Page 35 of Matched with the Hollywood Heartthrob (Matched for Love #4)

MIA

I ’ve always lived by the rules. I have never done anything questionable in my life, so this is a new low for me. Trailing a man. Not just any man. My client. Jack Calloway.

When he walked out of his room looking like a dream this morning, suit pressed, hair slicked back, a hint of cologne trailing behind him like a sin—something in me snapped. And like a fool, I followed.

I wish I could say it was curiosity. That I’m just invested in this PR stunt and want to make sure he doesn’t mess it up. But it’s not that. It’s not even close.

I wanted to know where he was going. Who he was seeing.

What made this day important enough to pull him out of Bardstown.

I told myself I just needed answers. But that was a lie.

What I needed was control. I felt like I was losing it, going crazy not knowing who Jack wanted to see after his date with Hayley.

He goes to meet Hayley at this sleek, overpriced restaurant uptown. One of those places where the water costs more than a flight. I know this because I go in. I slip into a booth at the far end and order food I don’t eat. My eyes never leave him.

He plays the part well. Smiles. Laughs. Charms.

But I know Jack. And this isn’t him. His eyes are glazed. He touches Hayley’s arm like it’s part of a script. Not once does he look like he’s truly there.

And yet, I feel something in me burn as I watch. It’s not Hayley. It’s not even the date. It’s the fact that I care. That I’m sitting here like a deranged ex-girlfriend, stalking a man who isn’t even mine.

God, what am I doing?

They spend almost three hours in there. Three long, excruciating hours where I finish two drinks and still feel nothing but this stupid, heavy ache in my chest. Jealousy.

When they finally walk out, I shrink into my booth, barely breathing.

He kisses her cheek. She beams like he just gave her the moon. Then he texts me to say the date is over. After this, he gets into his car, and a few seconds later, I get into mine.

He doesn’t go home. Not immediately. He drives to another apartment—uptown, sleek, discreet. Somewhere private.

He disappears inside, and I wait. For nearly three hours, I sit in my car, alternating between shame and spite. I know I should go. I know this isn’t right. But I can’t seem to turn the engine on.

At exactly six-thirty, he’s out again. This time, it feels different.

He’s wearing the same clothes, but something about the way he moves—tight, like he’s wound too tight and might snap at any moment—makes my stomach twist.

I follow again.

And this is where things get strange.

The second address is another restaurant, but nothing like the first. It’s tucked into the hills, guarded, and clearly meant to be invisible to the public. I try to drive in, but the men at the gate shake their heads.

“Private event tonight,” one of them says. “The entire place is bought out.”

Of course it is.

A part of me deflates. It has to be a woman. Why else go through this trouble? Why else spend hours locked up in an apartment, only to show up here like he’s about to break?

Jealousy flares again—hot, acidic.

I grip the steering wheel and consider leaving. Just cutting my losses and pretending this day never happened.

But then, less than twenty minutes later, his car zooms out of the compound and flies past me.

He’s driving fast. Reckless.

I take off after him without thinking. My heart is pounding so hard it hurts. I can barely keep up. He bolts across town like he’s running from something—or someone.

Finally, he pulls into a downtown pub. One of those places with no name and boarded-up windows. The kind of spot people disappear into. This time, he steps out of the car wearing a baseball cap. Then he disappears into the place.

I park. Take a breath. And then I follow him in.

The pub is dark and loud, but Jack is a still, quiet figure at the far end of the bar—like he doesn’t belong here, but doesn’t care, either.

He downs his first drink before I even reach him, and by the time I slide onto the stool beside him, he’s already signaling the bartender for another.

He doesn’t flinch when I sit next to him. Doesn’t look surprised.

“Why have you been trailing me around all day, Mia?” he asks, voice low and tired.

My mouth opens. “You saw me?”

“Of course I saw you.” He lifts the glass to his lips but pauses. “I’m used to being trailed and followed everywhere I go, I’ve developed a sixth sense. Go home, Mia. This isn’t a place for you.”

“I’m not going home without you,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. I nod at the bartender and order a drink, though I already know I won’t actually drink it. I glance at Jack. “Are you okay?”

He lets out a bitter laugh. “Don’t ask me that,” he says. “If you do, I might actually start crying.”

I freeze, unsure if he’s joking.

He’s not.

His hand is tight around the glass, knuckles white. He takes a deep breath—one of those shaky ones, the kind you take when you’re holding back something heavy.

I inch closer, hesitating for only a second before wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He turns, surprised, like he didn’t expect me to do that.

That’s when I see it.

Tears. Sitting stubbornly in his eyes, refusing to fall but burning bright all the same.

He blinks, and then he says, “The second date—the woman I went to see… that’s my mother.”

I suck in a breath. “Your mom?”

“Yeah.” He downs the drink in one long pull and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “We were supposed to work together on an upcoming project. So her manager reached out about a week ago. Said she wanted to see me.”

I sit still, not speaking. Letting him fill the silence with whatever he’s brave enough to say.

“This is the first time I’ve seen her since I was eight years old, Mia,” he says, voice breaking at the edges. “She walked out on me and my dad. Said she wanted to chase her dreams. She didn’t look back. She didn’t.”

His hand trembles as he signals the bartender again. I gently reach over and cover it. “Jack…”

“I always told myself—maybe she didn’t know who I was. Maybe she thought I’d disappeared. I clung to that. It helped me sleep. But today…”

I feel my chest tighten.

“Mia, she knew,” he says. “She freaking knew. She saw me in movies, interviews, headlines. She knew I was her son. And she didn’t say a word. Not one word, Mia. Not until now.”

He rakes a hand through his hair, and I feel him shudder beneath my arm.

“I thought I’d yell. Scream. But I couldn’t do anything except look at her and wonder why. Why now? Why not before? Why wait until I was grown, famous, completely undone?”

“Did she… did she say why?” I ask, gently.

“She said she was ashamed. That she hated herself. That she didn’t think I’d want her anymore.” He lets out a broken laugh. “Isn’t that rich? She left me, but she’s the one scared of rejection.”

I squeeze his hand.

A part of me is relieved that he was meeting his mother, not some secret girlfriend. I feel the heavy weight of jealousy lift from my shoulders, only to be replaced by another emotional weight. One of understanding, finally.

I’m happy that Jack is sharing this pain with me.

I finally understand him. All of him. The scandals, the noise, everything.

He was calling out as long as he could, hoping his mother would answer.

She never did. That type of pain could wreck someone.

Despite the wealth and glamor, he’s lived a very hard life.

“I told her I don’t want her in my life. That she doesn’t get to show up now and play mom. I said I couldn’t do the movie. That I couldn’t even stand to be near her.”

He finally turns to me, his eyes bloodshot. “Does that make me a horrible person?”

“No,” I whisper. “It makes you human.”

Jack lets out a laugh, sharp and bitter, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. His mouth twists like he’s still bleeding inside, and the sound makes something twist deep in my chest.

I glance toward the far end of the bar—and then I see it.

A group of three people, clustered in the corner, stealing glances and whispering. One of them discreetly lifts a phone, pretending to check it, but their camera lens is angled a little too high.

Shoot.

I lean in close to Jack, my lips accidentally brushing his ear. “We need to go. Some people here are seconds away from figuring out who you are.”

He blinks slowly, dazed. “Where can a man find peace, Mia?”

Without responding, I reach for my purse, slap a few bills onto the counter, and take his hand. “Come on.”

He doesn’t resist as I pull him off the stool. Doesn’t say a word as I lead him through the crowd, out into the cooler night air. But the moment we reach the street, he starts to veer toward his car.

“Nope,” I say, tugging him back. “You’re in no shape to drive.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” I open my car door and push him gently inside. “Don’t argue.”

He drops into the passenger seat, defeated, and stares out the windshield, silent.

I turn to the security guy standing nearby and tip him heavily. “Someone will come back for this car in the morning.”

The man nods with a polite smile. I slide into the driver’s seat and start the engine.

Jack doesn’t say a word as I pull into traffic, heading for the penthouse. His head rests against the window, his jaw tight, his body radiating exhaustion and something heavier—grief, maybe. Or anger so old it’s rotted into sorrow.

He looks like a boy tonight. Lost and tired.

And somehow, despite everything, despite my own feelings, all I want to do is protect him.