Page 2 of Sly Like a Fox (Romance Expected Dating Service #3)

Looking at Red’s kind, knowing expression, a different truth spills out.

“I want someone who doesn’t immediately assume I’m trying to con them.

” The words surprise me with their rawness.

“Every time someone finds out I’m a fox shifter, they either expect me to be some master manipulator or they think I’m going to steal their wallet while they’re distracted. ”

Red nods thoughtfully. “The stereotypes are frustrating.”

“It’s more than that. I am cunning. I am strategic. Those aren’t character flaws. They’re survival skills. Every guy I’ve dated either wants me to tone it down, or he thinks it’s some kind of sexy game until he realizes I’m actually smarter than him.”

“That threatens them.”

“Exactly.” I lean forward, surprised by how good it feels to say this out loud. “I don’t want to be someone’s pet fox or their exotic conquest. I want a partner who appreciates my mind, not just tolerates it.”

Red’s smile widens. “Now we’re getting somewhere. What about financial stability? Is that important to you?”

I hesitate. Admitting I want a rich boyfriend makes me sound shallow, but lying to a professional matchmaker seems counterproductive. “I’ve been broke my entire adult life,” I say. “I’d like to not worry about money for once. Does that make me a gold digger?”

“It makes you practical. There’s nothing wrong with wanting security.” She pulls out a tablet and starts tapping notes. “Anything else I should know?”

“I have terrible taste in men.”

She laughs. “Most people do. That’s why I have job security.”

I’m cautiously optimistic that this might lead somewhere. Red doesn’t seem judgmental or shocked by my honesty. She’s treating my desires like legitimate preferences instead of character flaws.

“I think I have someone perfect for you,” she says, scrolling through her tablet. “Fenton Nielsen. He’s a bobcat shifter, thirty-one, and works in technology consulting. He’s intelligent, financially stable, and specifically requested someone who can match his mental agility.”

My ears perk up at “financially stable” and “technology consulting.” Tech money is good money. “What’s the catch?”

She laughs. “No catch, though he has had some challenging experiences with traditional dating approaches. Sound familiar?”

“Very.” I try not to seem too eager. “When can I meet him?”

“Tomorrow night, assuming he agrees. There’s an upscale restaurant I like to use for first meetings. Neutral territory, good atmosphere.” Red hands me a business card with the restaurant’s information. “Seven o’clock?”

I take the card, trying not to think about how I can’t afford a meal at a place like this. “That sounds perfect.”

“Excellent. One last thing, Jenna.” Her expression grows serious. “Be yourself. Don’t try to be who you think he wants. The right person will appreciate exactly who you are.”

I nod, though privately I’m already planning my outfit and conversation strategy. Being myself hasn’t worked out so well lately. Red’s confidence is infectious, though, and for the first time in months, I think maybe my luck is about to change.

The walk back to my apartment gives me time to process what just happened. Red saw through my act immediately but didn’t judge me for it. She listened to my actual concerns and treated them as valid. Most importantly, she matched me with someone who sounds promising.

Fenton Nielsen, bobcat shifter, technology consultant, intelligent, and financially stable. The combination sends a thrill through me that has nothing to do with money and everything to do with the possibility of finding someone who might actually understand me.

I stop at a corner bodega and use three of my precious remaining dollars to buy a cup of coffee and a packet of breath mints. It’s a celebration and preparation all in one. The elderly man behind the counter looks at my bandaged forehead with concern.

“You okay, miss?”

“Getting better,” I tell him, and for the first time today, I mean it.

The stiletto heel is still embedded in my wall when I get home, but somehow, it doesn’t look quite so threatening anymore.

I pull it free and return it to my closet along with its mate before I start cleaning up the mess.

I sweep up and throw away the wine bottle fragments before stepping on the wine stain with a dark towel.

I should have tackled it earlier, but I couldn’t face it then.

When I pull away the soaked towel, the damp spot on the rug blends okay-ish with the rest of the print, so it’ll have to do.

It’s time to start fresh. I lay the restaurant’s business card on my coffee table and start planning.

My phone buzzes with another text from Chloe: If you don’t want coffee, do you want company while you figure out whatever’s going on? You seemed off earlier in the lobby when we were both getting our mail.

I consider her offer. Chloe’s the friend who brings cookies when you’re down and never asks uncomfortable questions.

Actually, yes. Come over. I have news.

Good news or bad news?

Potentially amazing news.

On my way.

While I wait for her, I head to my tiny closet and start assessing my options.

Most of my clothes are either too casual for an upscale restaurant or too obviously cheap.

I need something that says, “sophisticated woman worth getting to know,” without screaming, “desperate fox shifter who can’t afford rent. ”

The black dress Chloe loaned me for a job interview last month still hangs in the back. It’s simple but elegant with clean lines that flatter my curves without being too revealing. She said I could keep it since it was too long for her anyway.

Perfect.

A knock at my door announces Chloe’s arrival. She bounces in carrying a bakery box and wearing her usual bright smile. Her dark hair is pulled back in a practical ponytail, and she’s traded her work apron for a pink T-shirt and white jeans.

“Okay, spill. What’s this amazing news?” She sets the box on my kitchen counter and opens it to reveal chocolate chip cookies that smell like heaven.

“I have a date tomorrow night.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “With whom? Is it that Ralph guy you’ve been talking about? He sounds too good to be true.”

I touch my forehead without thought. “He was.”

Her mouth drops open. “He hit you?”

I shake my head. “Worse…his wife did, indirectly.”

She gasps. “That sleaze was married?”

I nod. “I discovered that earlier today, when he came over for lunch, and the Mrs. followed him.”

She looks sympathetic. “What a jerk. You’d never date a married man.”

I nod in agreement. “That’s like 101 of Dating, but his wife wasn’t in the mood to hear my side.” I shrug. “It’s okay. Ralph had moist hands anyway.”

Chloe grimaces. “Yuck. I don’t think I could let a guy with moist hands touch me.”

I could for the money Ralph seemed to have, but a wife is a dealbreaker.

“Yeah. Anyway, this next guy is definitely not married. His name is Fenton, and he’s a bobcat shifter who works in tech.

” I grab two cookies and settle on the couch, which has dried out.

The wine stain will be permanent, but it kind of fades into the ugly brown fabric. “I went to a professional matchmaker.”

“A matchmaker? That’s so old-fashioned. I love it.” Chloe joins me, cookie in hand. “Tell me everything.”

I give her the edited version—leaving out the part about specifically targeting wealthy men since she doesn’t know about my aspirations—and focus on Red’s understanding approach and the promising match she made.

“She sounds amazing. It’s so nice when someone actually listens instead of just assuming they know what’s best for you.” Chloe takes a bite of her cookie. “What’s he like?”

“I don’t really know yet. We haven’t met in person. Red said he’s intelligent and specifically wanted someone who could match his mental agility. That’s encouraging.”

She nods. “Very encouraging. Brains are so much better than just looks.” She pauses mid-chew. “I hope he’s cute, too.”

“Red showed me his photo. He’s definitely attractive.” The understatement of the year. Fenton Nielsen looked like he stepped out of a magazine spread about successful young professionals with his dark hair, intense green eyes, and bone structure that suggested good genetics and expensive skincare.

“Where’s he taking you?” I show her the restaurant card, and her eyes widen. “Wow. This place is fancy. Like, really fancy. I’ve never been there, but I’ve heard their appetizers cost more than I make in tips on a good night.”

My stomach clenches. “That expensive?”

“Don’t worry about it. If he or Red suggested this place, he can afford it. Just enjoy yourself.” She studies my face. “You’re nervous.”

“Terrified.” I bite my lip. “This feels different from my usual dates. More important somehow.”

“Because you actually want it to work out?”

The observation hits closer to home than I’m comfortable acknowledging. Most of my recent dates were purely transactional in my mind. Find a rich guy, charm him, and secure my future. Simple, but something about Fenton already feels more complicated.

“Maybe. Red mentioned he’s had some challenging dating experiences, too. It might be nice to meet someone who understands what it’s like to be misjudged.”

She nods enthusiastically. “That’s the foundation of every good relationship. Mutual understanding and respect.”

“Is that your professional opinion, Dr. Martinez?”

She laughs. “That’s my opinion as someone who’s watched you go through a string of jerks who didn’t appreciate how amazing you are.”

Her loyalty touches me. Chloe doesn’t know the full truth about my dating strategy, but she’s been a constant source of support through all my romantic disasters.

“You’re going to knock his socks off,” she says.

“You think so?”

She grins and finishes off her cookie before answering. “I know so. You clean up really well when you’re not stressed about money.”

The comment stings because it’s true. Financial pressure has been affecting every aspect of my life, including how I present myself to the world. Tomorrow night, I get a chance to be the woman I want to be instead of the one I’ve been forced to become.

After Chloe leaves, I spend the evening preparing.

I research the restaurant online, memorizing the menu and wine list so I don’t look completely lost. I practice conversation topics that show intelligence without being pretentious.

I even watch a few YouTube videos about first date etiquette, though most of the advice seems geared toward humans rather than shifters.

The biggest challenge is managing my expectations.

Part of me wants to treat this like any other mark by identifying his weaknesses, exploiting his desires, and securing my financial future, but Red’s words keep echoing in my head: “Be yourself. The right person will appreciate exactly who you are.”

What if being myself is enough? What if I don’t have to perform or manipulate or scheme my way into love? The thought terrifies and thrills me in equal measure.