Free The Matchmaker's Replacement [Kindle in Motion] (Wingmen Inc. Book 2) by Rachel van Dyken Page A

injustice, and—if I was being completely honest—a lot of anger. “And I tried to be so nonchalant about it.”
    He laughed. “Yes, well, I recognized your handwriting. What did I tell you about giving us extra money?”
    “You said I couldn’t drop out of school. You never once said I couldn’t help out,” I argued.
    “Mija, you need to be able to live . . . We are just fine, I told you this.”
    But I knew they weren’t fine, because last time I was home I saw the bills, and the envelopes that went with them, the ones with “Overdue” in angry red letters. Ever since my dad had been laid off a few months before, things had been tight. My mom tried to pick up extra shifts at the hospital, but it wasn’t enough. They lived near Seattle, for crying out loud; Bellevue wasn’t the cheapest place once the tech boom started, and it made me sick to think that at their age they might have to downsize and move.
    My dad was looking for jobs, but it was hard. He was either too qualified or too old, though the hiring managers never actually came right out and said that.
    He had his MBA but his company had gone under, and now he had all this education he couldn’t really use, not when he was competing with college graduates who would do the same job for less pay and with a more energetic approach.
    With a heavy sigh, I focused on keeping in my tears. He’d sense my sadness, and that was the last thing he needed. “Dad, I got another job, so . . . what I’m giving you is my extra. I swear I’m okay!”
    “There was food,” he said in a quiet voice. “You dropped off money and food, mija.”
    I smiled through my tears. “Dropping off the makings for your favorite chili is hardly food.”
    “It was delicious.” His voice was warm. It killed me that his pride was hurt because he felt he couldn’t provide.
    “Mom made it, of course it was.”
    “Thank you,” he whispered. “Come visit soon, bring Ian?”
    “Yeah.” I licked my dry lips and glanced down at the basket. “Dad, how do you feel about chocolate?”
    “Is this a trick question?”
    I laughed. “No. I’ll drop some by later.”
    “Love you, mi corazon .”
    “You too, Papa.”
    When the phone went dead, I wanted to crumple into a heap on the floor and cry. But I had a test to ace, a career to figure out, and a new job to say yes to.
    With shaking hands I dialed the number with dread, and the man who picked up said a gruff hello.
    “Yeah, this is Gabrielle Sava. I’m calling about the opening at the club?”

Chapter Nine
    Lex
    Y ou’re late.” I didn’t glance up as Gabs plopped hurriedly onto the plush leather seat across from me, her sweet perfume floating into the air. Normally, perfume had a negative effect on all my senses, making me feel like I was about to get smothered by someone’s crazy aunt or grandma and then get my cheeks pinched until I bled. But everything was always different with Gabs. Always. The Matador had a dark, cave-like feel. Candles were suspended above each table and outlined most of the ceiling, giving the restaurant a very eerie but sensual atmosphere. It was the absolute last place I should take a girl like Gabi, because it made my mind think of things, and thinking of things just got me uncomfortable. And pissed.
    “So?” she asked, sliding her hands across the table.
    “You painted your nails.” They were bright pink, matching the natural pink of her lips that I refused to look at, not that I needed to. Her top lip was fuller than her bottom, and a large, pronounced bow that I’m sure most women would pay thousands for framed the top of her mouth, giving her the perfect pinup pout without her doing a damn thing. I’d had several vivid fantasies about that mouth, though they all ended with my death, mainly because Gabs reminded me of a black widow—mate, then kill. Ergo, me dying by her hand.
    “So?” Gabi’s voice was strained. It was usually deep, with a soothing effect. “Where is