Escaping with the Biker: A Matchmaker Romance (The Billionaire Experience Book 7)

A Matchmaker Romance
The Billionaire Experience, Book 7
Rebel Dragons MC, Book 1

Ria experienced more success in life than she ever thought possible. But it has left her alone in a world of her own creation. What is a girl to do? Create an exclusive desert island, Billionaire Experience, on the One and Done app.
Gus had everything he needed: the brothers in his motorcycle club, his dog, and a house in the mountains. So why was he restless? When swiping on a new dating app, he came across something that sounded like the perfect escape: a desert island Billionaire Experience with a beautiful woman he would never have to see again.
But would he be able to walk away after it was over?

Shared World: The Billionaire Experience, a multi-book series with all your favorite authors, is a super-exclusive matchmaking agency for billionaires who are looking for a steamy date. The experience can be one night or longer—but no names or personal information is shared so there’s never a second hook up.
Unless, of course, someone catches feelings—then all bets are off.
Two books will be released every week, so you don’t have to wait long for every kind of sneaky, greedy, or sweet billionaire you can imagine. Here’s what you can expect: bosshole billionaire, grumpy sunshine romance, cinnamon roll hero, fake dating/fake fiancé, instalove, secret baby, one-night-stand to forever, secret identity, enemies-to-lovers and more…

Chapter 1

Azariah

“Az, I need you to decide before you go if we’ll do anything about them before the year-end.” My assistant, best friend, companion, and confidant, J, handed me a file.  

I knew what was in the file, and while it weighed little physically, it contained the world’s weight in so many other ways. 

J paused at the door to my office. “You okay, Az?”

My head snapped up to look at him. I hadn’t realized how long I’d been staring at the folder. 

“Yeah, thanks, J.” I pushed my chair back and held the file in my lap. “I’ll let you know.”

He nodded at me and quietly closed the door behind him. Even though I couldn’t hear him because of the soundproofing in the construction of the walls, J retreated to his suite on the other side of my apartment. Rich people could buy silence. Growing up in public housing, I heard every sound my neighbors made like there weren’t walls between us; every laugh, every shout, every scream. From the street, I heard every siren, every car or motorcycle driving by, and the beeping of the garbage truck. Nothing about my first sixteen years was quiet until I hustled to buy a pair of noise-canceling headphones. 

In the clouds, on the top floor of the tallest residential building in the city, high above the most densely populated city in the country with almost 30,000 people per square mile, I heard nothing. I hear what I choose to hear. I only saw who I wanted to see. I only talked to who I wanted to talk to. Mostly.

I looked out the windows of ​​my office. Since I owned the entire floor (and the one below), I had 360-degree city views. From my corner office, I could see south and east, a nod to where I came from and a reminder of when I had few choices.  

A bird flew by my window, headed north, probably to the park. It was a crow, a survivor, a scavenger, and a bird that adapted to its environs. 

I added a hashmark to the paper diary I always had on my desk. I made more money than I can spend in a lifetime with clever combinations of 0s and 1s, but recently, I have shifted to a non-digital format for everything not work-related, including my daily bird count. The birds I saw fly by my window were the only wildlife I had contact with from my nest in the sky. 

When I couldn’t see the crow anymore, I squared the file folder in front of me, perfectly lined up. I opened the cover and picked up the fountain pen I used to make the bird identification in my planner. I only worked digitally - calendars, tablets, laptops, and a stylus. But then I wondered if I disappeared entirely, would there be any evidence?

Is it possible to resolve the report in the file folder electronically? Absolutely. In fact, this might be the only thing I handled regularly that I asked for in print, other than my diary, where I kept track of birds, amongst other happenings.

For this specific decision, this report, I found I needed to see it in black and white, in its physical presence. This list of requests didn’t fit into the philanthropic foundation or the angel investing profiles. The file contained the list of ‘the others.’ 

This is the list that made me lose sleep. It was personal, but it also kept me in my nest in the sky.

I shook my head and set the pen back down on my desk. I reached for my personal phone. This phone contained less than a dozen contacts and only a handful of apps that had nothing to do with the business. I needed a dopamine hit before I opened the folder. 

I opened the One and Done app. By this time tomorrow, I wouldn’t have to worry about that folder again until next month, and I would be on a tropical island with a very intriguing man I’d yet to meet in person. Is it normal to plan a long weekend away with someone you don’t know? Probably not. At least not for me. But if One and Done delivered on the promise I read in the investment profile and fulfilled the recommendation from Dr. Jennovia, this person I matched with for the island experience I curated checked all my boxes. 

And he wouldn’t ever end up in the file in front of me or my nest in the sky. This person would remain safely contained.

‘Rox,’ as I knew him on the app, fit all my criteria. He was pre-screened, his wealth verified, he was not involved in tech, he was single, healthy, and not someone I'd encounter in my normal life. He was someone different. And by the end of the weekend, he would be a pleasant memory.

I didn’t love the wealth requirements. It felt like it flew in the face of my humble beginnings. Still, since the first article appeared in a newsstand magazine several years ago about ‘Azariah Balmori-Jones, Youngest Tech Billionaire,’ things had gotten… weird. ‘Rox’ wouldn’t be my high school boyfriend looking for help with his mortgage payments. He wouldn’t be the guy I dated in college who had a stack of medical bills that he couldn’t get out from under. He wouldn’t be the indie actor whose morning-after pillow talk included an app idea he thought would be ‘a sure thing’ if he could find the right investor.

And then there was everyone from the old neighborhood.

Thus, the list in the file and, thus, the hook-up app that promised an experience of my creation with a very specific, pre-screened individual who knew the score.

Hopefully, he’s just what I need.

I opened the chat function in the One and Done app and looked at the string of messages we already exchanged. Nothing serious, nothing too revealing, just how I liked it - uncomplicated. 

My fingers danced over the screen.  

- One more sleep. 

I put the phone face up on the desk next to the file so I could see right away if he responded.

I flipped the file folder open. The list seemed longer than usual.

But Rox didn’t disappoint. 

- Can’t wait.

I smiled. Endorphins to counteract the stress hormones.

I quickly scanned the list from line to line. I picked up my pen. Yes, yes, no, no, no, yes, yes. 

Halfway done.

I opened the weather app. I hummed. The temperature and humidity would be perfect the whole time we were supposed to be on the island.

I switched over to One and Done again.

- The weather looks amazing.

And then I picked up my pen again. 

No, no, no, yes, yes, no.

Rox responded, 

- Heading out first thing in the morning.

But wait, it appeared he wasn’t done. 

- Are you bringing the bikini from the picture with you?

Flirty. I like it. 

- Yes, and a couple of others. I figured this would be a bikini-heavy weekend.

- That’s the best news I’ve heard in a very long time. See you tomorrow.

And honestly, I was also looking forward to seeing him in his bathing suit. From the discreet pictures on his profile, I could tell he was a big guy - tall, meaty, and covered in tattoos. Yum. My previous dating experience, which at this point seemed like a distant memory, usually involved softer guys. He didn’t look soft; he had an edge. In one picture, he wore a leather jacket and stood beside a motorcycle. 

- Safe travels.

- Same to you.

I smiled and carefully placed my phone on the desk again. 

So far, so good. 

‘Rox’ seemed like he could be just right. 

The idea for this weekend wasn’t solely for the sun, sex, and sleep that I desperately needed. It was also to give the One and Done app a trial run before I decided whether or not to invest, and kick-off my new life. 

All of this sounded like a good time. I was only sorry I couldn’t meet Rox’s dog, the inspiration for his One and Done handle. Even though I didn’t have a dog, I didn’t trust people who didn’t like dogs.

I put the list back in the file, closed the folder, and texted J that it was done.

One more business item on my list before I could concentrate on getting out of here. I picked up the other phone I used for everything else in my life and sent a text to my legal team.

- What’s the status of the upstate situation?

- They sent a proposal. We don’t have to answer until you get back. It can wait. 

- Great.

The ‘upstate situation’ was the grayish cloud hovering over the new life I would start when I returned from the island. Hopefully, there will be a resolution soon. 

Isolate, focus, and compartmentalize—the mantra I learned from sessions with Dr. Jennovia. Those three words could apply to various situations: all the people asking for money, the worthy causes I wanted to support, and the hand-up I wanted to give young tech entrepreneurs, especially young women.

I moved away from my desk. The list was done until next month. Legal said the proposal could wait. I could lock all my troubles away and not bring any work with me, even on the flight. I closed my laptop and put it away in the desk drawer, along with the other phone. My tablet followed. I was even bringing print books for this trip, not my usual ebooks downloaded on my tablet.

My personal phone was essential. It was the only technology I was bringing and the only way to communicate with Rox.

This weekend was about remembering what I’d promised myself when I sold my company - I was going to do what I wanted to do when I wanted to. Back then, I thought I would retire - no business, no development, or even staff. If I wanted to stay curled up in front of a theoretical fireplace and read all day, I would do it. If I wanted to spend the day wandering the city streets, I would do it. If I wanted to see something new halfway around the world, I would get on a plane and go. 

But the requests started coming. And then the press.

It was a lot. Too much.

And then the betrayals come in quick succession.  

An old neighbor sold a story about my ‘colorful’ upbringing. Relatives I’d never heard of painted me as ‘heartless’ for leaving behind my ‘poor’ and ’struggling’ family. Old friends sold pictures and embellished stories from our youth. It never seemed to end.

Isolate, focus, and compartmentalize.

Buying the farmhouse upstate was about all of that. From a city girl’s point of view, the house felt isolated but peaceful. And it was the perfect compartment for me, myself, and I. I’d been researching life in the country. The house was not huge. Most people with my bank account would buy or build something much larger. But I wanted to blend in with the community. And I wanted a house I could manage without too much help.

No meetings or business would ever be conducted at the upstate farmhouse. It was going to be my sanctuary, my way to get off my perch, leave my isolated nest in the sky, and let my feet touch the ground. As soon as I got home from this tropical getaway, refreshed from a weekend of sun, sleep, and sex, I planned on installing myself at the farmhouse for the foreseeable future.

Gus

- One more sleep.

I looked at the phone and smiled. 

The message was from Ria, my One and Done app match.  

‘One more sleep’ before I found myself in the warm sand with a willing woman on top of me, underneath me, or in front of me on her knees. I wasn’t picky; hopefully, we will experience all the above before we leave - exactly what I needed.

“What the fuck is up with you?” Thor snapped. 

Thor wasn’t usually the snap-er; that was my role. Thor was the golden retriever of the brotherhood. He was calm, laid-back, eager, pleasant, and brilliant. That is why he was the President of the motorcycle club. He had the vision and made the connections, but he could also bring the hammer when necessary.

In this case, the grin that followed the snap betrayed his sarcastic intention.

“Nothing,” I grunted in response.

“Yeah, where is the ‘resting asshole face’?” Liam asked from the other end of the table.

“This ‘resting asshole face’ is about to head to the islands for the long holiday weekend.” It was true. ‘Resting asshole face’ was essentially my job. My role as the legal council and recording secretary for the Rebel Dragons Motorcycle Club involved keeping us legally protected and ensuring that we stayed out of trouble. It wasn’t always easy. And lately, I’d been more pissed off than usual, mainly by people who had been aiming for club members personally or for our businesses. But by tomorrow, I would be on a secluded property, a tropical island, hopefully, balls deep in Ria, far away from contracts, lawsuits, injunctions, and trust agreements.

I stole another quick look at my phone. I typed back a quick:

- Can’t wait.

Phones at the meeting table were not supposed to be a thing. Since we no longer had illegal business to discuss, most of the time, we didn’t collect phones at the beginning of meetings anymore, but they were still taboo. And everyone understood that you really shouldn’t be texting your hook-up from a dating app during the weekly officers’ meeting.

But I was expecting an important email about something club-related, so what was the harm in responding to Ria in a timely fashion?

“What’s the status of the orchard?” Thor asked, all business again. With the question came a pointed glance at my phone. 

I tucked the phone away and considered the question. The status? It was a fucking pain in my ass. “Whoever this ‘entity’ is, they’re dug in,” I answered.

“What do you think the motive is behind blocking the agreement?” Smith, our club treasurer and another of my closest friends, asked. 

I shrugged. “I’m not sure. The land trust rules allow for sustainable agricultural practices under which the apple harvest would fall. I think they’re blocking it just to be difficult.”

Thor leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “Sorry, Gus. I know this is your passion project.”

“I think it’s another one of those out-of-town-ers vs OG quandaries,” was my summation. 

It's true, and I’m not blind. Using the heirloom orchard that bordered my property for a cider production passion project brought on the injunction from the ‘entity’ on the land protected by the trust. The injunction made what should have been an easy ‘yes’ for the land trustees into a legal battle with the trustees caught in the middle. It wasn’t a good look for us in terms of club-town relations. We liked to solve problems for our neighbors, not create them.

Cider-making was not an essential function of the club. It was just a hobby. But I wanted to push it further and reach a higher level. For generations, even before my descendants emigrated to this country, they made cider. The cider they made was not for sale, necessarily, but as part of their work with the land and their subsistent existence. I felt connected when I made cider in a way that differed from negotiating contracts or the myriad of other legal matters I took care of on behalf of my brothers.

The heirloom apples in the orchard that abutted the clubhouse property made great cider. Through a strange turn of events, rural legend has it - a fight between brothers, long before the MC bought the property next door, caused the orchard in question to be divided in half. Current times saw half of the orchard belonging to the Rebel Dragons Motorcycle Club, and thus mine to use for harvest, while the other half of the orchard was part of a land conservation trust. What I thought was going to be a straightforward request of the trust for permission to harvest the fruit from the half of the orchard they controlled has turned into a giant pain in the ass. The injunction from a third party cited our intention to use the harvest for a commercial enterprise as the reason for their objection. 

I’m also not blind to the fact the MC was the primary force behind the revitalization of the small town of Hide. The town was dying when the MC moved to Hide several decades ago. It was remote and harder to get to than other mountain communities with ski resorts. The founding fathers of the MC thought Hide was a great place for them to lie low. The roads to the Hide were challenging to navigate, but all the twists and bends made for a fun ride on a motorcycle. Rock City, at the bottom of the mountain with its large university, made for a steady flow of customers for the weed and psychedelics that made up most of the club’s business in the early years. 

However, the club’s arrival in Hide revitalized the town. We first bought an abandoned ski resort and rehabbed it for our clubhouse, but then it became a destination again for skiing in the winter. Then came summer festivals to bring in year-round income. We made the town worth the effort for tourists to find their way past the lower-hanging fruit of ski resorts closer to the city and the highway. 

Hide’s revitalization, with its quaint shops and top-shelf restaurants in the village, surrounded by a bucolic pastoral landscape and a mountain backdrop, also appealed to city dwellers seeking second homes. Second-home residents drive up real estate prices, making it difficult for locals to afford to live in their own community. They also are less friendly towards community events, often complaining about traffic caused by the ski resort and music festivals. For those who call Hide their full-time home, the festivals generate income, create jobs, and sustain local businesses. Traffic may annoy the second-home crowd, but before the MC brought the ski resort and started the festivals, Hide struggled and was not an attractive place for people to purchase second homes. All the restaurants, cafes, and shops that helped make the area an attractive place to live, which allowed the part-time/second-home residents to get dinner delivered cooked by a renowned chef, oat milk for their lattes, or one-of-a-kind leather jackets, wouldn’t exist.

I leaned back in my chair and folded my hands over my mid-section, belying confidence in our victory over the injunction that I didn’t feel. Truthfully, I knew things like this could drag on for a long time. Longer than would be tenable. The case could drag on for so long that I could probably grow another orchard before resolving it, but the apples from that orchard wouldn’t have the same history as the ones that had been on the mountain for as long as anyone could remember. And besides, I would not let some second-home asshole win. “There isn’t anything to be done at the moment. We need to wait for the other side's response before proceeding. They have to answer our submission within thirty days. Based on past practice, I don’t expect we will hear from them until at least after the first of the year.”

“Do you want me to jump in and see what I can learn about ‘the entity’?” Liam offered.

I shook my head. I knew what ‘jump in’ meant when Liam said it. Liam would find things I couldn’t find with standard legal searches. The same type of ‘jumping in’ that got Liam a record with three hots and a cot provided by the federal government. Not that we still didn’t rely on his skills occasionally, but we saved it for when all other legal methods did not generate the needed results. “No, not yet. Although I reserve the right to change my answer after seeing their next response.”

Thor nodded in agreement. I looked around the rest of the table. All the other officers had good news to report. The club's other business interests, all legit, were doing well. Really well. The music festivals had a great season this year. The ski resort was up and going for the winter, with a record number of season passes sold. The recording studio was booked out for the foreseeable future. The various other businesses, including the custom shop and print-on-demand business, were doing great. I should have left well enough alone, just shown up and done my job as the club lawyer. Instead, I jumped when Bru, our resident brewmaster, suggested we expand the production of my hobby cider-making and start offering it on tap at the brewery to test the market for potential bottling. I was good at the law. I did good work for the club. The club and all its related entities comprised the entirety of my legal practice. But making cider connected me to echoes of my past, people I loved and lost, my roots. It was the drink of my people. Figuring out legal puzzles gave me a sense of satisfaction, but cider-making grounded me in a way I didn’t realize I needed until I started putting up as many barrels as I could every fall. And I think I had less ‘resting asshole face’ when I was walking around the orchard, pressing apples, tasting, and blending. 

“I’m out of town for a few days, but I will check my phone every morning if they reach out sooner than expected. However, with the holidays, I doubt it.” A long weekend on a deserted tropical island was just what I needed to recharge—well, that and hopefully getting laid.

“Keep us posted,” Thor looked around the table. “Anything else?” There was a lot of head shaking. “Then let’s eat.”

I recorded the time when the meeting ended in the official proceedings. I shared the meeting notes with the club’s general membership through the secure cloud established by Liam and James, the club’s IT geniuses, to ensure that everyone was informed before the membership-wide ‘church’ meeting on Sunday night, and then closed my laptop. 

“Where are you headed for this island getaway?” Thor asked.

I smiled. Honestly, I wasn’t sure. “Somewhere warm.” That was true. Ria told me to pack for the beach. Although I had a general idea of where this excursion would be, the exact location was to be sent to me in the morning so I could finalize arrangements with the MC’s private jet at the Rock City airport. I already had the plane on standby; the pilot just needed to file a flight plan for the exact location.

Usually, I’m a man who lives in the details. I cannot proceed until I have everything figured out. Agreeing to a weekend away at an unknown location arranged by a woman I’d never met was unusual for me, a product of my restlessness. I was a fixer. I fixed things for people all the time. Letting go would be a pleasant change for me. Not that I would surrender control of all things.

Thor gave me a clap on the shoulder. “Sounds good, man. I look forward to hearing the details when you get back.”

My phone dinged. Again. Not the email I was hoping for from the legal team representing the ‘entity’ about the orchard. I would like that not to hang over my head for the weekend. But it was another notification from Ria via One and Done. 

- The weather looks amazing.

The room was clearing out. Everyone made their way to the big room for family dinner. I could take a minute. 

- Heading out first thing in the morning. 

I responded and waited to see if I would hear from her again before getting some food. The dots appeared, then disappeared.

Ria and I’ve been messaging back and forth since we matched, with the pace of the messages picking up as we got closer to lift-off. 

Ria. Probably not her real name. I was hoping to meet someone for a mutually satisfying weekend. I needed a break. I needed a change. I needed some sun, sex, and sleep. Maybe not in that order. 

And I needed peace.

Could I have found someone local? Yes. Although locals came with their own set of complications. Or someone who was passing through for the weekend? Yes. But with the club's financial success in recent years, we’ve had to be more careful about who we hang out with. More than one of us thought we were getting into something casual, only to find out women were coming to town to go ‘Dragon Hunting,’ intentionally seeking us out, hoping to make something happen that wasn’t so casual. Lately, since the mess with the orchard, I felt I needed a new venue, a little distance.

Ria needed nothing from me other than my presence. I didn’t need to fix anything for her. She was exactly what I went looking for on One and Done. One and Done promised pre-screening services for all of their clients, thorough background checks, personal matchmaking, and the highest level of discretion for high-end/wealthy clients. I didn’t care about the wealth requirement. I wasn’t trying to meet someone with money. I had plenty of money. My needs were simple. What I earned and invested with the club was more than I needed in this lifetime. I could’ve been ‘the host,’ who curated the experience for their date, but I was sick of being the person who made things happen for other people. I chose Ria, partly because she was the host and put together the experience, in this case, a long weekend on a small tropical island at a private home. A deserted island experience. Only Ria, surrounded by the ocean and creature comforts. I was comfortable submitting that much. 

Using the app to match with someone in similar circumstances who met the strict standards of the pre-screening helped with the needed discretion and assured me I wasn’t being targeted because of who I knew or what I could do for someone else. The app promised me a match who was in a similar situation and wasn’t driven by my wealth. I wanted to go the entire weekend without being asked to fix anything other than maybe the need for another orgasm or to spread sunblock on places she had trouble reaching on her own.

I pulled up the pictures Ria had sent. They were discrete, much like the pictures I sent her. A picture from behind with just the hint of the side profile of her face. Another of her from behind, in a bikini, on a dock on a lake in a meditation pose. Nothing showing her complete face to protect her privacy. That she shielded her face probably indicated that she was known to the world in some capacity. Based on the symbols on her profile, she exceeded my wealth by quite a bit. Someone with that much money wouldn’t be anonymous. None of the pictures she sent could pass a reverse image search or generate a facial recognition hit. Still, there was enough detail to note that she had a subtle tan and shorter, wavy dark hair. She had curves. She was lush. Nothing was nearby in the pictures that would help me gauge her height proportionately to the rest of the scene. I got the sense she was rather petite. 

- Are you bringing the bikini from the picture with you?

Did I know we were going to have chemistry? No. But I was pretty sure. In the past, when I used apps for hookups, it was much more immediate. Match. Meet for a drink. Proceed or not. Done.

But I wasn’t worried. I didn’t even look further when her profile appeared as a potential match. It felt right.

- Yes, and a couple others. I figured this was a bikini-heavy weekend.

That made me smile. Although I was hoping even bikinis would be overkill, after all, this was a deserted island. Privacy guaranteed.

- That’s the best news I’ve heard in a very long time. See you tomorrow.

- Safe travels.

- Same to you.

I rolled my shoulders. Despite the mystery and uncertainty, I oddly felt more relaxed than in months. 

In a past text, Ria mentioned she was sick of making decisions. She wanted a decision-free weekend, a chance not to be scheduled and to see where our instincts took us. I didn’t intend to solve anyone’s problems, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t take charge of our decisions, especially regarding the sexual aspect of the weekend.

It sounded like the fucking perfect combination.