Page 23 of The Billionaire Love Match

Four other women, whose names she was kind of fuzzy on were sitting around the table in workout clothes. Lisa she recognized, only because they had been the last two choices that first night. The mansion had a gym downstairs and she’d heard the women talking a few days before about morning yoga outside. Though she hadn’t expected to come home with a bunch of new friends, being the outcast was not easy.

Casey didn’t make fast friends in normal life, but she also didn’t typically face the intense scrutiny and dislike she had here. She and Amanda gotten close while at Texas A&M. When Amanda started talking about moving to LA after graduation, Casey had gotten the itch as well. They decided to move together, caravanning out a few weeks after tossing their hats up in the air. Amanda was the only reason Casey’s parents hadn’t thrown a complete fit and tied her up in her bedroom when she announced her plan to move to California.

Though neither she nor Amanda had hit it big—yet—they had both grown to love LA and had no plans to move. They’d made a few other friends through the church they attended, which met in an old movie theater, but mostly, they were all each other needed. Casey seemed to have forgotten the art of making new friends.

“Hey,” she said, walking into the kitchen.

The conversation at the table stopped as the women in their yoga pants and athletic tanks simply stared at her. Casey acted like she didn’t notice and began pulling things out of the fridge to make a sandwich. The fridge was totally stocked and she found mayo and deli meat and bread. The women went back to their conversations, but a little quieter now. She took a deep breath. She could do this.

“Anyone want a sandwich?”

Conversations stopped again. Casey looked over at them. “You know: bread, meat, cheese, condiments. I make a pretty mean melted ham and swiss.”

She stood with a knife in her hand, poised above the open mayonnaise container.

“We don’t eat carbs,” one of the girls said icily.

“None of you eat carbs? Is this like a carb-free club?”

“I’m celiac,” Lisa said.

“I can’t eat gluten,” said another.

“Oh,” said Casey. “Well, okay. I could—”

Without a word, they all got up and left together.

Casey knew the cameras were watching, knew that this very moment there might by countless people on the live stream, so she went through the motions of making a sandwich. She would not cry. She would not cry.

In that moment, though, she had been transported back to the ninth-grade cafeteria.

Casey’s best friend Meredith had made the high school drill team, the elite group of dancers who performed at high school football games during half-time. This was essentially Texas royalty. Casey had been thrilled. Though she didn’t try out (coordination issues), she had helped Meredith learn the routine and had stayed up late watching, critiquing, and helping her get every move down for the extensive tryouts. She had even made her a goody bag for the final day of tryouts with her favorite brand of jelly beans and red licorice, her favorites. Just in case.

Once daily practices started in August, Casey didn’t see Meredith as much, though they still talked and texted daily. Casey’s mom dropped them off the first day of high school so they could walk in together. Their plan was to meet at lunch if they didn’t have any classes together. With a freshman class of over 1000, they didn’t expect to have classes together.

She and Meredith met in the cafeteria, just as planned. In hindsight, Casey remembered the way Meredith’s hug was stiff and her eyes kept looking over her shoulder. “Bring or buy?” Casey had asked.

Meredith held up the paper sack she’d brought from home. Casey was buying, so after they picked a table near the front of the room and Meredith sat down, she headed off for the cafeteria line. She emerged a few minutes later with something resembling mashed potatoes, chicken nuggets, and a leaf of lettuce that was supposed to be a salad. She’d paid an extra dollar for a Hostess cupcake, Meredith’s favorite.

She had trouble at first remembering where they were sitting and stood in the center of the room, scanning. When she caught sight of Meredith’s dark hair, she began to walk. She was three tables away when she realized that the table was full. You could tell the drill team girls, even when they weren’t in uniform. Bouncy, perfect hair. White smiles, ponytails with ribbons. Perfect eyeliner.

Meredith’s eyes had met hers for half a second, then skated over Casey like she was a stranger. Casey ate in the girl’s bathroom, lunch tray balanced across her knees for a week. Then she’d been pulled into the creative writing room by Ms. Pilk. The end of her best and only friendship was the beginning of her writing career.

This was just like that. Maybe she would be able to walk away with something that would define her life. But for the moment, her goals were small: escape with her life intact. And also, maybe, her heart.

Casey sat down at the table, alone with her sandwich, still aware that cameras were everywhere. She took care to make each bite of the sandwich look casual. To keep her head bowed so that if the tears threatening escaped, they wouldn’t be visible.

Unless there were cameras in the salt shakers.

The thought made her snort with laughter, which made her inhale part of her sandwich. As she coughed and choked alone at the kitchen table, downing a glass of water, she wondered if she actually was choking, if someone would take the time to see, to care, or to save her.

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“CASEY!!” AMANDA SQUEALEDover the phone.

“It’s so good to hear your voice,” Casey said. She was in the tiny room for phone calls in the mansion. The idea that people were listening and that cameras were even recording her expressions made it hard to have a conversation, but she was going to do her best. “Don’t forget we have eyes and ears.”

“Right,” Amanda said. “Well, what can you talk about?”

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