Page 13 of The Billionaire Mismatch

“What about you?” I ask.

“What does my sushi order say about me?”

“I don’t know if I’m qualified to speculate,” I say with a chuckle.

But Luca snags me with that smileless eye contact again.

“Why not?” he asks. “You’re smart.”

“Hmm,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him with a smile. “Omakase typically means one of two things. The first is that you are carefree. Someone who likes adventure and doesn’t care to know which way the path of life is going to unwind. A variety is the spice of life, sort of character. But seeing how I very much don’t get that vibe from you, I’m going to have to say you fall in the second category.”

“Which is?” he asks.

“You want to show off the fact that you’re rich,” I say, and he nods slowly.

“I see. Do I need to show off the fact that I’m rich?” he asks.

“Not really. I mean, I already know who you are,” I say, reaching for an edamame pod and dunking it in soy sauce that I already added wasabi to.

“Does it bother you that I’m rich?” he asks.

“Does it bother you that I bought these shoes at a thrift shop?” I ask.

Another quirk on his lips. If he was a man to show more expression, he would be cringing right now.

“So tell me something I don’t know about you,” he says, avoiding the question entirely.

“What would you like to know?” I ask.

“Well, your profile was a bit brief,” he says.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Not at all. Most women go on and on about themselves. It leaves nothing to the imagination,” he waves his hand dismissively.

“Noted,” I nod.

For Unmatched, not my real life, of course.

“I know that you like spicy sushi. I know that you like wearing clothes other people have thrown away. Please tell me you at least had them cleaned first.”

I bite back a snort. “Lysol spray. Garden Freesia,” I say and watch a glint of horror flash through his eyes. “I love my dog,” I add on.

“Alright,” he says, reaching for his sake. “Most people love dogs, but I suppose it’s a start.”

“Not dogs,” I correct him. “My dog. I’m not a dog person, actually. I was bitten by a golden retriever when I was five, and I’ve kind of been scared of them ever since.”

“Wait a minute,” he says, leaning in slightly. “You were bitten by a golden retriever?” he asks, and I nod. “Gold retrievers don’t bite people. They’re like the Mr. Rogers of dogs.”

I laugh out loud at that, pleasantly surprised that the grim reaper of modern dating is actually kind of funny when he wants to be.

“Exactly,” I say, reaching for my cup too. He adds more sake to both of them. “If you can’t trust golden retrievers, who can you trust?”

“Yet you have a dog,” he says, reverting to his factory settings.

“Vivien Leigh,” I sigh. And I swear Luca almost chokes. “She’s an Airedale Terrier,” I add.

“Vivien Leigh the Airedale Terrier,” he nods and I see an upward lilt in that lip tick. It’s microscopic, but it was there.