The Right Swipe

by Alisha Rai

  Uh-oh.

  Annabelle wasn’t entirely rational when it came to her business or love. He had no doubt Annabelle was genuinely hopeful something romantic would come of this, like he’d match with someone during the course of the campaign and fall madly in love with her.

  A connection like that felt as far away as the moon to Samson. He’d sailed through life flirting with long-term relationships but never quite landing in one.

  What would you have done if you’d caught your Cinderella then? After you profusely apologized?

  He had no idea, like he hadn’t known what had driven him to ask her out on a second date to begin with. He was all reaction when it came to her.

  It was best he hadn’t caught her, he supposed. “Nah. It may not have even been the woman I’m thinking of,” he lied.

  “Maybe you’ll see her again. It’s a small world, you know.” Aunt Belle patted his arm.

  The burst of pleasure at that thought was way out of proportion, but he embraced it.

  “Tina gave you your agenda, right?” Aunt Belle fell into step beside him as they walked back the way they’d come.

  “She did, yes.” Samson wasn’t sure he was going to be able to sleep tonight, which was a problem. He had a full day tomorrow. He’d told Matchmaker to utilize him as much as possible, which meant leveraging whatever infamy or fame he had attached to his name to promote Matchmaker. This was a big conference, covered by a good amount of media.

  So big, he didn’t understand why Aunt Belle had pushed herself to even attend, let alone commit to so many things. Perhaps because Jennifer had usually handled all this stuff? But Jennifer and Annabelle had taken care of two very different sides of Matchmaker’s business.

  “William said you have an interview tomorrow, right? Do you think you’ll be well enough for that?” He didn’t judge her for not getting up on that stage, but he did worry she might have set herself up for more anxiety than she needed.

  “Oh, I’m sure I will.” Belle waved his concern away, a slight blush telling him she didn’t want to talk about her anxieties. “Is there anything else you need?” She dropped her voice. “Has anyone been mean to you about your past?”

  He patted her back and pasted on a smile he didn’t feel. “No, Aunt Belle. Everyone’s been really nice so far. I’m good.”

  Annabelle’s nose wrinkled before she lowered her veil. “You return to the party if you truly want to, but I’m retiring for the night. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m so proud of you, darling. Thank you for all your help.”

  Warmth spread through his chest. He accepted a hug and kiss from Annabelle and watched her walk away before he turned to head back to the ballroom, a smile pasted on his face. No one would be able to guess how fake it was.

  He was here for a reason. He had a purpose. And it had nothing to do with the beautiful, furious woman who had run from him. Again.

  Chapter Three

  HE’D SMILED at her.

  That motherfucker.

  Rhiannon fought the urge to curl her lip, for fear that the makeup artist might think it was directed at her. The poor girl didn’t deserve snarling, especially when she was working so hard to disguise the dark under-eye circles that were a testament to how little Rhiannon had slept the night before, tossing and turning in her posh hotel’s luxury bedding.

  Lakshmi appeared at her elbow. Today, Rhiannon’s tall and sturdy assistant was bright and cheerful in a yellow crop top and high-waisted black pants with rainbow suspenders. Her black hair was swept up to the side, revealing an undercut that was dyed purple and dotted with glitter in the shape of a star. Her brown skin glowed with good health and the effects of her daily ten-step skin care regimen.

  They were in a different hotel from the one Rhiannon had been in last night, in a small room near the ballroom and the stage where Rhiannon and Annabelle would be interviewed live in front of a huge audience of CREATE conferencegoers. Tech people bustled right outside the door.

  “Do you need another coffee?”

  Since Lakshmi considered fetching drinks way below her pay grade, Rhiannon figured she must really look a mess. “No, I’m fine. Thanks.”

  Lakshmi waited for the makeup artist to finish and leave the room and then used two fingers to swivel Rhiannon’s face toward her. She critically examined the makeup job, then reached for the blending sponge. Rhiannon waited patiently while Lakshmi redid her face with slightly darker foundation and powder. Lakshmi understood makeup and hair far better than most artists, especially when it came to brown and black skin, and Rhiannon trusted her implicitly to make her look her best. “How was the party?” Lakshmi asked.

  “Fine.”

  “I heard Annabelle didn’t speak.”

  “No, she was ill.” Rhiannon studiously avoided thinking about who had come out on the stage. Or how he’d smiled at her, like he was thrilled to see her.

  The sense of outrage wasn’t bad, actually. It distracted from how much she was low-key disgusted with herself for bolting from the room.

  Retreat isn’t weakness.

  Rhiannon curled her fingers around the arm of her makeup chair. She’d have to keep telling herself that.

  Lakshmi dabbed powder over her nose. “It’s no big loss if she doesn’t show up today for the interview. With Helena killing it on her late-night talk show lately, it would be good for her to see you wrap an audience around your finger.”

  Rhiannon didn’t pretend to play humble. When she was on, she was on and could easily wrap a crowd around her finger, even many of those people who might be poised to snub her on the basis of old rumors. “Yeah.”

  “Except, of course, Annabelle is your white whale. Meeting her here would be a lot easier than camping out near her beach house.”

  Rhiannon flinched, but she recovered as quickly as possible. Lakshmi was gently teasing her. She had no idea how little Rhiannon wanted to think of that weekend.

  Katrina, Rhiannon’s best friend and business partner, and Lakshmi had both been skeptical about her plan to rent a place a few houses down from Annabelle’s beach home for a long weekend, but it had seemed like a great idea at the time. Despite Matchmaker’s L.A. headquarters, Annabelle was reportedly rarely in the city, Cayucos the closest she came when she ventured off her Northern California estate.

  Rhiannon had killed two days playing spy, and by the third, with Annabelle’s house remaining dark and empty, she’d been climbing the walls in boredom. So she’d sat down with her own app, and, well, that night with Samson had been the result.

  See me again.

  He’d still been inside her when he’d whispered that in her ear. Dawn had been breaking, sending fingers of blue and pink over her rented bedroom walls. They’d wrecked all the bedding, the white ruffled duvet hanging off the bed, the pillows on the floor.

  Normally she would have shuffled a man out after the first time they’d had sex or after she’d gotten off sufficiently, whichever came first. He’d lasted four times. Or had it been five? He’d merely had to kiss her or touch her, or look at her, and she’d dragged him back on top of her.

  She blamed her dick-drunk brain for not shooting down his suggestion for another night immediately. Instead she’d skated her hands down his sweat-slick back. I’m heading home to L.A. in a couple of days.

  Silly her, she’d held her breath, unsure of whether he’d say something that would mean she’d have to kick him out. Something long term, like L.A.’s not so far, even though a four-hour drive might as well be the moon as far as an Angeleno was concerned.

  But he was smart and only replied, Then we have a couple days.

  When he hadn’t shown the next night, she’d felt—

  She gave herself a hard mental shake. Nah. She was done with feelings. Shove them down.

  She’d spent last night tossing and turning, marveling over the coincidence—horror?—of Annabelle’s newest employee being her one-night stand, but it didn’t matter at the end of the day. Whatever freak chain of events had led to
him now working for the company she hoped to buy was irrelevant. She only had to avoid him for the next two days. This was a big conference, and he was her competitor’s spokesman, not upper management. She’d be fine.

  “Are we done?” Rhiannon asked.

  Lakshmi finished painting her lips and stepped back. “Yeah.”

  Rhiannon checked her face in the mirror and nodded in satisfaction. “Thanks. I look good.”

  “As usual.”

  Whoa. “Thanks.” Lakshmi must really be picking up on odd vibes from her if she was complimenting her this lavishly. Not that Lakshmi wasn’t kind, but Rhiannon wasn’t the type of woman who seemed like she needed complimenting.

  Sweet. Kind. Loyal.

  The funny thing was, Rhiannon could be sweet and kind, and she was loyal to death, if she loved a person. But no one would have ever described her as sweet, kind, and loyal. Because the world had decided long ago what a sweet, kind, and loyal woman looked like, and it wasn’t her.

  Rhiannon carefully picked a piece of lint off her black hoodie. When she’d found herself heartbroken and alone four years ago, she’d made a promise to create an alternate universe for herself. One in which she didn’t spend hours and days and weeks and months losing time mourning people who treated her poorly. In the other universe, with her time reclaimed, she owned the world.

  And today, with an interview in front of hundreds, live-streamed to God knew how many more, she’d take another step toward her lofty goals.

  Samson? He was trash. A speed bump. A football player who said “nothing serious” a few months ago and now said he was “looking for the one” because he was getting paid? He could fuck right off. She wasn’t going to let him live rent-free in her brain.

  “Oh, I almost forgot.” Lakshmi handed Rhiannon her phone from the table, interrupting her fierce musings. “Text your mom.”

  That was right. Rhiannon might own the world, but her mama owned her. “Thanks.” Rhiannon opened her texts and scrolled to her mother’s last message. She had two modes when it came to texts: reply immediately, or decide to reply later and completely forget, which was why she had Lakshmi to remind her.

  Good luck with the interview! Lakshmi sent me the link. I’ll be listening.

  No pressure. Rhiannon typed her response. Going on soon, thanks. ILU.

  Text bubbles. And then: I know how much time you spend on your phone, you can type out I love you. I love you too.

  “Knock, knock!” Helena Knight billowed into the room. The former comedian/television personality/lifestyle magazine editor in chief and current evening talk-show host was taller than Rhiannon, her model-thin body clad in a stylish green cape dress. Rhiannon came to her feet.

  Helena placed her hand on her bosom. “It’s so nice to meet you, Rhiannon. I admire you greatly.”

  They exchanged air kisses, and Rhiannon gave her a genuine smile, something about her warm manner giving her a good vibe. “Likewise, Helena. This is my assistant, Lakshmi.”

  “Charmed. Oh my, I love your hair.” Helena fingered her own red hair. “Do you think I could pull off that style?”

  Lakshmi cocked her head and studied her critically. “Possible. You have a nicely shaped head.”

  Helena tittered, her hair tugging transforming into twirling. “Why, thank you. As do you.”

  Unnoticed, Rhiannon rolled her eyes. No matter the environment, men and women often gave Lakshmi second or third looks. Her assistant exuded some kind of magnetism that no one was really immune to. “Thank you so much for sending your questions in advance, Helena.”

  Helena dragged her gaze away from Lakshmi reluctantly. “Oh, not a problem. I may stray a bit or reword, based on how the interview goes, but those will be the main ones. And I’ll stay away from the topics your team requested.”

  Rhiannon kept her expression placid, relieved. Like most people, Suzie, Crush’s fearsome marketing leader, didn’t have all the information on what had caused Rhiannon’s career implosion at Swype, but the woman had diligently shoved that time period into a laundry list of other taboo interview topics. “Sounds good.” Rhiannon pressed her hand over her belly, to quell the flutter of nerves there. No one would believe she got a bit of stage fright, but she did. “Are the questions from the audience going to be prescreened?”

  “The moderator is requesting people write them down and turn them in, yes. She’ll pick a few to read at the end.” Lakshmi paused her fussing at the makeup table to assure her. “I’ve already threatened her if she picks a stinker.”

  “Now that’s an assistant.” Helena eyed Lakshmi with avarice, but Rhiannon wasn’t concerned her assistant could be easily lured away. No one could afford Lakshmi. Rhiannon paid her better than some of her competitors paid their executives.

  “She’s the best,” Rhiannon simply said.

  “I’m so excited for this interview,” Helena said. “I’ve been following your career for a while, and I love Crush’s mission statement. It’s about time that the conference highlights the women in this industry.”

  “I agree.” Rhiannon couldn’t have imagined four years ago that she’d be here, about to talk to Helena in front of a large audience at a major conference, joined by another woman entrepreneur. A lot changed in a few years. Global movements came and went, the tide shifted, people became marginally more accepting.

  Not totally. Not where they should be, if everything was equalized. But margins were better than nothing, or so Rhiannon told herself.

  Helena wrinkled her nose. “Now, I did come in here to break some bad news. Unfortunately, Annabelle Kostas won’t be joining us. She’s still feeling ill and had to step out at the last minute.”

  There went her chance to get to Annabelle. Lakshmi had called it. Rhiannon wondered if the woman was really sick or simply couldn’t bear to face a crowd at all. Disappointed as she was, compassion moved through Rhiannon. She knew quite a bit about phobias. “I’m fine filling an hour on my own.”

  “I’d be fine with that, too, but she actually sent a proxy in her place. She assured me he knows everything about the company, has been around the business for years.”

  Rhiannon’s heart lurched. “Oh?” It was William. It had to be William. Why would they send a flashy hot new spokesman, when they could send the company’s CEO, a longtime employee?

  “He’s a lovely man, I met him at the party last night. He’s getting micced offstage. Come on, I’ll introduce you.” She waved and walked out.

  Ask. Just to make sure it is who you think it is. “Did she send William?” Rhiannon asked, following behind her, leaving Lakshmi behind in the dressing room.

  “My understanding is William already left to return to L.A., but we’re in good hands.”

  Rhiannon’s stomach roiled as they walked up behind a tall, dark-haired, muscular man standing not far from the stage. She fixed her gaze over his shoulder. The shoulder she’d dug her fingernails into.

  It was fine. This wasn’t the first time she’d sat across from a man she’d had sex with and had to pretend everything was fine. It had been years, but surely one didn’t forget that skill.

  So long as he kept his mouth shut and followed her lead, everything would be . . . fine.

  At their approach, he glanced over his shoulder, and his eyes grew wide. Meanwhile, the knot in her stomach tightened. She could count on one hand the number of powerful men she knew who were capable of following a woman’s lead. What were the odds he was one of them?

  Sleeping with this guy was going to bite her in ways she never could have anticipated when she’d been sitting on that lounge chair in Cayucos, swiping away on her phone, cursing the rental house’s slow Wi-Fi.

  “Samson Lima,” Helena said sweetly. “Please meet Rhiannon Hunter.”

  Chapter Four

  RHIANNON.

  Samson rolled the name around his head, tasted it, examined it. It should have sounded wrong and foreign, given that he’d been thinking of her as Claire for months. Especially since Claire h
ad been the name he’d groaned when he’d been inside her.

  But Rhiannon suited her. Rhiannon was witchy and mysterious and secretive, and her shadowed eyes were all those things.

  “Samson is the new spokesman for Matchmaker.” Helena beamed at him. “Rhiannon is the founder and creator of Crush. It’s the dating app for women, as they say.”

  “It’s the dating app for everyone,” Rhiannon corrected, and Samson didn’t miss the steel beneath her pleasant reply.

  He knew there’d be a rep here from Crush, but he hadn’t had time to vet her identity. Aunt Belle had called him less than a half hour ago, weeping, and begged him to come here today and fill in for her. William was on a plane, she’d said, her voice wobbling. She simply couldn’t get up in front of a big crowd and do this interview.

  “Where are you?” he’d demanded. The sound of traffic had been loud on her end.

  “Don’t hate me.”

  “I could never hate you.”

  “I’m . . . I’m going to Australia.”

  He’d stopped and stared at the phone, then put it back to his ear. Australia? As far as he knew, his aunt didn’t know a soul in Australia. “Aunt Belle . . .”

  “Please. I thought I could do this, all of it. But I’m not Jennifer.” Her voice grew faint. “I have to go. Please cover for me.”

  He’d grimaced. “Tell me what they’re going to talk about so I’m prepared.”

  Spoiler: Aunt Belle hadn’t mentioned that his coguest was the woman he’d been chasing through a hotel last night. Probably because his aunt hadn’t known he was chasing her coguest. To be fair, neither had he.

  Ah, jeez. Matchmaker’s competitor. He’d slept with his aunt’s competitor. In what world.

  Samson held out his hand slowly, wondering what she’d do. There was no rage in her expression today, only deliberate calm.

  She examined his hand for a second, and he wondered if she was thinking what he was thinking. About how she’d cried out when he’d made her come with his fingers, or how he’d cupped her breast in his palm.