Page 10 of The Billionaire Mismatch

“Luca. Loosen your damn tie, brother. Jesus. This is Monday talk. Right now, revel in the fact that you are the king of the industry. It’s okay to take a breath. Your competitors are miles behind,” Matt says.

“Making it the perfect time to get even further ahead,” I say.

Matt sets his glass down, smirking at a couple of girls walking by. Then he looks over at me. “You know what you need?” he asks. “To get laid.”

“Why is that your answer to everything?”.

“When was the last time?”

“That’s none of your damn business,” I state.

“So it’s been a minute,” he says and I breathe out, pinching the bridge of my nose between my fingers.

“You know, you’re making it harder to enjoy the party,” I say.

“No, you’re making it harder. Look in front of you, Luca. There are at least twenty girls in this room invited simply for aesthetics. Women who would gladly hand you their panties if you handed them a drink. Hell, you’re Luca Laurent. You don’t even have to offer them a drink.”

“You know that’s not my style,” I say, taking another sip. “There’s an app for that…”

Matt chuckles at my joke. Because yes, I use the Realr app. As the owner of the company, I have the privilege of extra filters. Not photo filters. Filters that prevent ninety-nine percent of those five hundred million people from being able to swipe right on me.

For one, I need to weed things out more than that. Especially considering I’m not actually in the market for love, as ironic as that sounds.

But even the CEO of a dating app prefers his bed a little warmer from time to time.

And for that, the app, my app, is very handy.

“Speaking of that,” Matt goes on. “When’s the last time you went on a date?”

“It’s been a minute,” I admit. “I’ve been busy, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Yeah, yeah. Wait. You never told me what happened at your little Italian dinner last night,” he says.

“That’s because there’s nothing to tell,” I say.

“Wasn’t it with that redhead? From marketing?” he asks.

“Design. And yes. And no, it didn’t end well.”

“Damn,” he says. “She was cute.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not looking for cute,” I say.

Just then my phone buzzes, and I pull it out to look at it. It’s a notification from the app. Of course.

I would just shove my phone back in my pocket and ignore it until later. But unfortunately, Matt already saw it. “Well, look at that. The app is listening.”

“That’s not how any of this works,” I say. Yet with nearly a glass of whiskey in my stomach, my brain is a little buzzy, and my thumb is hovering over the notification.

What the hell.

“Damn,” he says. And while I don’t show the same emotion, that was my thought as well. “Swipe right. Swipe right now,” he says.

“I don’t even know who she is,” I say as I scroll through her photos, and she gets arguably more attractive with each swipe.

Matt takes the liberty of scrolling down to her profile. “She’s Livv. She’s twenty-seven. You got a couple of years on her, but that’s nothing new,” he chuckles, poking fun at the fact that I’m forty-eight. “She works in communications. She has her own place. That’s beneficial. No roommates. She loves live music and sushi and rainstorms, and thrifting,” he goes on.

“Thrifting is tacky,” I state. “She sounds like every other woman.”