Mismatch Read online

  I look down at the screen and laugh when I read the message.

  —I was waiting to see if you’d send the first message. Hello, soulmate.

  “The guts on this guy!â€�

  I almost call Chloe to laugh with her at the scammer’s opening message. Instead, I grin and begin to eagerly type back. Chloe will die laughing when I show her these.

  —Forgive me, but I’m having trouble believing that you’re Vincent Oswald.

  —Why?

  I shake my head in disbelief, my thumb skimming the keys.

  —What would a billionaire be doing on a dating app like Destiny?

  —Research.

  Laughing, I consider that this scammer has put some serious thought into his backstory. Vincent Oswald getting the dirt on Ethan Steele by checking out his dating app. That’s pure gold.

  I throw my cell to the end of my mattress and switch on the TV. It’s playing an infomercial for some gadget that cuts the perfect carrot. I’m bored out of my skull.

  Bored enough that when my cell buzzes again, I grin and decide to engage.

  —Still don’t believe me?

  —If you’re Vincent Oswald, prove it.

  A minute passes without a response, and I think I’ve got him on the rocks. I roll my eyes. Then my cell vibrates once more.

  “This is going to be good, Biscuit. What do you think the proof is? Some stock photo image of a pile of money? Some Wikipedia facts about where Oswald was born?â€�

  I open the message, and there’s an image attached. Clicking it full-screen, I’m not sure how to react. Instinctively, I laugh—this has got to be Photoshopped—and then I lean forward and examine the picture more closely. “What the heck?â€�

  It’s a photograph of Vincent Oswald, the Vincent Oswald, holding up a piece of paper with my name handwritten on it: Hello, Lily Miller.

  Too easy to fake. The Vincent in the picture is wearing the same tailored suit that he wears in almost every photo shoot. The backdrop is a generic, stark white. This photo could have come from anywhere, and almost anybody could Photoshop in a piece of paper.

  I challenge him.

  —Vincent Oswald wears a suit even when he’s at home? Wow, what a bore! Pajamas or I call fake.

  Mere moments later, a picture arrives. There he is, raven-haired and stormy-eyed, wearing nothing but a pair of long pajama pants and no shirt. I bite down on my lip; I’ve never seen photos of Vincent Oswald like that before.

  Then again, how hard is it to copy and paste Vincent Oswald’s head onto some model’s body? I mean, that has to be a model, with abs like that.

  My phone pings with a follow-up message.

  —And you didn’t even buy me a drink.

  I laugh from shock. This scammer is seriously committed to the hoax. Challenging him is fun. I wonder if his Photoshop pictures can keep up with my demands. If he takes a second too long, I’ll know for sure it is all lies.

  —I want a picture with a banana on your head.

  I’m filled with gleeful anticipation as I wait for the fake Vincent’s response. I’m having fun now, thinking of the most ridiculous pose I can, imagining the scammer desperately searching for a picture of a banana.

  The response is almost instantaneous. I open the picture, and for the first time, I feel a flicker of doubt that this is a hoax. There is Vincent Oswald, shirtless, with a banana on his head.

  —Cross-eyed.

  This is turning into a bizarre game of Simon Says, but he delivers. In my inbox, an image of Vincent Oswald in his pajama pants, with a banana on his head and eyes crossed. I would have thought that the scammer was using the same image and just adding to it, but Vincent’s pose was slightly different in each picture; the lighting changed, the banana turned ninety degrees on his head.

  My hand slowly covers my open mouth, and I shake my head. “It can’t be.â€�

  —I’m hoping about now that you’re not from the New York Insider. Not my best angle.

  Either this was the fastest-fingered scammer in the history of internet hoaxes, or the real Vincent Oswald has a sense of humor.

  —I filled in the same security profile as you did. Have I satisfied your doubts?

  My hands are shaking now as I reply.

  —I don’t know what to think.

  —I guess there’s only one way I can prove myself once and for all, isn’t there? Let me take you to dinner.

  Ethan

  “This champagne is warm.â€�

  “What do you expect, Lorina? It’s being stored in a car.â€�

  “A limousine, Ethan. And what’s the point in paying for a luxury car if you don’t get the luxury of a cold drink?â€� She knocks pointedly against the window separating us from the driver, as though it’s his fault the champagne isn’t chilled.

  “I’m sure there will be plenty to drink inside.â€�

  “I’m trying to calm my nerves, Ethan. There are going to be cameras everywhere. This could turn into something big for me.â€�

  “Mm-hmm.â€�

  She scowls and casts me a disdainful glare. “Oh yes, I forget. You don’t give a damn about my career.â€�

  “You’re my guest to a charity banquet. It’s hardly the cover of Vogue.â€�

  “You’re incredibly callous, Ethan. Everybody who’s anybody will be there tonight. I could get noticed.â€�

  Maybe someone will take you off my hands. “Let’s hope.â€�

  “What’s the charity again?â€�

  “Stepping Stones.â€�

  “Never heard of them.â€�

  “They donate to kids from impoverished families to help them get an education and healthcare.â€�

  “Like anybody cares. I bet there’s going to be zero press coverage. It’s not even one of the major charities.â€�

  “That’s not the point of the night, Lorina. We’re raising money for a good cause.â€�

  “You tell yourself that, Ethan. This is just another PR move for you, too.â€�

  I clench my jaw and turn away from her. I don’t talk to Lorina about the donations I regularly make to similar charities. She’d be horrified that I was giving money away to children instead of investing in her “career.â€�

  We arrive at Belton Hall and step out of the limousine. Lorina moves frustratingly slow toward the front steps, soaking up every camera flash like a dying plant in need of sunlight.

  She looks the part, all right. She’s dressed to the nines in a slinky bodycon dress made of champagne lace. Her lips are a slash of red, her eyes thick with makeup, making her blinks slow. Every now and then, her eyelids stick together, and I can almost hear the sound of them snapping apart again.

  It repulses me.

  I close my eyes to drown out my irritation, and the image of a freckled girl in a flowing white dress crosses my mind. I open them again, and I am at the great entrance of Belton Hall, surrounded by women wearing gowns fancier than the prom-night garb that seemed so lavish eleven years ago.

  We are checked off the guest list and step inside.

  Lorina is right, everybody who is anybody is here. Politicians, celebrities, businessmen—events like these are for the one percent. If you don’t have a million in your bank account, don’t bother.

  I turn to Lorina. I almost start to tell her about how I used to sneak into places like this when I was young—I vividly remember a midnight swim at a golf course—but I hold my tongue. Those anecdotes are too precious to waste on a woman who doesn’t know me.

  She’s beaming now that she’s in her e
lement.

  “If you hadn’t invited me tonight, I would have died, Ethan. I feel sorry for everyone who didn’t make the cut.â€� She looks back over her shoulder at me as she shrugs smugly. “Sucks to be poor and ugly.â€�

  A waiter offers me a glass of champagne, and I accept, making a point to hand a crystal glass to Lorina too. She takes it from me, and then stands with it slightly raised, dead still, as if someone was photographing her as the dazzling debutante at her first ball. I look around. Nobody is taking her picture. She’s hoping somebody will.

  “Ethan!â€�

  I turn and smile broadly. It’s Benjamin Harris, one of my first big clients. He shakes my hand warmly. “How are you, old friend?â€�

  “Benjamin! Very well, thank you. Have you met Miss Lorina Valencia?â€�

  He kisses her hand and plays at awe. “You are a vision, Miss Valencia. What a delight to have you with us this evening.â€�

  Lorina slowly turns to me, and a smug smile creeps onto her face. It vanishes when Benjamin withdraws his attention from her and turns it back to me.

  “Your old college friend is here tonight. Oswald. Yes, Vincent Oswald. You’re acquaintances, aren’t you?â€�

  I speak through gritted teeth and a forced smile. “Our paths have crossed before.â€�

  “He’s a good person to know in your industry. I understand he does very well.â€�

  “Yes, he does.â€�

  “It’s been a pleasure to see you again, Ethan. I believe my wife is waiting for me to enter the dining hall. Perhaps I’ll catch you again after the meal.â€�

  “Of course. Nice talking to you, Benjamin.â€�

  After he leaves, I turn back to Lorina, scowling. “That snake is here.â€�

  “Who?â€�

  “Vincent Oswald.â€�

  I see a spark of recollection in her eyes. Her finger traces the rim of her champagne flute. “Ah, yes. I’ve seen his picture. He smiles. He’s handsome.â€�

  “He dated Beverly Ritchie, you know.â€� I throw in the comment and enjoy seeing Lorina’s face grow jealous. Beverly Ritchie is the current “it-girlâ€� in the fashion world.

  “Handsome, but an idiot, then.â€� She casts me a scathing glare. “Seems to be an occupational hazard.â€�

  I’m going to end things with Lorina. The thought gives me the strength to bite back a smart-ass response. She might be a public relations dream, but she’s my personal nightmare, and this farce of a relationship has exhausted me.

  “Enjoy it while it lasts.â€� I mutter under my breath so she can’t hear me.

  We head into the banquet hall, and I’m on high alert. Somewhere among the crowd is Vincent. I scan the faces around me, looking for his devious eyes and self-satisfied grin.

  I spot him on the other side of the hall. He seems to be here alone, but undeterred. He looks up and catches my eye. That smirk grows on his face, making my blood boil. He raises his glass in my direction tauntingly. I turn away.

  We eat a delicious, lavish meal, accompanied by a live string quartet. I make decisive, strategic small talk with the businessmen at my table. Lorina flirts shamelessly with every male who looks her way. I don’t care. I’m done with her antics and self-centered charade.

  Dinner ends, and we file out into another hall, as a different orchestra strikes up. “Ethan, shall we dance?â€�

  “Not right now.â€�

  Lorina scowls at me and picks herself up defiantly. Seconds later, she’s whirling across the dance floor with a stranger, staring daggers at me every time the music brings her toward my table. I ignore her.

  The next time I look up, it’s because I hear a chair being pulled out. It’s Vincent. He casually takes a seat beside me.

  “Vincent.â€�

  “Ethan.â€� He raises his eyebrows. “I’m surprised to see you here tonight. I’d have thought you’d be too busy trying to steal my clients. You’re usually so prompt with payback.â€�

  “I know you’re losing money on Bates. Take him. Waste your own time.â€�

  I lift my eyes to look at him. It’s been a while since Vincent and I have been face-to-face. He’s as enigmatic as I remember. All around, eyes are drawn to him. He’s hardly aged a day since we first met at Columbia.

  I drink the last of my champagne, and Vincent refills from the bottle at the center of the table. “Drink up, Ethan. It’s a celebration.â€�

  “What are we celebrating?â€�

  “I have Bates, and you have a new cell phone game. Congratulations, by the way. Destiny is a hit. Sad to see you’ve sold out, though. Seriously, online dating?â€� He shakes his head. “I thought you took yourself a bit more seriously than that, Ethan.â€�

  “I’m making money, Vincent. You’re poaching my clients because you know I’m about to fold you for the last time.â€� I lean forward on the table and fix him with a lethal stare. “How long will your company last without the defense contract? I hear you’re on the rocks.â€�

  He laughs. “Don’t believe everything you hear. I have a few tricks left up my sleeve yet, and I’m going to win that contract.â€�

  “Don’t count on it.â€�

  One hand has curled into a fist under the table. Any other place, any other time, I would have taken a swing at him. Only Vincent Oswald would have the audacity to gloat about his dirty deeds to my face.

  Vincent casually pulls out his cell from his pocket. “You know, I actually quite like your little matchmaking toy. It’s given me something to occupy my time with while I’m back in Payson, anyway. Or should I say ‘someone’?â€� He turns his cell screen toward me. “Pretty little thing, isn’t she?â€�

  It’s Lily. I haven’t seen her in eleven years, but I could never forget those sky-blue eyes and the distinctive pattern of her freckles. She hasn’t dyed her hair; it’s the same length. No makeup, paint on her skin. She’s older, but she’s barely changed.

  I feel an instinctive protectiveness rise up within me that turns into a vicious growl. “You stay the fuck away from her.â€�

  Vincent looks at Lily’s picture with a pleased smile. “Oh, come on now, Ethan, she’s hardly yours anymore, is she? You left her behind in Payson while you were making it big at Columbia. Just abandoned her in that dead-end town. I’ve been talking to her.â€�

  My throat closes. The thought of Vincent talking with Lily sickens me, fills me with rage.

  “Since you left her, not much has changed for poor Lily. She’s still an impoverished artist, barely getting by. Tell me, Ethan, do you think about how she’s doing when you’re sipping your champagne?â€�

  “There’s no way Destiny matched you with her. She’s too good for you.â€�

  “What are you talking about? We’re both from Payson, appreciators of art. We’re both cat people. Nature lovers.â€�

  I hate the word “loversâ€� from his mouth. He’s talking about my Lily. I have to grip the edges of my seat to stop myself from throwing a punch.

  “How did you do it? Did you have your team hack her profile? Did you override the system?â€�

  Vincent laughs. “Sorry, Ethan. No tricks—I guess I’m just the right man for her. Shame, isn’t it? I got the feeling at college that you really liked her.â€�

  Once, when Vincent and I were close, I’d told him all about Lily. I’d told him everything. Now he was using it against me.

  “Don’t touch her, Vincent. You’re crossing a line.â€�


  Vincent leans in toward me, and his voice is a low, angry hiss. “Am I, Ethan? Or was it you who crossed a line when you picked apart my company and sold it for scrap? You didn’t want my company. You didn’t need it.â€�

  “You’d have gone bankrupt if someone didn’t buy.â€�

  “You did it for revenge.â€�

  “You sold me out after Columbia.â€�

  “I made a strategic career move.â€�

  “You stabbed me in the back.â€�

  “Not yet, I haven’t. But, I will. First, I’m going to take your girl. Next I’m taking the defense contract. You’re going to be sorry you ever came after me.â€�

  “You’d go all the way to Payson just to get to her?â€�

  Vincent sits back, shrugs. “There’s a technology convention in Arizona next week. I thought, why not kill two birds with one stone? Mix a bit of business with pleasure.â€�

  “She’ll never go for you, Vincent.â€�

  “It’s been eleven years, Ethan. Ever think there’s the slightest chance she’s over you? I’m going to Payson, and your little girlfriend and I have a dinner date. Maybe I can give her what you never could.â€�

  Lily

  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.â€�

  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.â€�

  “I thought you said he passed the banana test.â€�

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

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