Page 11 of The Billionaire Mismatch

“She doesn’t look like every other woman,” Matt muses, and he’s not wrong. “She almost looks familiar…”

Livv–if that’s even her real name–doesn’t look anything like any other woman. She is both understated and unforgettable. Honey blonde hair. Blue sunburst eyes. Lips that curl even when she’s not smiling. A constellation of freckles across the bridge of her nose peeking through the modest amount of tinted moisturizershe’s wearing. Yes, I know makeup. I also know that if I can see that, she didn’t use any filters. A good sign.

Still, I shove my phone back in my pocket, robbing Matt of her digital presence.

“What are you doing?” he asks. “Get on that.”

“One,” I say. “Even if I was going to swipe right, I’m not going to do it ten seconds after she swiped on me. And two, like I said before, my dating life is none of your damn business.”

I offer a staged smile, and Matt shakes his head. “Screw you too,” he says and my lips tick in the hint of a real smirk.

Later that night, when I am finally alone at my place, I head into the bathroom to shower. I turn on the water as hot as it will go and watch the steam fill the air. Then I pull my phone from my pants pocket and set it down on the counter before stripping down to my black boxer briefs.

For a moment I think about Matt’s jab at my age. But as I look at myself in the mirror, lean, toned muscle, defined abs, sharp jawline with little to no wrinkles, I shake my head. He can kiss my ass. Figuratively, of course.

Then I pick up my phone and open the app.

Because I didn’t swipe one way or another, Livv’s face is still there. I look at the photos again. There’s only three, but each one is a hard ten.

And without overthinking it, because there’s no logical reason to, I swipe right.

Chapter 4

Olivia

“Your profile said you like sushi,”Luca says as he pulls my chair out for me.

“I love sushi,” I say. And it’s not a lie. I could eat it multiple times a week. Sometimes I do. Though it’s usually grocery store sushi, not Indigo Tide, one of the fanciest restaurants in all of Boston.

Honestly, I’m not used to any of this. I mean, yes, I’ve been on dates before. But first dates are usually more casual. Appetizers and a cocktail. Or a beer on the lawn at one of the local breweries. Coffee maybe. But not sushi at a restaurant where the edamame alone costs twelve bucks. For soy beans! More if you want wasabi soy.

Still, I can’t let any of that show.

I matched with Luca Laurent, an accomplishment that Sadie claimed was no easy feat.

Apparently, his profile is only matchable if you meet certain criteria. There’s a security team for his algorithm alone.

All that said, I have to be cool. I can’t look like a fan. Which I’m not. So that should be easy.

Luca takes a seat across from me at the small, high-top table we scored on the patio. Who am I kidding? We didn’t score it. He reserved it, I’m sure. Either way, I’m not complaining.

Even if this date isn’t a real date, I can still enjoy it.

It’s no secret the man is loaded. It’s also no secret he has a reputation. A reputation that I am not a fan of.

“I have to admit,” he says as he unfolds his napkin and places it on his lap. He’s wearing black, fitted slacks, and I am grateful I went with my burgundy dress. It’s classy…and not…at the same time. Listen, a girl with a B cup needs all the help she can get. “I was intrigued when I saw you pop up on my profile.”

“Oh, really?” I ask, following suit with my own napkin.

His words are hard not to smile at. Not because he is charming. It’s almost the opposite. Like the words themselves are charming, but the way he says them, very monotone, with little to no emotion behind them, kind of negates the chemistry factor.

“I was at a very boring business party when my phone buzzed. Seeing your face turned my evening around,” he says.

Again, same tone. It’s hard to tell if he’s flirting or not when he’s brooding.

Not that brooding is a bad look on him.

“Interesting,” I say. “That’s kind of funny.”