Page 1 of The Billionaire Love Match

ONE

Casey ducked into thebathroom, leaning against the door. She could hear the pounding of the club’s music outside but was listening for something else—the sound of her ex shouting her name.

Nothing. She had lost him.

She sighed heavily and examined herself in the mirror, wondering how this happened. Lucas somehow found out she was at this event, despite the fact that Casey had been actively trying to avoid him for the last two months. They hadn’t dated for long before she saw his possessive side. Which went into overdrive when she called it quits. He moved quickly from annoying to aggravating and now to obsessive.

How did he even get in? This was an invite-only event for the finalists in the matchmaking reality show she had applied to be on. The month-long shooting schedule keeping her in seclusion was one of the big draws of the show. Not that she expected to make it.

Her makeup still looked great, though the winged eyeliner was a bit much. Her roommate, Amanda, was a makeup artist and had convinced Casey that she needed to step it up a bit.

“I probably won’t even get picked for the show,” Casey had said. “This is overkill. I don’t want to look desperate.”

Amanda had given her a look. “You could never look desperate,” she’d said. “Stop undervaluing my skills and your good looks. Speaking of, there’s no way you aren’t getting picked. You’ve got a gorgeous face and a rocking body. And before you say it, your butt is NOT too big.”

“It’s not supposed to be about looks,” Casey protested. “This show is a matchmaking show. They had us fill out about ten billion questionnaires, lie detectors, and do six different interviews. No one mentioned needing a rocking body. Or a big booty.”

Amanda had just rolled her eyes. “Whatever. It’s a TV show. It’s always about looks. Looks and drama. So we’re going to get you looking the part.”

After she’d finished, Casey had to admit that she looked good. Not quite like her normal day-to-day, which consisted of mascara (maybe) and lip gloss. But it wasn’t too extreme either. Amanda had given her some tips for doing her own makeup and packed a small bag of essentials in Casey’s rolling suitcase, which was somewhere inside the club. After the announcement of which women and men would be on the show, taping would start immediately.

Did she still want to be picked? Casey blew her long blond bangs to the side. She wasn’t sure anymore. It was an impulse decision to apply right after she broke up with Lucas.

The ad had come up on Facebook: Unlucky in Love? Find Your Perfect Match!

The ad went on to explain just the cursory bits. It was a reality show, but based around extensive personality tests to help them meet someone truly compatible. Plus there was payment, something that also fit well since Casey had just quit her barista job, hoping a change in routine would keep Lucas off her back. He didn’t seem to understand the word no. If finding another apartment in a hurry that she and Amanda could afford wasn’t an issue, she would have suggested they move also. But this was LA.

The show ticked off several boxes: a paycheck, disappearing for a month to escape Lucas, and—Casey hoped—it might help her build her following to sell more books. She had been trying to make it for two years as a full-time author. People loved her cozy mystery novels and they each had at least fifty four- and five-star reviews, but they were only selling a few copies per day.

As much as she hated to admit it, any fame from the show could help her get some traction. Even though she wrote under a pen name, it would be easy to still use any of the attention she got from the show to point to her books. All she needed was to get the viewers to fall in love with her. If a guy did too, well, that was a bonus.

But that wasn’t likely. Casey doubted she could find love without the help of a reality show, much less WITH one, where everything was clearly fake. She was, as Amanda and her own parents constantly reminded her, a terrible judge of character. Maybe having matchmakers help her out would actually work. Someone else could do all the hard part of picking out the right guy for her. But falling in love within a four-week span of time? Not possible. Plus, she was a Christian. Dating shows had overnight dates and bikini dates and generally weren’t geared toward people of faith. More reasons she wouldn’t get chosen.

Speaking of, she probably needed to get back out to the announcement party. They were going to reveal the contestants in just a few minutes. Not contestants—Potential Love Matches. The shy intern with glasses had explained the show’s jargon to her during the interview process.

“We’re looking for Potential Love Matches. Got it?” he asked.

“I guess,” she’d said. “I mean, YES!”

He had laughed, then dropped his voice to a whisper. “It’s okay if you have doubts. Just keep them quiet,” he’d said. “I’m Mark. I’ll be on set the whole time if you ever need a private debriefing.” Then he had put a finger to his lips.

She had laughed and patted his hand, mouthing “thank you.” When she touched his hand, he had blushed.

Casey was glad to have at least one person on set she could trust, just in case she did make it. She had no illusions. Even though the show sounded like a departure from the normal dating show, it all kind of boiled down to the same thing. As Amanda said, people watched TV for cat fights and drama.

What had she gotten herself into? She should probably walk out the front doors of the club right now. She didn’t need a TV show to make it as a writer. Just time and hard work.

As she was about to pull open the door, it slammed open. It didn’t hit her, but surprise knocked her back as a handsome guy flew in through the door. He had the perfect amount of stubble and hazel eyes. She couldn’t tell if his eyes were more brown or green, but they were big and framed with long dark lashes. Casey was a sucker for eyes.

He instinctively reached out an arm to steady her. The touch was momentary, but the light contact set off a chain reaction in her body, sending blood rushing in all directions. She yanked away and stepped back.

“Hey, buddy,” Casey said, crossing her arms. “I think you’re in the wrong bathroom.”

He regained his composure and brushed back his dark hair. Leaning back up against the wall next to the door, he crossed his arms, mirroring her. Only he looked amused, not annoyed. Everything about him looked somehow perfect. Too perfect. He had the kind of messy hair that she knew cost a pretty penny to get cut and styled. Even his T-shirt and jeans somehow looked expensively casual. Like he had paid big bucks to look like he didn’t have big bucks. She was used to giving people names as a barista and one came to her immediately for this guy and his perfectly polished appearance: Mr. Casual.

“You sure?” he said. With a crooked smile he gestured behind her. A row of urinals lined the wall.

Casey gasped and covered her mouth. How did she not notice when she walked in? But she knew how: Lucas. She had been in such a hurry to escape him that she hadn’t paid attention.

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