Page 3 of Matched with the Hollywood Heartthrob (Matched for Love #4)

JACK

T he car pulls up outside Nova’s office building in Beverly Hills, all glass and sharp edges, the kind of place that smells like overpriced espresso and constant damage control.

I slide my sunglasses down just enough to glance at the building’s front door, then back at Brody, who’s scrolling through his phone like he’s defusing a bomb.

“You gonna tell me what this is about, or do I have to bribe it out of you with Lakers tickets?”

He doesn’t even look up. “She didn’t say. Just ‘urgent,’ ‘show up,’ and ‘look alive.’ Her words, not mine.”

“‘Look alive?’ I’m already offended.”

“Honestly, I’d be more worried about whether she’s armed.”

“She’s always armed. Mostly with sarcasm and soul-crushing disappointment.”

Brody smirks. “Then you better start stretching your feelings.”

I sigh and climb out, adjusting my leather jacket. It’s been a week since the scandal hit the news, and I’ve just started to feel normal again. I even got a full night’s sleep last night—which, in my world, is practically a mental health retreat.

The elevator doors open on the top floor, and as soon as we step out, I hear Nova’s voice echoing down the hall. Not yelling. Worse. Clipped, professional, and angry in that terrifying way where you know she’s smiling on the outside and plotting your public execution on the inside.

Brody mutters, “Good luck,” then peels off toward the waiting area like he wants no part in what’s about to happen.

I knock once and push into her office.

Nova looks up, every inch the unflappable queen of damage control in a sharp navy pantsuit and perfectly smooth bun. She taps her stylus against her tablet with slow, deadly precision.

“Have a seat,” she says.

I slide into the chair across from her, lounging like I’ve got not a single care in the world. Because right now, that’s my only defense.

“So. How mad are we talking?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Medium-to-high.” She sets the stylus down and folds her hands. “But it doesn’t matter. Because I’ve found the solution.”

I grin. “Knew you would. What is it this time? Secret charity? Tearful apology interview with Oprah?”

“No.”

“No?”

“We’re taking a different route.”

I narrow my eyes. “Define different.”

Nova leans back. “We’re going to reform your public image. Entirely.”

I blink. “Entirely?”

“You’re going to fall in love, Jack.”

I stare at her. “With… who, exactly?”

“We’ll get to that.”

“No, no, no. Let’s pause there. Are you telling me your master plan to fix my image is to make me fall in love?”

She tilts her head. “Pretend to fall in love. But if it becomes real, even better.”

I groan. “I’m not going to shack up with someone just to please the internet.”

“You might want to reconsider. You’ve been dropped from three movies. That Oscar bait you’re clinging to by a thread? The studio is livid. Only reason you’re still attached is because the director refuses to recast. He can’t see anyone else in the role.”

“Because I’m good.”

“Because you were good. Now you’re a liability.”

“That’s dramatic, and ouch.”

Nova lifts a brow. “Frank Howard pulled out of the project because you were sleeping with his wife.”

“I didn’t know she was his wife! She didn’t exactly lead with a wedding ring.”

“And now here we are.”

I scrub a hand down my face. “Even if I agreed to this—and I’m not saying I do—where would I even find a woman to fake a relationship with?”

Nova’s eyes sparkle, and that’s when I know I’m truly screwed.

“Look, if you think I’m going to get with any of the girls on my roster, you must be joking, Nova. I won’t do that, not even for you.”

“You see, you say that like you’ve got a little bit of respect for me,” she scowls. “If you did, we wouldn’t be here.” She jabs a manicured finger on the desk. “And why do you get with these girls if you know you can’t be in long-term relationships with them?”

“You just answered the question.” This line of conversation is already boring. Long-term relationships aren’t for me. Nova knows that. She just keeps hammering on it in hopes that I’ll break. Not happening, ma’am.

“Don’t worry,” Nova sighs. “I already found someone. Hired her this morning.”

My jaw drops. “You hired her?”

“She’s not an actress. Or famous. No connection to the industry at all. We wanted to keep this low profile. More believable.”

I blink. “So… you what? Found a fan who’d marry me for free tickets?”

Nova looks far too pleased with herself. “Free tickets? You wish! We’re paying her a huge sum of money to find you a real connection.”

“Is this a joke?”

“She’s a florist—small town. Clean image. Some viral attention as a local matchmaker. One of the interns stumbled on her account. Turns out she helped her sister end up with a literal prince.”

I stare at her. “This sounds like a Hallmark movie on steroids.”

“It’s perfect.”

“No, it’s insane.”

“Not as insane as you sleeping with a literal married woman!”

“I didn’t know!”

“Well, that’s no excuse. Insane times call for insane measures.” Nova presses a button on her intercom. “Send Mia in, please.”

I shoot up from my seat. “You brought her here? Now?”

“Timing is everything.”

“You ambushed me.”

“No. I’m managing you. Like I should.”

I start pacing. “I don’t want to be managed like this. I don’t want some random woman picking out who I fake-love like it’s a dating app with a budget.”

Nova shrugs. “Too late.”

A knock.

I whip around just in time to see the door open.

She steps inside.

She’s shorter than I expected and more polished than I thought a small-town woman would be.

Brown hair perfectly swept into a low twist, a tailored dress that hugs just enough to say she means business, and wedge heels that show off pretty manicured toes.

She’s not loud, not overdone, but somehow… she commands the room.

And her eyes—green, sharp, scanning the room like she’s walking into enemy territory—land on me.

I can feel the moment recognition clicks.

Her jaw drops.

I smirk. “So, you’re the one who’s gonna play Cupid for me?”

She recoils like I’ve offered to sell her a used mattress on Craigslist.

“No way!”