“I'm a matchmaker, Aubrey,” I rolled my eyes, “not cupid.” But I wasn’t sure the message was getting through to her. Aubrey twirled her deep red hair, seeming unconvinced, sliding me another shot across the bar. I raised a brow, sighed, said nothing more and downed it quickly as I scanned the bar from the corner of my eye. The dim blue lighting wasn’t making it any easier, and the song was horribly distracting as the beat vibrated from the floor to my chest. “This could’ve been done better in the daylight.”

“Lily, please.” She sighed. “Just…size him up for me?”

“Do you not understand how we work?” I scoffed. “If I haven’t attended one social with this guy or even talked to him—”

“Take all the time you need!” she pleaded. “I just want you to get a first impression before anything else happens. I’ve heard you…you catch vibes?”

“Why do I feel like you talked to—”

“Alex Sherman?”

“Yeah, the Chad with the good weed, right?”

She nodded quickly.

“I don’t ‘catch vibes,’ Aubrey.” I threw up my fingers in quotation marks. “I notice patterns. My first word is often my final. I hope you know that.”

Taking in my surroundings of the bar again, I narrowed my eyes in on two men who had just slid into a booth across the room, and an alarm went off in my head. A hand clutched my forearm, and I knew I was looking at the right guy.

“Aubrey…” I almost groaned. “You can’t go after him.”

“Why not?” she whined, and I regretted taking her up on her special request.

“See here, this is why I ask for names.” I lightly pounded my fist against the table, giving her a stern look. “The world of billionaires can’t guarantee you anonymity. Especially not with me. Why do you think detectives approach me first when it comes to domestic violence issues?”

“Could you cut it out and just tell me?” she snapped.

“The guy’s married.” I slid the glass toward her, watching as it clinked against her own engagement ring. “In fact, I was the one who set him up in the first place!”

“With who?” she squeaked, but I shook my head. Aubrey was desperate, and I needed to make sure there was enough distance between her and her prey. Again!

Matchmaking wasn’t exactly being cupid, but I did ensure that my services gave someone value for their money. That meant keeping the couples I paired together for as long as possible. Aubrey Holland’s helpless romanticism wasn’t a secret in the industry. I wondered how many matchmakers she’d gone through before coming to me as a last resort. This was the sixth guy Aubrey had asked me to check out for her this year alone, and that wasn’t a good look for me. But while being engaged? That was a little new.

“What happened to Fernando?” I wagged my pen at her. She slid yet another shot glass toward me, but I pushed it back.

She’d definitely fucked up with him, hadn’t she?

Aubrey looked away, obviously holding back tears that were threatening to spill. With a large gulp of my rejected shot, she dabbed a tissue under her eyes, and I groaned internally, hoping I wasn’t in for another episode of her dramatics.

Why do I continue to put up with this? I sighed to myself before realizing she paid well, and consistently, too.

“I know he proposed and all but”—She sniffled lightly—“I think he might be cheating on me.”

Coughing a little, I waved the bartender over for some water. She quickly complied, and I downed it just as fast.

“Well, I did warn you.”

“But I really liked him.” Her voice was trembling.

“You’re still wearing the ring.”

She took it off and threw it on the countertop. I watched the amethyst and diamond-studded ring bounce off the marble, glint in the light, and drop onto the floor beside the bartender, who looked very sorry for Aubrey as she burst into sobs. And I wished I could feel as bad, had this not happened for the third time now.

But I wasn’t her therapist, nor was I her friend.

I was a matchmaker, and there were no matches here.

Kicking the door closed, I heaved myself onto the couch face-first. My heels fell off onto the carpet with a light thud, and I heard Holly’s snuffles around my feet. She must’ve been hungry, considering how long I had been out.

“I’m sorry, sweetie.” I petted the collie who was giving me her largest puppy-dog eyes that prompted me onto my tired feet immediately. Holly needed food, and so did I.

“Alexa, play some music.”

The apartment was flooded in light upbeat music, but each day I walked in here it just…felt emptier than before. When I had felt this way five years ago, I’d thought it was because I’d just moved in and I needed to own the space. In an attempt to make it my own, I marked the walls with memories and topped the shelves with my identity. This was the first time I’d ever had something that was mine. It was a home, something that I’d believed was impossible to attain.

So, now that I finally had everything I wanted, why did I still feel so empty?

Holly barked at me, snapping me out of my reverie. I blinked into the open fridge, wondering how I’d gotten here. I’d lived a lot of my life on autopilot, as part of trying to survive. It wasn’t like that anymore, though, so why couldn’t I just be normal?

Sighing, I sifted through the items inside before realizing that I didn’t feel like cooking at all. I plucked my phone out of my pocket and surfed through Uber Eats, settling for Chinese takeout before going through my messages. Seeing Mom had messaged, I groaned and opened it, playing her voice note as I reached for the box of dog food.

“I know you’re busy with work right now, sweetie, but will you be free tomorrow night to drop by? I met this adorable family on the cruise you sent me on, and they’ve taken me up on my offer for dinner.”

“She’s back already?” I whined to Holly and filled her bowl, who only munched on her Kibble in response. I got up, determined to draw myself a nice bath. God knew it would be the last time this month I’d have the chance to relax for longer than an hour.

“They have a flight the next day so please don’t miss out on this. They have a son and he’s a surgeon! Very good looking, too.”

I groaned at her giggle, knowing she would’ve shoved my pictures in his face and begged for him to get to know me.

“Anyway, call me back! I haven’t heard from you in so long. Love you!”

Sure you do, I thought bitterly. Sometimes I wished I had the heart to treat her the same way she treated me before I hit the jackpot and opened my own business. It was hard work to run it, and today was only a reminder that it would get tougher.

Aubrey had taken a lot out of me. Against my better judgment like always, I’d stayed by her side and helped her work through her insecurities. As much as I tried to convince her that a break away from men would be a great idea, she wasn’t having it. I wasn’t exactly a therapist so I couldn’t pry out the reason for her dependency on men, but good lord, she had terrible luck with them. Also, terrible taste. I just wished she’d let me pick out someone for her instead of insisting on my help for setting her up with whomever she liked on a whim.

Did I know Fernando was a cheater? Yes. And I did religiously remind her of his past. It was just hard to leave Aubrey alone in this, because deep down, I empathized with her a lot. As ditzy and airheaded as she was, she was one of the few people that searched for genuine love and connection. I had to admire her energy to keep at it after all the heartbreak she’d been through. Bless her heart.

Eight years in this industry revealed that four out of five men had cheated on their partners, no matter what stage of the relationship it was in. When men had money, the sex would come rolling in. When they felt the time was right or the girl was worth it, they’d settle. There was no point in pushing such people into a commitment before then. Although many married men weren’t any better at keeping their vows, either.

The sad part about my job wasn’t making sure these men wouldn’t cheat, or that the couple would stay in love. It was all about keeping the money in the same place: within the elite. Calculating the couples’ values, interests, and psychological patterns to ensure what circumstances in their nature would allow them to thrive financially. Cheating wasn’t really an issue in most billionaire couples anymore. They had their sex parties, they had their younger boyfriends and girlfriends that they liked to spoil, and with a little communication between the parties, my couples’ counsellor could convince them that it was just an honest, open relationship where everyone was happy without losing anything. Especially the money and their image. And think of the kids. Oh, the kids…

Money was just…so much more powerful than love, and I couldn’t blame anyone for it. I didn’t believe in love, I believed in power. And money was power. It was mine. It had gotten me out of a life that had almost collapsed in on itself.

If it wasn’t money…the next powerful thing was death.

I was alone and I had money. And Holly. What more could I want?