Page 17 of The Billionaire Love Match

SEVEN

“Are you clear on howthe dates will work?”

His mother locked eyes with Colt in the mirror hanging in front of the stylist’s chair. She was busy using some kind of wax in his hair, cultivating the casually tousled look his mother had decided was the look he should have for the show. Ironically, achieving the laid-back look took upwards of thirty minutes and several different products.

“Crystal,” Colt said.

“Perfect. Here’s everything you need to know, broken down week by week.”

His mother picked up a folder, flipped through it, and then put it in his lap, open to a page titled INTRO COCKTAIL PARTY with a bullet-point list of what needed to happen. One of the bullet points read: Kiss 2+ women. As though it were any other item on a to-do list.

“Kiss at least two women? Really, Mom? And I even get to pick which ones—wow. Thanks for giving me some freedom.”

She smiled, ignoring the sarcasm. “I figured you’d enjoy everything more if I gave you some slack.”

Or a longer leash, he thought, blowing out in frustration. The following pages detailed each of the dates by week, though they didn’t all have the specifics of what kind of dates they would be. He knew she had to have planned the itinerary but hadn’t told him yet. Instead it let him know what he needed to do: how many women to kiss, what kinds of conversations he needed to have, and even the kind of emotions he should portray.

“No script?” he said, voice bitter.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Grace said. “I know how good you are thinking on your feet.”

“Indeed,” he said.

“Just pick a few women that you have the most attraction to. It can’t be hard with the group we’ve picked for you. We know you have chemistry with at least one. That was clear last night with Casey.”

Colt turned his face down to the folder in front of him. He didn’t like talking with his mother about relationships, something that was going to be impossible going forward, obviously. And he should have assumed that his mother would see everything almost as soon as it happened. He had thought maybe she missed the moment in the hallway with Casey the night before.

Despite the cameras and crew jammed into the hallway, it felt intimate. Maybe because Casey didn’t seem to be acting. He could also see how easy it would be to forget the cameras in the moment. Like in the moment when he leaned forward to kiss away the chocolate at the corner of her mouth.

He loved that she hadn’t given in quickly to him about coming on the show, jumping and squealing the way the other women from the show would have. She made him work for it, which only made him like her more.

But as much as the thought of kissing her sent his heart racing, she couldn’t be one of the 2+ women he kissed tonight. Not if he wanted to keep his mother’s gaze from zeroing in on her. Internal warnings flashed about what he could expect in the coming weeks.

“Colton, I know that this isn’t easy,” his mother said as he closed the folder in his lap. “And I want you to know that I appreciate everything that you’re doing to help ensure the success of this streaming partnership. I have something else to show you. Come.”

The stylist gave his hair a final spray and he nodded thanks. Straightening up his tux, he followed his mother out of the trailer and out into the setting LA sun, glinting red and orange off the glass windows of the mansion next to the makeup trailer. Colt couldn’t see inside but wondered if any of the women were watching from inside. Not just the women—Casey. His heart sped up just thinking about the reality that he would see her in twenty minutes when they started the cocktail party. Though his reason for the show was, ultimately, the prize of his studio at the end, he was picking up extra motivation thinking about seeing her again.

His mother stopped at the back gate of the mansion, made of iron and wood. The camera crews were nearby with Chris Haversham, waiting for go-time. Grace touched his arm and he had to make an effort not to jerk away from her grasp. She held up her phone, revealing a photo of an office building.

“What am I looking at?”

“Just a potential space for you,” she said. He took the phone from her and zoomed in on the photo. “Just off Melrose on Vine. Built in 1931 by the same architect behind the Hollywood Citizen News building. Isn’t art deco your favorite style?”

“It is,” Colt said.

The building was perfect. Part of him felt choked up that his mother knew exactly what he would have chosen. But he had long ago realized that he had to temper his expectations of her. Gifts or kindnesses always came with strings. It wasn’t about him as much as what he could give her. “Thanks, Mom.”

He handed the phone back to her. She brushed off the lapels of his tux and he worked to stay still when everything in him wanted to pull away.

“You look handsome,” she said. “Your father would be proud.”

Would he?

Colt somehow didn’t think that there was anything about their current situation that his father would have been proud of. Now he did pull away, but gave his mother’s hands a squeeze as he pulled them from his lapels. He sensed that it was more important than ever to stay close to her, to give into her. This show meant more than his life on the line. He couldn’t forget about the fifteen other lives dangling in her hands. One in particular.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

“No,” Colt said, pushing through the gates to the back of the mansion, cameras trailing behind.

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