Conflict Of Interest

Candice Dare helps couples find forever. Her AI system never spits out perfect matches, just high scores that work. Today she ran Alison Rey’s details and froze. One hundred percent. No margin for error. The name attached to that perfect score? Her own. She’d buried her profile years ago and forgotten it existed. Alison was gorgeous—long legs, smart mouth, the kind of trouble worth the risk—but dating a client was suicide for the business. Rules are rules. Then Alison showed up, smile electric, ready to hear her match. Candice laid it out: me. Alison didn’t blink. Instead she stepped closer, voice low and sure. “The system’s never wrong. Neither are we.” The argument hit like a spark on dry paper. One kiss and the line vanished. Tongues tangled, hands slid under silk, hips pressed hard against the edge of the desk. Candice’s skirt bunched at her waist. Alison dropped, tongue gliding, hungry, and Candice’s knees buckled. Every flick pulled a curse from her throat. She clawed the desk, heels scraping the floor, heat coiling fast and tight until she shattered—back arched, breath ragged. The AI had known. Candice finally admitted it out loud between gasps: the perfect match was real, and it tasted exactly like this.