The billionaire experiment

Chapter 3

The next morning, I woke up to five missed calls, three texts from Riley, and one very smug headline already trending on social media:

“Heartbreak Heir’s Mystery Dinner Date RevealedWho’s She?”

The picture was grainy, snapped through the restaurant window. But there was no mistaking me, sitting across from him, notebook open like I was auditioning for the role of World’s Most Boring Girlfriend.

Perfect. Day one, and the tabloids already had me married off to my client.

By the time I arrived at the office, Riley was leaning against my desk, scrolling through his phone with a grin.

“You’re famous,” he announced. “Half the internet thinks you’re his new fling.”

I dropped my bag and glared. “Wonderful. Exactly what I needed.”

“Hey, look on the bright side. Free publicity.”

I groaned. “You’re fired.”

“You can’t fire me, you love me.”

“Watch me.”

He only smirked, which was apparently contagious, because now everyone in my life smirked at my pain.

The real problem came later that afternoon, when I sat across from the billionaire playboy himself my client and tried to pretend i did not see the headlines.

“Congratulations,” I said, tossing the tabloid clipping onto his desk. “Now the entire city thinks I’m your girlfriend.”

He leaned back in his chair, perfectly unbothered. “Not my worst scandal.”

“This isn’t funny.”

“Sure it is,” he said lazily. “You look good in it.”

I resisted the urge to throw my notebook at him. “Tonight, you’re going on an actual date. With someone who is not me. And you’re going to behave like a civilized human being and please don’t send your date away.”

“Define civilized.”

“Polite. Respectful. No flirting with the waitstaff. No stories that begin with ‘last time I was drunk in italy.’”

He grinned. “You’ve been doing your research.”

I closed my eyes and prayed for patience. “One date. That’s all I ask. Just try.”

That evening, I sat two tables away at the same restaurant, notebook in hand, observing and praying he does not f**k this up.

His date was perfect on paper: smart, kind, beautiful. She laughed at his jokes, asked thoughtful questions, even blushed when he complimented her.

And yet… within fifteen minutes, I could tell.

He was bored.

By dessert, he was charming the waiter instead of the woman across from him. By the end of the night, he was signing an autograph for someone who recognized him instead of listening to his date’s story about her pet cat.

When the poor girl finally left politely, but clearly disappointed he sauntered over to my table with that infuriating smile.

“So,” he asked, sliding into the chair across from me after his date stormed out, “how did I do?”

I folded my arms. “Do you want the polite version or the truth?”

“The truth, obviously.”

“You were a nightmare.”

He grinned, completely unashamed. “Good. That means I was myself.”

My jaw clenched. “You can’t keep doing this. These women are serious. They’re here because they want something real, not to watch you charm waiters and autograph menus.”

“And whose fault is that?” he shot back. “You’re the one who keeps setting me up with women who bore me to death.”

I leaned forward, lowering my voice so the restaurant staff wouldn’t overhear. “They’re not boring. They’re normal. Which is exactly what you need if you want to prove you can settle down.”

“Normal,” he repeated, rolling the word around like it tasted sour. “See, that’s your problem. You think I want normal.”

I groaned. “What you want is irrelevant. This is about your reputation.”

“And what if I don’t care about that either?” he asked, smirking as he stretched lazily in his chair. “What if I just enjoy watching you squirm?”

My notebook nearly snapped in half from how hard I closed it. “Unbelievable. You’re impossible.”

“Finally,” he said, flashing that infuriating smile. “Something we agree on.”

By the time I got back to the office, I was fuming.

Riley looked up from his desk, sipping his coffee like he’d been waiting for this exact moment. “So… date number one?”

“Disaster,” I muttered, throwing my notebook onto my desk.

“On a scale of one to ten?”

“Negative five.”

Riley chuckled. “Standard for him, then.”

I collapsed into my chair, rubbing my temples. “I swear, I’ve dealt with stubborn clients before, but he’s on another level. It’s like he enjoys making me miserable.”

“Maybe he does,” Riley said lightly. “You’re probably the first person who’s ever told him no.”

I groaned again, not wanting to admit he was right. “I’m not giving up. I don’t care how many women he scares offsomeone has to be able to handle him.”

Riley smirked. “Maybe the real question is… can you handle him?”

I shot him a glare. “Don’t even start.”

But the way he laughed told me it was already too late.

The second date was supposed to be foolproof. I’d personally interviewed the candidate, triple-checked her background, and even briefed her on the hazards of dealing with a man who thought charm was a personality trait.

In other words, if he ruined this one, it was on purpose.

I sat at the observation table two rows back, notebook in hand, pretending not to listen as he leaned across the white linen tablecloth, that signature smirk firmly in place.

“So,” he drawled, “what’s your net worth?”

I nearly choked on my water.

The woman blinked, caught between offense and confusion. “Excuse me?”

He grinned. “You know. Assets. Investments. Offshore accounts. It’s only fair, since we’re here to see if we’re compatible. And compatibility, in my experience, comes down to numbers.”

I wanted to sink under the table.

The poor woman tried to smile politely, but the conversation only spiraled downward from there. By the time dessert was served, he was telling her about the time he “accidentally bought a racehorse,” and she was staring at the exit like it was the promised land.

Ten minutes later, she was gone. The sound of her heels clicking against the marble floor echoed through the restaurant. Heads turned. Whispers started. And him?

He leaned back in his chair, utterly relaxed, sipping his wine as though nothing unusual had happened.

“Really?” I hissed, leaning across the table. “You had to ask for her net worth?”

“What?” He shrugged. “It’s a valid question.”

“No, it’s not! This isn’t an acquisition deal, it’s a date!”

“Semantics.”

I wanted to throw my notebook at his head. “You are without exaggeration the most infuriating man I’ve ever met.”

He smirked. “And yet, here you are. Still trying.”

I pushed back from the table before I said something that would get me banned from the most expensive rooftop in the city.

That was when I heard it someone whispering just loud enough for others to catch on.

“Another failed date?”

Phones came out. Flashes went off. The whispers grew into a buzz, and before I knew it, half the restaurant was pointing their cameras at him.

And he?

He just raised his glass toward the nearest table and gave them his signature smile the one that would be plastered across gossip blogs by morning.

By the time I shoved through the restaurant doors, my cheeks were burning. Not from the night air, but from the dozens of camera flashes I’d just escaped.

This wasn’t just a failed date. This was a headline waiting to happen.

And sure enough, my phone buzzed before I even reached the curb.

Billionaire Heir Walks Out on Another Date Who’s the Mysterious Woman Beside Him?

I didn’t even click the article. I just shoved the phone deep into my bag and tried not to scream.

Of course, when I turned, there he was, strolling out behind me like we’d just finished a perfectly pleasant dinner. Hands in his pockets, calm as ever, like a man without a single consequence in his life.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he said.

I froze. “Excuse me?”

“You got photographed with me.” He smirked. “Congratulations, Matchmaker. Your career just went up a notch.”

I wanted to punch him. “My reputation is not a marketing tool for you.”

“Sure it is. Everything’s marketing, sweetheart.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Why? You don’t like it?”

I glared at him, so hard I thought my eyes might burst into flames. He just grinned wider, clearly enjoying himself.

When the driver pulled up, I yanked the car door open before he could play the gentleman. Sliding into the backseat, I pulled my bag into my lap and hissed, “You are impossible.”

He leaned in after me, voice low enough to curl under my skin. “And yet you still think you can fix me.”

The door shut, sealing me in with him and his arrogance. The car ride was silent for all of two minutes.

Then he said, “You know, she was never going to last.”

I closed my eyes. “Don’t.”

“She flinched when I ordered my steak rare. That’s a red flag.”

My head snapped toward him. “The red flag was you asking for her net worth like this was an investment meeting!”

He chuckled low in his chest, clearly entertained. “I was just being honest. You’d rather I pretend to care about her favorite color?”

“Yes! That’s exactly what you do on a date you pretend, try and get to know the person!”

He smirked. “Sounds exhausting.”

I turned back to the window, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how close I was to throwing myself out of the moving car.

When the driver finally pulled up to my building, I practically leapt out, muttering a quick thanks. But of course, he followed.

“Relax, I’m not coming in,” he said, hands raised in mock-surrender. “But for the record…” His gaze flicked down at me, maddeningly slow. “You look cute when you’re furious.”

I gaped at him, caught between strangling him and combusting. He winked, slid back into the car, and disappeared into the night, leaving me simmering on the curb.

By the time I dragged myself into the office the next morning, the damage was everywhere.

Riley had three gossip blogs open on his computer, each with headlines screaming my humiliation:

“Billionaire Heir’s Disaster DateWho’s the Woman at His Side?”

“Mystery Brunette Seen Fleeing Rooftop Dinner With City’s Most Eligible Playboy.”

“Matchmaker or Mistress? Billionaire’s Latest Companion Sparks Rumors.”

I wanted to die. “Delete it.”

Riley swiveled in his chair, grinning like a cat. “Can’t. Internet’s forever.”

“Then hack it. Burn it. I don’t care just get rid of it!”

He laughed. “Look on the bright side. At least they didn’t call you his ex-wife.”

I dropped my head onto my desk with a groan. “I hate him.”

“No, you don’t.”

I lifted my head to glare at Riley. “Yes. I do.”

Riley leaned back, folding his arms. “Then why are you still trying?”

Because he wasn’t going to win. Because I refused to let one smug, arrogant billionaire prove me wrong. Because if I could turn him into a success story, then maybejust maybeI’d finally stop wondering if I was the fraud everyone secretly suspected.

I straightened, pulling a fresh file from the drawer. “We go again.”

Riley shook his head, chuckling. “God help us all.”

Back at the office, I recounted the disaster to Riley while shoving lo mein into my mouth like it was medicine.

He just sat back, chewing slowly, watching me unravel.

“So let me get this straight,” he said finally. “He asked her for her net worth?”

“Yes.”

“And then smiled for the cameras when she stormed off?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re still not quitting?”

I slammed my chopsticks onto my desk. “No, Riley, I am not quitting. Because if I can turn him into a success story, then I can prove I’m the best matchmaker in the city.”

Riley gave me a long, slow look the kind that said he thought I was insane but would never say it out loud.

Finally, he smirked. “Fine. But when he drives you to an early grave, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”