Matched with the Billionaire

by Audra Cole

  Matched With the Billionaire

  By

  Audra Cole

  Copyright © 2017 Audra Cole

  Published By: Audra Cole

  Copyright and Disclaimer

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 Audra Cole

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of the trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Contents

  Matched With The Billionaire

  Copyright and Disclaimer

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  More from Audra Cole

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  Chapter One

  “Valentine’s is such bullshit.”

  “Good morning to you too, Sunshine,” I replied, not even bothering to look up from my computer screen to witness my co-worker—and apparent Valentine’s Day defector—Sophia Getty shuffle into my office. My fingers flew over the keyboard, unfettered by my friend’s ranting.

  “I mean, it’s bad enough that we have to have this love shit forced down our throats ten billion times a day, but this … this is on another level and I don’t think I can take it anymore!”

  Okay, this sounds like a serious problem. Ya know, like the kind a bottle of red wine and a Gilmore Girls marathon can’t fix. I looked up over the rim of my eggplant-colored frames. “You do realize you work for a matchmaking company, right Soph? Valentine’s Day is like our Super Bowl.”

  “I know.” Sophia pushed her raven curls out of her face. “But normally, I stay in my cubicle, I do my thing, and then I go home. I smile and nod, and do my best to stay out of the office gossip or engage in mindless conversations about which Magic Mike star has better abs.”

  Joe Manganiello, obviously. Why was that even a debate?

  “It’s stupid, but at least everyone is happy. Then February comes along and bam! It’s like suddenly everyone starts PMSing at once and bitching about their life choices and how they don’t have anyone to bring them chocolate and flowers.” Sophia shook her head, sending her wild, thick curls flying again. “It’s exhausting.”

  I gave her my best sympathetic frown. “It’s only another week and then all the hoopla will calm down, and you’ll be able to go back to grinning and bearing the normal love and fairy tale talk. Okay?”

  Sophia made a non-committal noise and toyed with the delicate silver ring she always wore on her right hand.

  “Hey, I know what will make you feel better,” I said, leaning forward to retrieve my pink and white coffee mug that bore the company logo. “Georgia, Vee, and I are all going out for drinks tonight. No men. No bullshit. Just a good old fashioned girls’ night. Whataya say?”

  Sophia looked at me like I’d asked if she wanted to strip naked and sing show tunes in front of the Hollywood sign.

  “All right.” I sighed, taking her expression as her official answer. “Maybe next time.”

  I gulped down half the lukewarm coffee left in my mug and then dove back into my inbox. Sophia was right about one thing: Valentine’s Day did tend to bring out the insecurities in a lot of people. Women and men. No one was immune. My inbox was brimming with proof, dozens of emails from worried clients, wanting to make sure they’d find a date in time for the big day. As a modern-day matchmaker, it was my job to ensure that no helpless single was left in the cold when February fourteenth rolled around!

  No small feat, I assure you.

  “Hey, ladies…” Veronica Piper, my token bubbly blonde friend and co-worker poked her head into the room, a glint of mischief illuminating her aquamarine eyes. “You know what day it is?”

  I held up a finger. “Vee, I love ya, but if you start singing that damn Friday song one more time…”

  Veronica laughed as she charged into the room and flopped onto the long, chaise lounge chair that occupied the corner of my office. “All right, Candy Cane, don’t have a meltdown.”

  “Candy Cane?” I wrinkled my nose.

  She shrugged. “Trying something new.”

  “Lovely… Here’s my question though, is Candy Cane more of a stripper name or one of Santa’s elves?”

  Veronica pondered the question for a moment and then smiled. “Who says you can’t be both?”

  I laughed. Sophia scoffed.

  “I’ll see you later, Candace,” Sophia said, pushing up from her chair. She gave Veronica a puzzled glance and then hurried from the room.

  “What’s her problem?”

  I sighed. “She’s got the V-day blues.”

  Veronica nodded. “Well, maybe if she wore something other than those librarian skirts and orthopedic shoes, she’d have a shot at having some fun instead of staying home with her cat.”

  I frowned. “Hey, I have a cat.”

  “You know what I mean.” Veronica laughed. “All I’m saying is that she uses the office gym sometimes. I’ve seen her in the locker room and she’s got a body under all those baggy clothes. A little makeup, a haircut, and a shopping spree and she’d be beating them away with a stick.”

  “Do me a favor, Vee,” I replied, still typing. “Never say that to her. Okay?” I glanced up and Veronica shrugged. Satisfied, I went back to work.

  Veronica pulled out her phone and started scrolling away. Between my keyboard and her tapping sounds, we fell into a quiet rhythm. Not that it lasted long. Matched Consulting Headquarters was always hopping with activity, even on Fridays, when most corporate drones tended to look more like extras from The Walking Dead. Not at Matched. No, we were caffeine-fueled conquerors!

  I was halfway through my inbox when Georgia Walsh, fellow matchmaker, pushed into the room with a hot pink lipstick marred coffee cup in one hand and an iPad in the other. “Okay, ladies, I just ordered two hundred premium vibrators, sets of fuzzy pink handcuffs, and edible body paint kits. I’m pretty sure I’m going to land on some kind of government watch list, but my daily kink quota has officially been filled and it’s not even nine o’clock in the morning.”

  I glanced up from my computer monitor. “I wasn’t aware we had a kink quota. That’s good to know.”

  Veronica giggled as she flicked through her phone, probably scouring some celeb gossip site. “What I want to know is what quantifies a vibrator as being premium. Is it nine inches long, studded with diamonds, and comes in a solid gold box?”

  “Don’t forget the extra girth.” Georgia flashed a wicked grin. “I also decided to go with the fire-engine red model. Seemed appropriate for the occasion.”

  I shook my head, marveling at my statuesque friend. “You are one classy broad, Georgia Walsh.”

  “Why, thank you.”

  “Go big or go home,” Veronica added, still scanning through whatever was pulled up on her
phone.

  “I just hope you added some bottles of lube to that order…” I deadpanned.

  Georgia’s smile fell. “Shit! I knew I was forgetting something.”

  “What would we do without two-day shipping?”

  “I honestly have no fucking idea.” She scoffed and started tapping away at the tablet she’d carried in with her.

  “Although, if we do our jobs right, none of the ladies in attendance will need the vibrators,” I pointed out, pushing my reading glasses back up the bridge of my nose.

  Georgia laughed. “Are you kidding me? Half these bastards are gonna be shot-gunning beers all night and pass out before they even get to second base. We’re going to be getting thank you cards for the next six months from these women for sending them home with a Sparklestick 500.”

  I cringed. “Please tell me it’s not actually called the Sparklestick 500.”

  Georgia flapped a hand, still staring down at her tablet. “Something like that.”

  “What’s their slogan?” Veronica asked in between peals of laughter. “Bedazzled for her pleasure?”

  All three of us erupted into laughter and spent a good ten minutes debating which celebrity would be the best fit to endorse the Sparklestick 500.

  By the time the fierce—and utterly absurd—debate wound down, it was nearing ten o’clock and we all had to say goodbye and get to our individual appointments of the day, but not before solidifying our plans for happy hour the minute the clock hit six.

  ***

  “Bottom’s up, bitches!” Georgia said, raising her shot glass high and proud.

  Veronica’s and mine joined in with a soft clink. Then all three of us threw the shots of Patrón back. If the lyrics of the song Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off were even halfway accurate, we were all going to be in trouble … in a hurry.

  Georgia was already making eyes at a TDH (tall, dark, and handsome) on the dance floor and when he gave her the nod she wasted no time leaving us as the on-duty babysitters of her little clutch purse.

  Veronica laughed and ordered a beer. “She’s not wasting any time, huh?”

  “Does she ever?” I countered with a quirked smile. Georgia liked men. Men liked Georgia. It worked.

  “What about you?” Veronica asked, glancing around the crowded bar. “See anyone interesting?”

  I wasn’t looking, but had scanned the room when we’d arrived ten minutes earlier. From my vantage point, there wasn’t anyone that I had to go talk to.

  Veronica shrugged. “The night is young.”

  “I don’t know, I might phone it in early tonight. This week has run me ragged and I’d like to spend the next twenty-four blissful hours in my own bed.”

  Veronica smiled. “I hear ya. This Valentine’s Day party has everyone on edge. I’ll be glad when it’s all over.”

  “You got plans for after the big mingle?”

  She shook her head and took a sip from her frosty beer glass. “I’m planning on wrangling Leticia into a cab and then I’ll wander around and see who turns up to entertain me.”

  I laughed. “Wrangle is probably the appropriate word. How’s she doing?”

  Veronica tossed her long, blonde hair over her shoulder. “You know, one minute she’s fine, the next minute the sky is threatening to crumble.”

  It was awkward enough to be a recently ditched matchmaker, another entirely to be the CEO and owner of a matchmaking service and going through broken engagement number three.

  “I’m having anonymous flowers sent to her that morning,” Veronica confessed. “That way she’ll be so distracted trying to figure out who they’re from, that she’ll hopefully forget about Rhys for the night.”

  “Smart girl.”

  Veronica tapped a finger against her temple, still giving a casual smile.

  We drank and talked and laughed together, and I was just about to wind down and call myself a cab, when something stopped Veronica mid-sentence.

  I turned to follow her suddenly laser-focused stare and stumbled across the hottest man I’d ever seen in the wild. Wearing a dark suit, he looked like a walking cologne ad—and likely smelled like one too. He was a head taller than everyone he passed on his way to the bar, and about twice as broad in the shoulders, though they narrowed down to a tight waist that was made all the more perfect by the sharp, tailored lines of his suit. His tie was loosened at the neck but his jacket remained buttoned. He managed to look polished but put-out at the same time.

  I snapped around as soon as I regained control of my motor skills and grabbed Veronica’s wrist. “Holy crap!”

  She grinned. “Tonight just got a whole lot more interesting.”

  The bar was filled with the after-work crowd but I knew the seat beside me was empty. One of the only ones free along the bar. I couldn’t find the balls to turn around even when I felt the warmth of another person—a large person—at my back. The body heat poured from him, melting through my thin, jersey knit wrap dress. Veronica smiled wider and smacked my knees, still pointed in her direction. She jerked her chin at me, silently prodding me to turn around but I remained glued in place. It was ironic, I worked with a bevy of handsome men on a regular basis. Not all of my clients were stodgy millionaires who’d seen better days and were looking for a trophy wife. I’d had plenty of young and attractive clients but this guy … he made them all look like junior high dodgeball champs.

  “Go!” Veronica hissed. “Say hi!”

  I shook my head and mouthed, “No!”

  “Well, well, aren’t you a specimen,” a flirtatious voice purred from somewhere over my shoulder.

  My eyes pressed tightly together. Georgia.

  Veronica giggled and jabbed at me.

  There was no way Georgia wasn’t going to make a scene.

  “What’s your name, handsome?” she pressed, her voice airy.

  “Landon Jeffers,” came the slow, seductive reply.

  Or maybe I was just imagining the seductive part. Then again, how could a man who looked like that not have an equally sexy voice? It just wouldn’t be right.

  “I’m Georgia. Have you met my friends?”

  Crap!

  Veronica shoved my knees and I reluctantly turned around, finding myself eye level with the unbuttoned top button of his crisp looking dress shirt. I dragged my eyes over his solid-as-a-rock chest and met his dark stare. His eyes were a mix of green and brown, with a hint of grey. Mysterious. Dark. And sexy as fuck.

  “I haven’t had the pleasure,” he drawled in reply to Georgia.

  Yeah, I was definitely right about the sexy as sin voice. The word pleasure rolling from his full, sensual lips already had me squirming for relief on my bar stool.

  “This is Veronica, but everyone calls her Vee,” Georgia said, gesturing over my head at Vee who was standing behind me. “And this is Candace. We haven’t landed on a nickname for her yet.”

  A tiny quirk of a smile graced Landon’s lips as his eyes found mine once again. “That’s because she doesn’t need one. Candace is a beautiful name.”

  I felt Veronica draw in a breath behind me. Less subtle was the poke in my ribs that followed.

  “Looks like your drinks are getting low,” Landon said, his eyes sliding to the bar. “Let’s fix that.” He gestured for the bartender.

  “You know, actually,” Veronica started. I spun on the stool to look up at her and my heart flew into double-time at the catlike smile on her face. She grabbed her purse and slung it over her shoulder. “Ya know, I should probably call it a night. So I’ll have to pass on that offer. Despite my begging, they won’t let me take cosmos to go.”

  Veronica squeezed my arm and then leaned over to give Georgia a quick embrace before she zig-zagged through the crowd and out the door as another group of people flooded into the bar.

  My eyes flew to Georgia, hoping she’d take the spotlight off of me, but she was giving me the same smile Vee had. “I think my new friend would get his feathers ruffled if I let you buy me a drink. So I�
�ll have to take a raincheck too, handsome. But you take good care of my dear Candace, won’t you?”

  Landon’s eyes sparked. “Most definitely.”

  Chapter Two

  “See you on Monday, Candace,” Georgia called out before making her way back to the dance floor.

  I watched my friend—and lifeline—get swallowed up in the pressing crowd on the floor as the music kicked up for the chorus of the pulsing song. Landon leaned against the bar, propped up on his elbow. It was impossible not to stare. My greedy eyes followed the line of his chiseled jaw, coated with a manicured dusting of facial hair. I squeezed my legs together at the wild musing of what it would feel like if his perfect scruff were to brush against the inside of my thighs. My stomach flipped upside down and then proceeded to curl into a tight knot of desire and anxiety.

  He was too much. Too smooth, too charming, and most certainly too fucking hot.

  “What are you drinking?” Landon asked, demanding my attention.

  I spun back toward the bar, tucking my knees under it to keep them as far away from Landon as possible. “I really shouldn’t. I’ve already had two which is kind of my max.”

  Landon cocked his head as a devilish smile slid over his lips. “Normally I would applaud your strong sense of responsibility, but come on, it’s Friday. Live a little.”

  I dragged my fingers through my chestnut waves but quickly dropped them back to the bar top to avoid twirling the ends like some virginal school-girl. I was far from it. But there was something about Landon that flipped a switch inside me and made me feel like I was in over my head. Floating in uncharted waters. “For all you know I might have to work tomorrow.”

  “Do you?”

  “Well—uh, no, but that’s not the point. You can’t make assumptions.”

  Landon’s smile only deepened, bringing out intriguing lines around his mouth. “All right. So tell me then. What do you do?”

  The bartender appeared, frazzled and impatient, and asked Landon for the order. Landon ordered a whiskey for himself. Some brand I didn’t recognize. Not that I was a whiskey connoisseur. Although I had a feeling I’d like the way it tasted on Landon’s tongue…