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“It’s not too late to tell me if you’re in over your head,”

she said as they charged toward the lobby. Her grandmother only had one setting: full steam ahead. “I can wait another few years to retire…”

“You’ve worked hard enough, Mima,” she interrupted with her hand on the woman’s padded shoulder. “Don’t

worry. I have it all under control.”

Kissing her grandmother goodbye before depositing her in the restored elevator, Libby was moments from freedom when her assistant Taylor raced toward her, big eyes wide and panicked.

Oh, Jeez. Just wait one second.

She glanced at the elevator doors, willing them to slide closed before her grandmother was alerted to whatever five-alarm fire was coming her way.

“Libby!” Taylor called, earning a scowl from her grandmother. Except for Libby’s dad and her brother, there wasn’t a person on Earth who didn’t call her grandmother Mrs. Cassanova. Before he died, even Libby’s grandpa called his wife Mrs. Cassanova. It was mostly a joke, but she’d never heard them use any terms of endearment for each other.

When the elevator closed, Libby took her first full breath. “What’s up?” she asked when the young blonde all but tackled her.

“I’ve been calling you—”

“Of course, this morning of all mornings a delivery truck tried to get into my building’s parking garage. Why would he think the stated height was a ballpark estimate? He managed to break the gate so badly it apparently shorted the motor for the whole thing. Took me forever to get out. Thanks for trying to give me the head’s up about my grandmother waiting—”

“That’s not why I was calling,” Taylor said, looking paler by the second. “Have you checked your email or anything?

While you were waiting in your car maybe?”

Libby furrowed her brow. Taylor knew full well there was no service in her condo’s parking garage. As her right-hand woman for the last few years, there was very little Taylor didn’t know about her. “What’s going on?”

When Taylor looked around before answering, Libby’s blood ran cold. Whatever it was couldn’t be that catastrophic if her grandmother hadn’t known about it first.

“Maybe we should go to your o ce,” she suggested before taking o like a shot toward the corner suite overlooking the water.

Libby’s mouth morphed into a desert as her skin turned to ice. When she stepped into her o ce covered on one side with floor-to-ceiling windows, Taylor closed the door behind her.

“I don’t know how he found out,” she said, hands trembling as she reached for the phone in her cardigan pocket.

Libby couldn’t speak as she waited for Taylor to provide context for her freak out. Instead of explaining, she handed her the phone. In bold letters at the top of a universally read gossip blog was Libby’s nightmare come to life: Cassanova Cupid. . . a Con?

As she scanned the post that had already been viewed a thousand times in two hours, Libby clenched her jaw.

Fidgeting with the engagement ring on her finger, she stared at the picture under the headline. It was a wedding announcement. Davis Rothschild, her longtime boyfriend and recent fiancé, was getting married, and he hadn’t had the decency to tell her.

What was worse, now everyone with an internet connection knew what she was. A single matchmaker who’d failed at love.

ALONE IN HER OFFICE, LIBBY WATCHED THE SUN SET OVER BISCAYNE

Bay. What she wouldn’t give to be on a sailboat drifting away into the red-orange horizon. Instead, she was in the dark

trying to figure out a way to tell her grandmother she’d destroyed the business built by four generations of Cassanova women.

Since she was old enough to read, Libby wanted nothing more than to be the next great matchmaker. She’d started learning at her grandmother’s side well before she was allowed to date for herself. A degree in psychology taught her how people worked, acting classes showed her how to interpret body language, and interning as a grief counselor gave her the skills to be gentle and empathetic.

There was no nepotism at Cassanova Matchmaking. She’d started at the front desk and worked her way up from reviewing client files to eventually matchmaking herself, a job held only by her grandmother for nearly forty years.

As she thought about everything she was losing, Libby stared at the engagement ring on her desk. At least she didn’t have to live a lie anymore. Maybe she’d find comfort in that after a time.

“Come in,” Libby replied wearily to the knock at her door.

“I brought you something to eat,” Taylor said, slipping through the smallest crack in the opening door. “Everyone’s gone now if you want to come out.”