Beastly Mr. Buchanan (Brutal Billionaire Bosses #5)

Chapter 1

Karey Justice

Tar bubbles in my stomach and sludges through my veins with such intensity I stop on the corner and stare at the tall, sleek building holding New York City’s most sought after venue.

I’ve attended countless celebrations inside the opulent rooms, but dread plasters the soles of my feet to the sidewalk.

I don’t want to do this. Weddings are bad enough, which is ironic since they prove my prowess, but secondary celebrations seem to drive home my personal failures all the harder.

Anniversaries, vow renewals, gender announcements, baby showers—my former clients always invite me to their happiest of moments, mostly out of fear of performing some socialite faux paus by excluding the most renowned matchmaker in New York City, but a select few invite me because they genuinely enjoyed my help.

Eileen is one of them. I consider her a friend even if she is almost two decades older than me and we rarely speak.

A break in the crowd reveals my reflection in the upscale building’s tinted windows. The wind plasters my dress against my ample curves, and if it weren’t for my shapewear undergarments, my extra fluff would be jiggling just as energetically as my flapping skirt.

My haunted expression breaks my immobility.

I shrug my purse higher on my shoulder and tighten my grip on the gift bag.

Even as a child, I was overweight. Nothing seems to help. Exercise, diets, supplements; nothing sticks. Sure, I lose a little, but it always comes right back no matter what lifestyle I maintain.

The dark cloud above my head thickens as I recall how unhelpful and dismissive every doctor I’ve visited over the years has been and how every disgusted side eye from strangers chips another piece of my soul away.

I lift my wrist to my nose and fill my nostrils with the essential oil mix I dab on every morning. The tension doesn’t drain from my shoulders, but at least the heavy cloud of despair hanging over my head seems less dense and dangerous.

I force my lips into a smile and add purpose to my strides.

Eileen is the closest a previous client will ever be to a friend, so I must give her my best no matter my internal turmoil. A hollow ache throbs behind my sternum.

Eileen hired me to find a new sugar daddy after her first husband died and left her with less than she anticipated—don’t get me wrong, the lump sum was more than some people make in their entire lives, but the rich don’t operate in terms normal people understand—and instead I found her soul mate.

Remembering her excitement over the phone last week adds a hint of genuine happiness to my smile.

I greet the familiar attendant, thank him for his hard work, then wave him away as I start down the hall.

The balloons and confetti decorating the door no doubt cost more than most dual-income families make in a month, but I paste on a smile and step over the threshold.

Transformed from a large ballroom to a child’s dream playroom, the twinkling lights and oversized beanbags surrounding circular carpets—each with their own activity—create an unexpected softness in the usually grandiose space.

Ranging from infant play mats to ring toss for older kids, the activities’ colors and themes vary across the floor, but Eileen must have hired a very adept party planner because everything flows.

The rich celebrate the most ridiculous things, but I don’t fault Eileen for wanting an official introduction to society for her baby. She thought she was infertile for years, but it turns out her first husband had issues, not her. Her new baby boy will be cherished for life.

Dread weighs down my heart and the distinct feeling of not being enough plagues me, but I accept Tiffany’s enthusiastic half-hug and cheek kisses before I pass my gift over to her.

“We’re so excited you could come, Karey.

Eileen, Stephan, and Thomas are on the red carpet in the middle, but make sure you grab a refreshment before you head over.

Thomas just woke from a nap and is drawing a crowd with his cuteness, so it might be a while before Eileen has a moment. She’s so happy you could be here.”

I smile my thanks and wander toward the drink table, stopping a few times to say hello to past and potential clients. By the time I reach the refreshments, my feet ache and my head throbs.

I moved into my new apartment three days ago and still haven’t fully recovered from hauling boxes around.

Sure, Matthew, my best friend since middle school, and his fiancé, Fabio, did most of the heavy lifting, but my entire body throbs with pain and stiffness.

Add in the never-ending chaos of my job—I’m rarely in my office since clients always insist on meeting at high visibility places to scope out their options and unofficially announce their availability—and the incessant fatigue I always battle feels tenfold.

After studying the drink options and glancing at the snacks, I accept a sparkling water and pick out a fancy little fruit tart before turning and bumping into a masculine body. I squeak and narrowly avoid spilling the drink down the stranger’s front.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry, are you okay?” I blurt as I stumble backward.

A hard arm wraps around my back and tugs me upright. I lift my eyes and wish the ground would open up and swallow me whole.

Oscar Oswald, the boy I hated most in high school, smirks down at me.

After getting in trouble with the law, his parents bailed him out and sent him overseas. I’d hoped his exile would be permanent, but fate was never on my side.

He sweeps a disgusting glance down my body and widens his smile. Worms crawl in my belly. I lean on years’ worth of self defense classes and elbow my way free.

He grunts and rubs his chest as I wobble my way to a stop several paces away.

“I didn’t know chatty fatty was so feisty. I missed you, Karey,” he murmurs.

Bile rises in my throat. My head swims.

A child’s delighted squeal breaks my stupor and rips me into the present. Fury joins my fear.

Crumbs sprinkle onto the floor and stickiness oozes between my fingers.

Disbelief sweeps through me as I realize I crushed the tart. I cover my emotions with the purely polite and professional smile I’ve perfected over the years.

“Wow, who would’ve thought the fattest matchmaker in New York City would be so wasteful with food.

” Every cell in my body freezes at the familiar voice.

The ringleader of high society’s unofficial mean girls club, Lydia Wilco, continues in her high-pitched, nasally tone.

“Stop flirting with Oscar, Karey. You couldn’t bag him in a million years. ”

The horrified silence settling over the nearby partygoers rings in my ears.

She scoffs and waves her arm at the group.

“Oh, come on, we’re all thinking it, I’m just the only one truthful enough to say it out loud,” she says.

I pull my stare off Oscar despite my screaming instincts and make note of not only her posse but the individuals lucky enough to overhear her words.

Charlotte, a woman who has her first meeting with me scheduled next month, steps forward and places a hand on Lydia’s arm.

“Lydia, I think you’ve had too much champagne. Let’s—”

Lydia shoves her hand off and gives her a haughty once-over.

“Like I said, everyone’s thinking it, so I might as well say it.

She’s a good matchmaker only because everyone knows she couldn’t poach even if she tried.

” Her words slice deep into my chest, but I don’t flinch.

I loosen my fist and set my drink on the table.

She’s only stating what I’ve known since middle school.

“There’s security in having you as the middle man, Karey,” she says with a menacing step toward me. “No one has ever looked twice at you and no one ever will. Not in these circles, at least,” she says with a dismissive and slightly disgusted once-over.

When she glances over her shoulder, her posse snickers, sneers, and steps closer. I resist shrinking away by accepting a cloth napkin from a server and brushing the crumbs off my hand and onto her tray.

“Thank you for your concern, Lydia. It’s super sweet of you,” I say with an innocent smile.

She sputters and props her hands on her surgically enhanced hips.

I ignore her antics and thank a second server as they offer me a damp cloth before continuing, “I’d ask you for recommendations but don’t think I can afford all the surgeries it took for you to achieve your current look.

By the way, has it helped?” I ask with a concerned glance her way.

Her posse exchange puzzled looks.

Her eyes widen, and if it weren’t for the makeup caking her face, she’d lose all color as shock and horror shine from her eyes.

She’s kept her husband’s unfaithfulness under wraps, but my extensive list of contacts ensures not many relationship secrets get past me. Her boob job, lip filler, and liposuction were only the tip of the iceberg concerning her attempts to catch her husband’s wandering eyes.

I finish wiping my hand, gently set the cloth on the tray, grab my beverage, and step around the pile of crumbs on the floor.

“I’m sorry, I suppose my question was too difficult to answer. Ladies, this is Mr. Oswald. I advise you check his juvenile records before asking me to set you up with him,” I say before offering a mockingly sweet smile and wave.

I take measured strides toward the center of the room, not only to hide my urge to dart toward the door, but also because of the aching in my joints.

Eileen’s smile brightens when she notices me. She shifts the toddler in her lap to face me. The love and pride shining in her eyes clogs my throat.

Jealousy grips me, but I swallow, smile, and step onto the carpet.

Even as joy and wonder bloom in my heart from her son’s gummy smile and enthusiastic fist waving, sorrow streaks through my soul and I fight to keep my composure.