Page 29 of The Billionaire Mismatch

“You’re right,” I admit.

“Yeah?”

“Yes. You are right. I just have to do it,” I say.

“Yes. Yes! And you can do this. I mean, you’ve gotten this far. And just imagine the followers the podcast is going to bring in,” she goes on.

“I mean, I don’t really do it for the followers…” I say.

“Well then, do it to help people. All those new followers are people you will be helping. Helping to avoid men who prey on girls who put their hearts out there. Men like Luca Laurent.”

I suppose she’s right. They’re all probably right. But I still can’t figure out how I got roped into this. Worse than that, I can’t denythat my heart is skipping around in my chest at the thought of seeing him again.

Chapter 9

Luca

“This is…wow,”

“You like it?” I ask. But as Olivia’s eyes do not one but three slow sweeps over the Lantern Society, a high-end speakeasy with exceptional cocktails and over the top appetizers, I know she likes it. It was a rhetorical question.

“Yeah,” she says before snapping out of it, offering me a smile as she straightens up.

I have to bite back a small smirk of my own. I don’t think she was expecting this, although that’s kind of the point. I also have to divert my gaze. I’d told her through text a couple of hours ago where we were going and to dress appropriately. But considering the fact that she’s probably never been to the Lantern Society, or anywhere like it, she may have gone a little overboard. Overboard enough that in her sleek, satin, backless dress she has the attention of everyone in the room.

And to top it off, she genuinely doesn’t notice.

We are guided to a table in the corner with velvet chairs and candlelight. Jazz music is playing over the speakers, cracklingfor vintage ambiance. It’s dark, moody, and the light in her expression tells me Olivia is loving it.

Good.

“Have you been here before?” I ask as I pull her chair out for her, knowing full well she hasn’t.

“Here?” she asks with a fluttery laugh. Then she stops. “I mean…I’ve been places like this. It was on my list. Of places to go with my friend Sa–” she stops. “Kiersten.”

“Of course,” I say, musing over several parts of that answer. As her eyes graze over the cocktail menu, I watch them widen. “Everything alright?” I ask.

“Yes,” she smiles and clears her throat, “These are just so…elaborate. There’s one here, the Midnight Reverie. A velvety blend of small batched smoke rye, blackstrap molasses and amaro, stirred over hand-cut ice with a whisper of blackberry bitters. I didn’t know blackberries could whisper,” she giggles, biting her lip.

And between the naivety and everything else, the first word that comes to mind is cute. Of course, it’s followed by Matt’s voice in my head, which is very much not invited, so I shove all of it to the back of my head again, the word cute included.

“I’m pretty sure they can do a vodka cranberry if that’s more up your alley,” I say as I skim the food menu.

“I’m not in college,” she snaps back, though she’s smiling.

“And yet you prefer your blackberry bitters on the louder side,” I joke. Because yes, I can joke, though people never really know how to respond to it.

“Are you ready to order?” the waitress asks as she arrives at the table.

“Would you like me to order for you, or do you need more time?” I ask, and Olivia’s eyes flicker with something stubborn.

“Neither,” she says, smiling at the waitress, “I will have the Golden Hour #7. Thank you.”

I order a smoked Old Fashioned and a charcuterie board to share. Then I turn my attention to her. It’s interesting looking at her now that I know what I know. And who she is. All that acting naïve is actually just that. An act. An act to distract. And the aforementioned cuteness? It’s coy. But no matter. Livv–Olivia Ramone–may be the self-proclaimed Queen of Anti-Internet Dating, but I am the CEO of Realr and that outranks. And in my case, outwits.

No one fucks with the King. Not even the Queen.

Our drinks and food arrived; my drink wafting in smoke and hers bright and yellow with a small, wooden honey wand in it.