Page 102 of The Billionaire Mismatch

“I never shared anything intimate,” I tell him.

“No, but you slandered me. The king of catfish, Olivia? Do you have any idea what that will do to my reputation? What it’s probably already done?” He pauses, and when I don’t answer, he bites back a bitter smirk. “You know, I didn’t listen to your podcast. Not until Matt suggested that I should. I gave you the benefit of the doubt. But then I got curious. And I’m glad I did.”

“So you listened to today’s episode then,” I say.

“No. Why should I? I’ve heard enough,” he snaps, walking towards the door and opening it, a cue that I am no longer welcome here.

“Not if you didn’t listen to today’s episode,” I tell him. And Luca just stares at me. His gaze is hard and cold, like black storm clouds on the verge of splitting the sky in two.

“I’m done,” he says, and I gasp, my jaw unhinging as though I’ve just been punched in the stomach.

“You don’t mean that,” I faintly whisper because I am incapable of any more than that.

But Luca’s expression doesn’t waver. “You know, I have to admit,” he says with a click of his tongue. “Between an organicmeet-cute and dating apps, you struck out on both. Congrats. You actually broke the algorithm because despite using in-person fate and the world’s most foolproof dating app, you managed to fuck up your chance at love on both platforms.”

Luca’s words are so devastatingly sharp I decide I need to leave right now. I head out the door, pursing my lips together so my jaw doesn’t quiver, glassy eyes straight forward. But just as I am about to pass him, he says one more thing.

“And for the record, Olivia?”

Against my will, I pause to look up at him.

“I’m not the catfish. You are.”

Chapter 37

Luca

“How many timesdo I have to repeat myself?” I thunder from the middle of the floor and I swear I see every person cower in their cubicle. “It doesn’t matter how many people download the app or how many first dates people go on, or even how many people delete the app because they’re convinced they’ve found the one. If people are still convinced that Kyle works in marketing only to find out he’s actually a bag boy at a supermarket, no one is going to believe that our filters work!”

The room is silent, as it should be when I’m in the mood I’m in. But Dave from logistics doesn’t seem to get the memo and clears his throat from somewhere in the middle of the room.

“No offense, boss, but we don’t really have control over people lying about their jobs,” he says and my eyes slice over to him.

“Are you sure about that? Because I think that if we weren’t being lazy, we could come up with a way to verify employment.”

“That seems a little invasive…” some skeptical woman says. And I swear it’s always Dave from logistics or a skeptical womantossing wrenches in the gears and stopping the whole damn machine.

At this point, I am seething. And just as I open my mouth to say something, Bernadette shows up at my side.

“You know, Mr. Laurent. I can’t help but wonder if everyone is a little burnt out,” she says. Nobody says a word. “We’ve been burning the candle at both ends, as you know. I mean, just the other day you said we needed a celebratory night.”

“Not gonna happen,” I say, but Bernadette just smiles.

“Well, that might be a little tricky. I’ve already made the arrangements…”

“So un-arrange it,” I say, and there’s a falter in her lipstick smile.

“I paid for reservations. Non-refundable. And I really do think that productivity is the product of incentives.”

My jaw tightens at that. “I believe being able to keep your job should be incentive enough for productivity. And as far as the wasted costs go, I trust you’ll see that it’s taken care of.”

I hear a small gasp and several whispers. And for the first time, possibly since I hired her, Bernadette’s smile is gone.

“Of course, Mr. Laurent. I’ll take care of it,” she says robotically. Then I turn back to the attention of the room.

“Now, does anyone else have anything they’d like to say?”

“I do,” Matt’s voice comes from behind me as he marches toward me. I’m not in the mood for him either, but he walks up, puts his hand on my shoulder, shoots me with a tight smile and hostile eye contact, and says, “Let’s take a walk, boss.”