The billionaire experiment

Chapter 1

Riley, what are they saying about us on the news?”

He sighs, already annoyed. “I’ve told you a million times. Do I really have to repeat it?”

“Yes. Now say it.”

“The Get It Matchmaking Service has done it yet again successfully matching eligible bachelors in just one month. There. Happy? Can I go now?”

“Yes, you can.”

Riley rolls his eyes and disappears down the hall, leaving me with the echo of the news anchor’s voice in my head.

People always assume being a matchmaker means I’m some hopeless romantic, starry-eyed and lovesick. The truth? I’m just really good at reading people at figuring out what they want, what they need, and who might actually put up with their quirks.

Most of my clients aren’t the starry-eyed young lovers you’d expect. No, more often than not, it’s their mothers who come knocking at my door. Eager, worried, desperate mothers who are convinced their sons and daughters are incapable of finding love on their own. And honestly? Sometimes they’re right.

Still, every time I take on a client, a little part of me wonders if love is something that can really be arranged or if I’m just very good at putting puzzle pieces together. I had barely set my notebook down on my desk when Riley’s head popped back into the room.

Riley wasn’t gone for two minutes before he reappeared in my doorway, sipping his overpriced coffee like he owned the place.

“You know,” he said, leaning casually against the frame, “you could try being a little more excited when the news calls us a miracle.”

“We’re not a miracle,” I muttered, going through client notes. “We’re efficient.”

“Efficient doesn’t sell headlines. Miracles do.”

I ignored him and scribbled a note in the margin. “You’re awfully chatty today for someone who swore he was leaving.”

“Correction I swore I was leaving if you stopped being entertaining. Big difference.”

That was Riley: assistant s***h Bestfriend, equal parts reliable and insufferable. He claimed he stuck around because I paid him, but I knew better. He enjoyed helping me and watching me stress.

I leaned back in my chair, letting out a sigh. “Do you know how many messages I’ve gotten this morning? Half are mothers begging me to ‘fix’ their children. The other half are journalists asking if I ever get tempted to keep a bachelor for myself.”

Riley smirked. “And? Do you?”

“No.” I snorted. “That would be unprofessional and most of the bachelors are definetely not my type.”

Also impossible, I didn’t add. Because what would I even do with love if I found it? I was great at organizing it, predicting it, pairing it. Living it? That was another story.

My phone buzzed just then another email from a mother who was very concerned that her son preferred video games and watching tv to dating. Typical Tuesday.

That was my life: making love happen for everyone else.

Little did I know, the next folder Riley was about to drop on my desk would change everything.

“You’ve got a new client,” he said flatly, like he was announcing a death.

I raised a brow. “Should I be scared or excited?”

“Both.”

That one word answer was never a good sign.

He crossed the room and dropped a folder with all the client details onto my desk with a dramatic thud. I glanced at it, half-expecting it to sprout fangs. “Don’t make that face,” Riley said, “it’s not cursed. Well… not technically.”

I flipped open the folder. Inside was a single glossy magazine clipping with a headline so loud it practically screamed:

“Billionaire Heir Spotted With Yet Another Mystery Woman Last Night”.

Front and center was a picture of him.

Sharp jawline, tailored suit, a glass of champagne in one hand and a woman draped over the other arm. I didn’t need to read the article. I already knew who he was. Everyone did.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered.

Riley smirked. “Oh no, I’m very serious. Meet your new project. The client wants him to find a match as soon as possible. Preferably before the tabloids kill what’s left of his reputation.”

“A match?” I almost laughed. “This guy doesn’t even know the definition of the word commitment.”

“And that,” Riley said with way too much satisfaction, “is exactly why they’re hiring you.”

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the picture again. Out of all the people I could’ve been matched with sweet, hopeless romantics, overworked professionals, lonely mothers now I had to matchmake the country’s most infamous playboy billionaire.

For the first time in years, I wondered if I’d finally met my match.

The meeting was scheduled for noon at his office. Which, of course, meant I spent the entire morning convincing myself this wasn’t going to be a complete disaster.

The receptionist barely looked up when she waved me toward the top floor. “He’s expecting you.”

Great.

By the time I reached his office, the doors were already open. He was sprawled casually on his office chair, scrolling through his phone like the world revolved around him. Which, to be fair, it kind of did.

“Ah, the miracle worker,” he drawled without looking up. “Come to save me from myself?”

I set my folder down on his desk a little harder than necessary. “I prefer the term professional matchmaker.”

That got me a glance from him quick, sharp, and far too amused.

“So what’s the plan?” he asked, leaning back like this was a game. “Blind dates? Speed dating? Or are you just going to line up a bunch of desperate women and see who sticks?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Contrary to popular belief, Mr. Headline Scandal, I don’t run a circus.”

He chuckled, low and lazy, clearly entertained. “Could’ve fooled me. You do know this is pointless, right? I’m not the ‘settling down’ type.”

“Then consider this a challenge,” I said, sliding the first questionnaire across the desk toward him. “Because whether you like it or not, I’ve never failed a client. And I don’t plan on starting with you.”

He leaned back in his chair, smirk firmly in place. “Tell you what, Matchmaker. I’ll play along. But only because I’m curious how long it’ll take you to realize I’m unmatchable.”

I met his gaze, refusing to flinch. “Then prepare to be proven wrong.”

For a moment, the room was silent, heavy with challenge. And in that moment, one thing became very clear:

Either I was about to orchestrate the biggest success story of my career…

Or he was going to be the one to break my wining streak.