Page 39 of The Billionaire Mismatch

I don’t know why I’m flustered. It’s not like I didn’t see this coming. We’re on date three. Most people talk about this shit on date one. A form of small talk. Most people don’t mind talking about their jobs. But most people’s jobs aren’t designed to destroy the person they are on a date with.

“Relationship advice,” I say, and Luca casually takes another sip of his whiskey.

“Interesting,”

“Is it?” I ask.

“You don’t think so?” he asks, zeroing in on me. And I really wish he wouldn’t do that. It’s very hard to focus on the words coming out of his mouth when I can’t stop staring at it. His mouth, I mean. Those lips…that tongue…

“I just find it ironic,” he goes on. “You host a podcast about dating. I’m the CEO of a dating app. We work in the same field.”

“I suppose we do,” I agree, reaching for my drink again.

“Your tone says you disagree,” he presses, and I swear he’s amused. Despite the lack of a smile, there’s something in his eyes, a lilt in his tone. This is him amused. And it’s unraveling me.

“No…I just…I don’t think we promote the same things.”

“How so?” he asks.

Fuck.

I shouldn’t be telling him any of this. But that jawline, that gaze, those forearms…he’s just so persuasive.

“I’m not a fan of online dating,” I admit.

“And yet, we met–”

“You gotta try everything once,” I say, and he studies me again. And I decide to grab the conversational wheel. My turn to decide where we are going because right now, we are headed for a cliff.

“So if you run a dating app, would you consider yourself romantic?” I ask. I am going for anything light and fluffy here. But Luca’s expression remains unmoving as he answers with a single, fluff-less syllable.

“No.”

I snort a laugh. “What do you mean, no?” I ask.

“I mean, I don’t believe in romance.”

My eyes narrow. “How does that work? How can you create what you created and promote what you promote if you don’t believe in love?”

“I didn’t say I don’t believe in love,” he says. “I said I don’t believe in romance.”

“They’re the same thing,” I tell him.

“No. They’re not,” he says matter-of-factly. “Love is an action. It’s two people being compatible in a sensible way, making a commitment, putting in the work, and making things work no matter what. It’s based on lifestyle and common interests and an understanding of that commitment to each other. Honesty fulfilled equal trust.”

“And how is that different from romance? And chemistry?” I ask.

“Chemistry doesn’t exist,” he says and my eyes widen. “It doesn’t. Chemistry is hormones fueled by the biological need to eliminate loneliness in your life or the desire to procreate. Paired with sexual attraction, of course. Pheromones influence it as well. But it has nothing to do with love and definitely nothing to do with compatibility.”

“Wow,” I say, looking down at the table. “You sure know how to set the mood.”

“Why does that bother you?” he asks, and I set my drink down. I know the game we are supposed to be playing, but right now, he’s triggered something in me. Something deep and unhinged because it’s tied to everything I believe. Hence my job.

“Because people aren’t just a mass of cells driven by evolution to reproduce. Our need to find a partner isn’t just primal. It’s emotional. Connection isn’t based on chapter three of your biology 101 textbook. It’s the unsaid similarities. It’s the feeling you get in your chest when someone can finish your sentences. It’s the ability to know someone well enough that you can predict their needs, their emotional needs, before they ask. It’s liking thesame song. It’s sharing a milkshake. It’s laughing at the same part of a movie no one else finds funny. It’s reaching for the other person’s hand in the middle of the night when you’re half asleep.”

“That’s elementary,” he says.

“No. It’s authentic. It’s a bond that no one and nothing can tear apart.”