The office door opened, and Emily rose to her feet. A tall, handsome man strolled in and gave her a sheepish smile.
“Hello Harold, I’m Emily Stewart. And I’ll be your matchmaker.”
“Thanks for seeing me on such short notice,” Harold said as they shook hands. They took their seats and Emily surveyed him carefully. He had dark blonde hair, deep brooding eyes and a sweetness to him that she couldn’t put her finger on.
“So, tell me why you need a matchmaker?” she asked.
Harold’s face turned crimson and he flashed his teeth at her.
“I work in the movie business, and I work with a lot of people who are––”
“Fake?” Emily finished for him. Harold nodded.
“I’m not the most outspoken person in the room. And I’m looking for someone who doesn’t want to be in the limelight. Someone sweet and kind. And I really don’t care about anything else. Can you help me?”
Emily’s smile broadened as she rested her hands on the desk and thought about it.
“Funny you should say that. I think I know the perfect woman. Make yourself available tonight, I’m setting you up on a date.” She lifted her phone, a sense of excitement swirling in her midriff. Harold’s brows shot up.
“Today? You’re going to set me up with the girl of my dreams today?”
“Why not?” Emily said with a shrug. Then she turned to look out of the window and cast her eyes over the city. “After all, it’s a beautiful day to fall in love!”
THE END
Keep reading for Harold and Julie’s story in Who Wants to Love a Billionaire.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Epilogue
DEDICATION
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Epilogue
More from Laura Burton
Who Wants to Love a Billionaire?
The characters and storylines are fictitious, and any resemblance to real-life people and events are purely coincidental. The author retains all of the rights to this work which may not be copied and distributed online or elsewhere without the written permission of the owner of the rights.
All rights reserved by Laura Burton 2019.
First Edition
Edited by R J Creamer
Written in U.S. English
Created with Vellum
Chapter One
The Quiet Seamstress
Julie yelped and sucked on her fingertip. A metallic taste flooded her mouth, and with a moan she jumped to her feet. She sped across the room to the kitchenette, then rummaged one-handed through the drawers.
The phone rang, prompting the cat to screech and bolt out of the room. Probably off to his favorite hiding place underneath the bed.
“Yes, yes, hello,” Julie called out as she accepted the call. Her fingertip throbbed and she hissed against the pain as she sprayed the wound with antiseptic.
“Are you okay?” a worried voice crackled out of the speaker. Julie fastened a Band-aid on her finger and took a breath.
“I’m fine, Emily, just pricked my finger again.”
“Oh, that must mean you’re making another dress.”
Julie collapsed back into a chair at the dining table and made some adjustments to the controls on the sewing machine.
“Hmm,” she said with a needle between her teeth. She finished fastening the last safety pin on the pink chiffon material and positioned it to sew. As she stepped on the pedal the needle bobbed up and down faster than a woodpecker hammering against a tree.
“Listen, I have a new client, and I think you’re really going to like him,” Emily’s voice barked over the sound of the motor. Julie stopped and stared at the phone intently.
“I don’t know…,” she began, unsure.
Emily and Julie attended Oxford University together and had been roommates. When they graduated, Emily ventured out to New York while Julie spent a year in Paris, working for one of Estelle’s fashion lines. After building a rapport with the high-maintenance models, she landed a role in the New York office.
Emily was her best––and only—friend in the city.
“I’m five minutes away from your place. Are you home?”
Julie considered the idea of concocting a lie: She was at an underground party across town, or maybe volunteering at a soup kitchen in the Bronx? But she knew Emily would see right through it. “I can pick up some food? What are you in the mood for?”
Julie thought about it. What mood was she in? The pain in her finger dulled and gave way to the ache in her temples, and the back of her neck was tight. She spent all day hunched over the sewing machine and forgot to eat. Her stomach growled.
“We can order takeout,” she mused aloud, warming to the idea of a visit.
“Great, and I’ll pick up some Cinnabons for dessert.”
Julie rolled her eyes and ended the call. Emily was obsessed with cinnamon rolls. Perhaps they reminded her of home? Or maybe Emily just had a sweet tooth.
She flitted around the apartment in an attempt to tidy up. When the buzzer sounded, she scanned the room quickly before letting Emily in.
“Hey, girl.” A plume of perfume covered Julie and caught in the back of her throat as Emily threw her arms around her.
“What are you doing tonight? I’ve got you a date.”
“That fast? Emily, when I said, ‘I don’t know,’ I didn’t mean, ‘go ahead.’ I’ve got work to do.”
Emily flicked back her sleek brown hair and raised a hand. She was having none of it. That was Emily. Despite being nearly a foot shorter than Julie,
