We’re in the expensive part of town, a neighborhood I’ve only ever passed through on the way to meet clients.

“Look, I’m right here, okay? If he’s not who he says he is, you jump in, and we drive.”

I glance across the street, where Chloe is parked in her Jeep, lying low like a spy—until, that is, she spots me looking for her and waves like a maniac. I grin and make a gesture for her to play it cool, my cell still pressed against my ear.

“Please don’t leave unless I text you. I’m still expecting this guy to be a complete con-artist.”

“I thought you said he passed the banana test.”

I giggle. “How else was I supposed to figure out if he was scamming me?”

“Only you, Lily.” I hear her gasp. “Oh my God—is that a limo pulling up? Jesus, Lily, I think it’s him!”

“It can’t be.” Breathing through clenched teeth, I look over.

A sleek, luxurious black car arrives outside the award-winning Italian restaurant where “Vincent” has arranged to meet me. Sure enough, I can see a tall, dark figure stepping out in an expensive tailored suit. He looks around, expecting me.

My heart races when he turns to peer down the street. He glances at his watch, and his face is illuminated by the restaurant’s bright lights. As handsome as every photo I’ve ever seen him in, it’s unmistakably Vincent Oswald.

“Shit, Chloe. I think I have to go.”

“Vincent fucking Oswald is waiting for you. Of course, you have to go!”

“Wait five more minutes for me just in case.”

“Get in there!”

I hang up and linger a moment on the sidewalk opposite the restaurant. Inside, the restaurant is filled with people dressed to the nines, and in my plain A-line dress with hand-sewn sequins, I feel like a mess. Suddenly, the innocent scuff on the toe of my left high-heeled shoe seems incredibly conspicuous. Running a comb through my hair before darting out the door doesn’t seem good enough. I’ve made a half-hearted effort.

Although the banana experiment was enough to make me wonder, in truth, I still expected to meet a con artist when I showed up. Now that I see a handsome billionaire waiting for me outside the most expensive restaurant in town, I regret being quick to assume that the Vincent Oswald would never be on a dating app.

There he is.

I take a nervous step in his direction. I’m halfway across the street when he spots me, and he smiles in recognition.

Up close, he’s even more attractive. From here, I can make out the definition of his strong jaw, the line of his straight nose, the playfulness dancing in his dark eyes.

He’s standing casually, one hand in the left pocket of his pants. His suit is gray silk, and it fits him flawlessly. He’s not wearing a tie and has left the top two buttons of his pristine white shirt undone.

Vincent seems perfectly at ease. He stands there, completely nonchalant, as though he doesn’t notice that everyone who enters the restaurant stares at him and whispers excitedly as they pass. One or two snap a hurried photo and grin like they’ve scored the jackpot.

And he’s waiting for me.

As I get closer, I almost consider walking right past him and down the street, but I know he recognizes me from Destiny. Has science really matched me with this wealthy Adonis? It seems to me like someone’s algorithm is off.

“Hello.” When I greet him, my voice is a breathless whisper.

“Lily Miller.”

“Yes.”

“It’s nice to meet you at last. I wasn’t sure if I’d done quite enough to pass your stringent filtering process.”

I remind myself to keep my mouth closed and take a deep breath to hold back a nervous stammer. I feel like I’m in the presence of a god. “Sorry about that.”

He smiles. He has a natural, endearing charm in his expression that makes him seem on the verge of mischief. In photographs, he always looks sharp and severe. It’s strange to see him grinning.

Vincent extends an arm toward the restaurant door, inviting me to enter. “Shall we?”

“Thank you.”

I turn back over my shoulder to where Chloe is waiting and make a face like a deer in headlights. She gives me two thumbs up, and I hear her rev her engine, no message required before she leaves. It’s Vincent fucking Oswald. I’m sure that when I get a chance to check, my phone will be inundated with texts. Chloe will want to know everything.

When I pass him, the smell of Vincent’s cologne clings to my senses, oaky and fragrant. I can tell it’s expensive, but it’s manly, and the scent makes my blood run faster. I wonder if maybe Destiny can read my desires in a way that I can’t.

Vincent doesn’t even need to check in with the host. As soon as he enters, half the staff trip over themselves to make him welcome, ushering us to a private alcove at the back of the restaurant, where a candlelit table awaits in view of the grand piano.

A fourth server appears, trying to get Vincent’s attention. “Sparkling and spring water, sir. It’s all right here.”

After the server scurries back to the kitchen, Vincent catches my expression and laughs. “What can I say? I’m a good tipper.”

“They’re dropping everything for you.”

“This is my go-to restaurant whenever I’m in town. I don’t come very often, but my parents give them quite a bit of business.”

“I think they’re more interested in you.”

Vincent pulls out my chair for me. I fold into it, hoping I look graceful, thankful to hide my scuffed shoe. I rest my purse on my lap, gripping it tightly.

“You look nervous.” Vincent unbuttons his jacket and slowly takes a seat. His eyes don’t leave my face. He sits back comfortably like he owns the place and casually stretches out one leg under the table, an arm thrown over the back of his chair.

I swallow. “I wasn’t expecting it to really be you.”

“I couldn’t resist Destiny. The concept was too enticing. One perfect match? I had to test that claim.”

“And?”

There is a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. “I’m not disappointed.”

“I’m sorry I’m underdressed. I don’t spend much time at restaurants like these.”

“We can go somewhere else if you prefer.”

I look around at a whole team of waiters and waitresses at attention, and all the excited guests, and I know we can’t walk out without causing a commotion.

I shake my head. “No, it’s lovely here. Beautiful music.”

“Clair de lune.”

“I’m sorry?”

He nods towards the pianist. “Debussy. That’s what he’s playing.”

“Oh.”

I don’t know what to say. Vincent is so sophisticated and refined, but I’m pretty sure I still have some dried paint in my hair.

Vincent laughs. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you didn’t come here for a lesson in classical music. I have a habit of showing off like that, and coming off as the most pretentious jerk in the room.”

I smile. “I don’t think you’re pretentious.”

“At least that’s something, then. I thought I’d blown it already.”

There’s a flutter in my chest. Imagine a billionaire like Vincent Oswald worrying about making a bad impression on someone like me. He could find a dozen Lily Millers anywhere he turned. But there aren’t that many Vincent Oswalds.

“What brings you to Payson?” I ask him.

“Business.” He chuckles. “It’s always business.”

A waiter arrives. “Would you care to see the wine list, sir?”

Vincent holds up his hand. “No need. We’ll take the 1953 Chateau Latour from my private selection.”

“Very good, sir.”

There’s a moment’s pause. I am left stunned by Vincent’s decisive and extravagant order. I don’t know much about wine, but I’m aware that 1953 is a hell of a vintage.

I try to bring my mind back to the conversation we were having before the waiter arrived. Vincent was saying he was here on business.

“I bet it’s a lot of pressure, doing what you do,” I say.

“Not as much as you’d think.” His smile is self-assured. “And what about you, Lily? You’re an artist, aren’t you?”

“Aspiring.” I reply while twisting my napkin between my fingers and darting another nervous glance at Vincent. “I mean, I have a few clients, but I guess you could say I’m still waiting for my big break.”

“There’s no such thing, Lily. You make your own luck in this world. You don’t need to wait for some miracle to get you noticed—you have to go out there and take what’s yours.”

“That’s what you did?”

He straightens in his seat and rolls his empty wine glass in his palm, a confident smile playing on his lips. “Of course.”

There is something powerful about this man; he exudes control. I’m enticed by his appeal, pulled in by his gravity. I wonder what it’s like to live in Vincent’s world.

The wine arrives, already uncorked. Vincent pours the silky red Bordeaux into my glass, and then fills his own. I watch him swirl the liquid and inhale the bouquet before taking his first mouthful.

I taste my own. It has a deep flavor, rich and warm, far more complex than anything I’ve had before. It slides down my throat and makes me heady after one sip.

“You know,” he says, his eyes fixed on mine, “I was doubtful about Destiny, but it has certainly matched me with a very beautiful woman.”

“I’m shocked you used it. Research, you said?”

“I like to keep on top of what is happening in the industry. Destiny was making waves. You know, it was developed by another Paysonite. Maybe you’ve heard of him—Ethan Steele?”

“Yes, I’ve heard of him.” I inject some uncertainty into my voice, as though it’s an effort to recall Ethan’s name, then quickly turn away and take another sip of wine.

“It’s a small world, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” I clear my throat and catch Vincent’s eye.

His gaze is magnetic; it holds me in its grip. His eyes are dark and intense, incredibly focused, like he’s got his mind set on something. It’s strange to see that darkness in those eyes when he’s looking at me.

“What business are you in town for?”

“Technology convention.”

“Interesting.”

He grins. “You don’t have to pretend. My work’s boring as hell. Forget it. I want to know more about you.” He leans in, folding his arms across the table.

I’m at the center of his gaze. The restaurant slips away, and I’m held so tightly in his stare that nothing else remains.

My body responds. My heart is fluttering like a frightened hummingbird beneath my ribs, and I can hear my blood rushing in my ears. Is this adrenaline, or desire?

I can’t tell. Maybe it’s both.

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

We stand outside the restaurant. The date has gone by in a blur like I’m coming to the end of a surreal dream.

Vincent’s limousine is waiting. “I’m staying at the Penza Hotel,” he tells me. He glances at his watch. “It’s still early. Would you care for a drink at the bar with me?”

I don’t know why I’m filled with panic, but I am. It’s all too much and too suspicious. I am underdressed and overwhelmed, and I still don’t know why Vincent Oswald has shown up here today. He could have any girl in the world, and he’s here with me.

I can only reason that he does something like this in every town he stops in. Maybe he beds a woman on every business trip, knowing that no girl will ever say no.

“I don’t think so,” I say. “I don’t like to leave my cat alone too long.”

He raises an eyebrow. He knows I’m making excuses, but he doesn’t press me. “I’d like to see you again.”

“You would?”

“Of course. I’ve had an enchanting evening.”

Now I’m almost regretting not going to the hotel. Perhaps Vincent Oswald is more sincere than I give him credit for.

I drink in his handsome, angular face, and strong, lean body, and breathe in the scent of his cologne. It’s too easy to imagine our bodies writhing together in some penthouse hotel room, twisting in silk sheets. My heart races at the thought.

The fantasy is quickly followed by a harsh dose of reality. Vincent is here for business, and for all I know, he’ll be gone by Monday. What am I willing to give for one night with a billionaire? Rich man or not, I don’t want to be used.

“You have my number. If you’re in town long enough, I’d love to meet again.”

“Let me take you home.”

“I think I’ll walk.”

“Please, Lily, it’s late.”

I smile. “I thought you said it was early.”

“I mean, it’s dark. Come on, get in. I never let a lady walk home alone at night.”

I agree and step toward the car. Vincent places his hand on the small of my back as I stoop to enter the limousine. It makes me shudder with excitement.

The limousine’s interior is soft, buttery black leather. Vincent asks for my address and instructs the chauffeur to drive. The driver catches my eye in the mirror, smiles, and closes the shutter between us. I’m not sure I like the way he smirks.

I lean into the door, away from Vincent, one leg crossed over the other.

He slides across the leather so that he’s sitting close beside me. One arm is thrown over the back of the seat, his fingers casually brushing against my shoulder. It’s tempting to lean into him, let him rest his hand on my knee, lift my lips to his, and let everything else fade away. But the driver’s smirk is still in my mind.

“When were you last in Payson?” I ask.

Vincent closes his eyes, thinking. “A long time ago. Before college.”

“Where did you study?”

“Columbia.”

“You did? I guess you know Ethan Steele, then?”

He raises an eyebrow, his lips twisting into a strange smile. “You know Ethan went to Columbia? I thought you didn’t know him.”

I flush red and shrug. “I must have read it somewhere.”

“Yes. As a matter of fact, I did know him.”

I shouldn’t ask any more questions. I don’t need to torture myself. I ask him anyway. “What did you think of him?”

“He struck me as someone who was out of his league.”

Vincent’s answer makes me sad. I never could imagine Ethan at some Ivy League university, working himself to death. He was too free to tie himself to a degree and a corporate career.

“He did well enough for himself in the end.”

“Yes. Yes, he did.”

We arrive at my apartment, and I’m not sure how to end the night. I open my mouth to thank Vincent for the meal, but he stops me with a kiss that takes me by surprise. It’s deep and powerful. I’m shocked, and I sink into it, losing myself for a moment.

He tastes like vintage wine and inconceivable luxuries. Vincent pulls back, smiles. “Good night, Lily.”

“Good night.”

I’m breathless, but I step out of the limousine and close the door. I look back over my shoulder. I want to see Vincent’s expression when he sees the dilapidated apartment block where I live.

The limo’s windows are black, and I can’t see him. When I enter the lobby, the limo drives away.

I shut the door behind me and slump against the wall. A ball of nerves in my chest suddenly releases itself and turns into butterflies.

Loudly, I squeal, then quickly cover my mouth with my hand and glance around in case anyone heard me. I’m alone. A giggle rises in my throat, and I’m laughing. I feel like Cinderella—funny, it’s almost midnight. I race up the stairs to my apartment.

Chloe will never believe this!