MATCHMAKER (A Billionaire Bad Boy Romance) (21 page)

Last night, Mr. Carson presented a similar ache, but his emotions were clouded by fear and disappointment. I didn’t tell him, but I knew exactly who he was. I had Googled him. I knew of his success, of his billions. I’d seen pictures of him when he was young, standing in front of a building he’d opened. He had a spark then. Now, he was ashamed. This was confirmed by the fact that he was almost childishly outraged when he thought I didn’t know who he was.

I was being honest in giving off the vibe that money didn’t impress me, though. In my profession, writing a paper or coming up with a new treatment method was something to brag about. We weren’t the type of people who valued money. Still, I was somewhat jealous of my sister, who made tons of money as a psychiatrist. I couldn’t deny the security that allowed her.

I knew the realistic constraints of not having a lot of money. I was able to put off the loans because I was in school, but I still had my rent, train fare and tuition to pay for every single month because I didn’t want more student debt. Each month, the money would come out of my checking account, just as my paycheck was going in. This was the only time I remotely thought of money or wished I had more of it.

The train arrived at the station. Grand Central never failed to delight me. Each time I stepped off the train, I was in an entirely different world. People hustled and bustled, purposeful and whole. I drew my black coat closer to myself and huddled past the crowd, gently bombarded with passing bodies like water lapping against a boat.

I took a seat at the coffee shop. It was my favorite place in the city and not the least bit extravagant, but the pastries were killer. The windows were tall and covered with fingerprints. Classical music hummed in the background. Around me were writers, tired graduate students, and disgruntled, impatient business people needing their fix. I took off my coat and placed it on a table to claim it, then walked up to the counter and ordered my usual: a large black iced coffee. I paid for my drink and sat, waiting for Kent to arrive.

A medium-built man with brown hair sat in front of me. “Hey,” he said.

I blinked. “Hello,” I replied pleasantly.

“You go to NYU?” he muttered.

Used to people thinking I was still in college, I shook my head politely. “No. I’m a counselor.”

“Does that mean you can figure me out?” he teased.

“I wouldn’t be so presumptuous,” I replied, my tone a bit colder now.

Kent arrived, late as usual. His tall and lithe frame was powdered with snow. He looked around the room, finally meeting my eyes. His face lit up in recognition. He saw the man there and immediately took a seat near me, kissing my forehead and asking about my new friend.

The man put his hands up and said, “My bad.” He walked away, leaving us together.

Kent grinned, chuckling at the man’s retreat. “I kinda expected that.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Every time I meet you somewhere, there’s some goon trying to make a move. Not that I could blame them. You’re a knockout.”

I blushed. “Well, you certainly knock me out, too,” I replied, not good at making puns.

He laughed in his gentle, kind voice. “I’m gonna get something to drink.”

“I didn’t know whether you wanted a hot or a cold drink, so I figured I’d wait to get food.”

“You should have waited so I could pay for your drink, too,” he said.

“That’s sweet of you, but you know how I am.”

“Yeah, you’re independent as hell. But I wanna treat you.”

“Okay.” I smiled. “I’d like a strawberry danish.”

“Oh, and I’m getting hot coffee. Only you get iced coffee in the winter.” His teasing made me smile. He rose and walked to the counter.

I looked around the shop. I was, indeed, the only person with iced coffee. Kent returned with a small tray filled with pastries. My strawberry danish sat daintily on a small white plate.

“I always wondered how they make stuff this so small,” I said dreamily.

“They must have a miniature factory with miniature people to make tiny things,” Kent said.

I laughed. “I never see this side of you at work.”

“How so?” he inquired curiously.

“You’re Mr. Clinical there. Do you even really need those glasses?”

“No.” He grinned. “They’re just for show.”

I smiled widely. “They make you feel important, huh?”

“They’re lucky. I wore them when I defended my Master’s thesis.”

“Oh?”

“To be honest, I had a scuff mark on one of the lenses, and no one told me until the end of the presentation. I think some of them were too distracted by how ridiculous it looked to be too picky about my thesis.”

“Funny story, but not likely. I’m sure it was great.”

“I can pull it up on my phone,” he said proudly.

In moments like these, I could tell that he was only twenty-five. He had a youthful excitement about everything, and I found it charming. We looked at his thesis while people came in and out of the shop. As soon as there was a lull, he looked around and lowered his voice.

“So, how did it go with Billy the Billionaire?”

I scoffed. “Ugh. You know I can’t tell you the details.”

“Come on, Katie. Everyone at the office is curious as fuck.”

I sighed. “All right, well . . . the only thing I’ll say is that he tried to overstep every boundary I set.”

“Not surprising. The dude is loaded,” Kent exclaimed.

“He seems like he has hope, though. He’s not impossible to talk to. Just defensive. But that’s all I can say, and you know very well why,” I scolded, teasing him.

“Confidentiality. I know, I know.” Kent relented and looked around, bored. His face lit up again. “I have a good idea.”

“Yeah? What?” I asked curiously.

“Let’s go to Times Square.”

“You’re such a tourist,” I said, grinning at him.

“It’s magical. Totally magical,” Kent said, getting up. “Let’s go.”

We teetered down the stairs and climbed on the subway. The cool air underground woke me up even more than the coffee had. I squeezed next to him in the seat, clinging to him for warmth. People came and went, moving about their everyday lives.

The snow had stopped by the time we got off, luckily. The familiar flashing lights and endless distractions of Times Square filled my vision. One billboard in particular caught my attention. Because it was him.
Billy the Billionaire. Interview tonight,
the sign read, flashing majestically.

I inhaled sharply, recognizing his face and those eyes. I wasn’t in Times Square anymore, or with Kent, who was babbling about the history of the place. I was in my office, uncomfortable, the blood rushing to my face as I turned around and saw him for the first time.

He wasn’t the tallest guy in the world, but he had the build to make up for it. His arms were especially sexy, taut and muscular. I could see the definition beneath his suit. His face barely had any wrinkles, and the few, small ones were charming and gave him a distinguished vibe. But his eyes—his eyes, piercing and green—were the most beautiful thing about him.

Now, they coated Times Square in a green glow. I was bewitched. I didn’t realize I’d stopped until Kent waved his hand in front of my face. He searched for what I was looking at and laughed. “What do you know? It’s one of your clients. I can’t believe he really thought that you didn’t know him,” he added. When I didn’t respond, he grabbed my hand and said, “Come on!”

My heart was hammering. I tried to avoid thinking about why. This wasn’t appropriate. A counselor was trained to be entirely aware of her thoughts, and mine were wicked. Harmful, even. I had a lot of thinking to do. It might be good to refer him to someone else—like Kent. Someone who wasn’t having sexual thoughts.

I mean, it was natural to find someone attractive. Counselors are people, after all. But to think about it to this extent—to wonder and be curious… Once you crossed that line in your mind, it could impact your therapy. I liked a challenge, though, and this was my biggest professional one yet.

“This is the perfect place for you. Maybe you can find something for your collection,” Kent said.

We were at a huge antique depot with tall, dusty ceilings and several rows of antiques, all from private dealers. He was right; I did love it. I was usually disappointed that none of the shops had many old books, but the second I walked in, I could see rows and rows of them. I feasted my eyes on one row and happily strolled over.

When I removed one of the books, I could see a pair of bright green eyes staring back at me. They looked familiar. The kid—he couldn’t be older than sixteen—grinned sheepishly and stepped out from behind the bookcase. He wore a black beanie and a red plaid shirt. His phone was going crazy, as was typical for most technology-obsessed teens.

“You see any skulls?” he asked. “They use them as book holders, sometimes.”

I shook my head, confused. Why did I seem to recognize this kid? I certainly didn’t hang out with anyone his age, that was for sure.

“Thanks!” He darted towards the register. “Do you guys sell any human skulls?” I heard him ask.

The shop owner’s voice faltered. “Uh, no. But we have some animal skulls. Occasionally we get a couple new ones in.”

“Sweet. Here’s my card,” he said. “Thanks.” He left the shop with a smile on his face.

“That’s Billy the Billionaire’s kid?” I heard the shop owner say aloud as he read the card.

“You’ll want to keep him as a client,” the girl at the register said.

I was shocked. What the hell? That was Billy’s kid? He had said he had one. But still…What were the odds?
“
Ugh,
”
I mumbled to myself. I was surrounded by reminders of this man.

“Let’s get out of here. I can’t find anything,” I said to Kent, who looked crestfallen. I think he was more excited about seeing my reaction than anything else.

Our date lulled pleasantly on. I tried to get everything out of my head, but it was hard. We went to eat at a burger joint, but I barely touched my food. I was almost disillusioned by the irony of the situation. This man was everywhere, yet nowhere near me. Was I hallucinating? Was it real? Kent, as perceptive as ever, questioned me.

“What’s going on in that head of yours? You’ve been spaced out all day,” he said.

“Did you see that kid in the shop? The one wearing the plaid shirt and the beanie?” I wanted to make sure.

“Which one?” He joked. I rolled my eyes. “Just kidding. Yeah. I saw him. Why?”

“Just wondering. I guess I’m just not feeling like myself. I think I want to call it a night.”

He looked disappointed but concerned. “All right. Let me take you to the train, at least.”

Night was settling in, and the night was when I came alive. As I walked down the steps to the subway, I could see Billy’s face on the billboard. I felt his eyes on my back as I gratefully descended into the subway. Kent tried to question me about what was wrong. It was hard to hide things from him, but this was none of his business. I could imagine the look of concern and disgust on his face if I told him.

“Text me when you get home, okay?” he said. He gave me a hug. I gave him a tight one back.

“I had a good time with you. Stay warm.” I smiled, and he released me.

He looked so young suddenly, with his hat in his hand. Young and hopeful. Refreshing. Oddly, something repulsed me about him though. Neediness. On one hand, it was natural for me to be needed, while on the other hand, it freaked me out in some deep way.

We went our separate ways. On the train home, I formulated a plan. Tonight, I would masturbate. I would allow myself to indulge in the fantasy. Then, I would put it away. I would lock the dildo in a box and burn it to show myself—my subconscious—that it was over. I would use it as a growing experience.

My house was dark, lit with fake Victorian candles in the window. I went upstairs to my bathroom and drew a bath in my big, old-fashioned tub. The whole bathroom was white, clean, and sparkling with Victorian fixtures. The stained glass windows cast a soft glow from the streetlamps outside. As the tub filled, I went downstairs and put on some water for tea. I didn’t bother going to my room to undress. I began to shuck my clothes, feeling the freedom of the cool air tickle my body.

I carried my tea upstairs and set it aside near the tub, sprinkling rose petals in the lightly steaming water. The bathroom was filled with soft steam teasing my skin. Like I was about to commit some kind of a crime, I guiltily looked into my ‘toy box’ for a dildo that I wouldn’t miss when it was over. I found a small, firm one that hit all the right spots.

I dipped my body in the bathtub, dildo in hand. The temperature of the metal toy was far cooler than the water, which felt tantalizing against my clitoris. I sighed as I spread my legs, letting my mind wander to Bill and the delicious, carnal urges he represented. My sins.

He’d looked at me like a hungry animal in the office. As I rubbed the toy up and down my clit, I imagined the feral look in his eyes, the look of a man who always got what he wanted. Those beautiful, green eyes that belonged to a gorgeous, older man. A man who was nearly old enough to be my dad, a man who was off-limits.