove me from the unalterable ‘TPC list’ when the night’s over. No finagling me into a second event. Are we clear?”

      Jonathan beamed. “Absolutely. I’ll make sure you’re declared unsuitable for the project at the end of the night. That way you won’t be selected for future events. I promise.”

      Isaac sat back in his chair and looked out at the New York skyline. He’d do this for his brother before he slipped back into the predictable solitude of life as he’d crafted it. A life he lived alone.

      And alone suited him just fine.

       CHAPTER TWO

      RACHEL STEPHENS GLANCED at the clock on her bathroom wall for the fourth time in ten minutes. If she called a cab now, she’d be early. The last thing she wanted was to be the first person there. But she didn’t want to be late, either. If only she hadn’t agreed to participate in this ridiculous dating-app test. Her best friend, Casey, had pushed her to apply a couple of months ago during a stay-in movie night—a night that had involved too much wine followed by too many hormone-igniting Chris Hemsworth flicks. Devastating consequences always occurred when she indulged in too much of a good thing. And the wine had been good. But Chris...oh, Chris. He made her thoughts go in directions that were decidedly unsafe.

      Rachel’s phone buzzed on the bathroom counter. Her stomach clenched. Around the office, rumors were flying that a big case was coming in, a case that could make or break a junior attorney’s career. Her boss had intimated that, if the filing came through, he would be selecting her to work with him. If he called now, she wouldn’t have to go to this dating-app trial.

      A glance at the display dashed her hopes. She swiped to answer, then tapped the speaker icon. “I still blame you for getting me into this.”

      Best friend, coworker and fellow junior attorney Casey Bass snickered. “You know you’re glad you were drunk enough to accept the challenge. I’m just pissed that I didn’t make the final cut. I could’ve used the compensation they were offering to help pay for our trip to the Dominican Republic in March. Who was it that told us becoming attorneys would make us rich?”

      “A private student-loan officer who spun wild tales of riches beyond our wildest dreams.”

      Casey sighed with enough drama for the both of them. “I’m still waiting for my ship to come in.”

      “So that’s why you’re always hanging out by the docks. And here I thought you were just trolling for sailors.”

      Her friend’s laughter soothed her nerves some. “Whatever works.”

      “Look, I’m just happy I was able to afford real chicken and fresh vegetables on my grocery list this month. And the trip to the Dominican will help ease the pain I experience every time I write out the current month’s student-loan check.”

      “True enough.” Casey sighed as she shifted her bedding around, and Rachel could imagine Casey curled up in a nest of blankets and pillows with her laptop, working, as some random Netflix show looped in the background. “So. What are you wearing?” Casey asked.

      “If you’d asked me that in a deeper voice, I’d tell you.” Rachel leaned forward and applied her mascara with care. “As it is, you’ll have to wonder.”

      “Just promise me you’re not wearing your black power suit, black heels and carrying your black Burberry bag. You think it’s stylish, but you look like a monochromatic ad for a high-end funeral home. A gorgeous one, mind you, but still. Wear something with color. Oh! Wear that dark green dress—the one with the V-neck and the slit up the thigh.”

      “Casey, that dress was the result of a sip-and-shop event. Seeing as tonight is a result of another night spent with wine as my intimate companion, I’ve decided the fermented grape and I are absolutely not friends.”

      “I disagree. Wine is generally the catalyst behind your best decisions.”

      “You’re an enabler.” Rachel capped the mascara and stepped back, taking in her black power suit, black heels and black Burberry bag, which sat on her bed. When had she become so—so...predictable? She used to be spontaneous, fun, outgoing. A bit of a rebel, if truth be told. The way her life had played out over the last several years had made her overly cautious, had taught her to be conservative when making decisions. She’d become content blending into a crowd instead of standing out. Truth? If someone accused her of being a total bore, she had no defense.

      “Safe,” she whispered. She would argue she was safe.

      “What’s safe?” Casey asked.

      The question hung between them, and Rachel had no doubt that Casey knew exactly what was going through her head.

      “Stop playing it safe, Rach. Jeff left, but you survived. It’s time to thrive. Take the fact that you made the cut for tonight’s little experimental soiree as a sign that it’s time to start living again. Maybe even time to get laid.”

      “Casey!”

      “Oh, c’mon, Rachel. It’s not like I don’t know you and your vibrator are ridiculously intimate.”

      “No more than you and yours,” Rachel countered.

      “Not denying it. But at least I’m out there, playing the field, looking for someone. Even if he’s a Mr. Right Now versus Mr. Right. You need to do a little of the same. No one is ever going to be one hundred percent safe, Rachel. No one is ever going to be able to chase away your demons. You’re the only one with that power.” She paused, took a deep breath and let it out before continuing, her next words so much softer. “Honey, you have to stop holding on to Jeff’s memory. He was an asshole. You can’t see it now, but trust me. I’m begging you. His walking out? It was a good thing and, deep down, you know it. He changed you, nearly suffocated you with his dos and don’ts. He tried to make you into the breadwinner, the Stepford wife and his personal fetch-it girl. For God’s sake, he was unemployed more than half your married life.”

      “He managed to snag an heiress.” The admission was thick. Heavy.

      “An heiress whose family made their money by revolutionizing the laxative industry. A shit for a shit. It’s so apropos.”

      The sound Rachel made was half laugh, half sob.

      “Like I said, what you need is Mr. Right Now, Rachel. Stop disqualifying every man who comes on to you. Instead, look for the opportunity to have fun. It’s the only way you’re going to break that last tie, Rach. And it’s time. Let. Him. Go.”

      She knew Casey