Page 1 of Rival to the Billionaire

ChapterOne

JENNY

I don't know how other women do it.

Waiting for a date to show up is the first circle of Hell.

The ninth circle, really, since this is a blind date. And a work event. And it's with a CEO.

I'd curse Carmina—my closest friend and director of PR at my company—if I felt confident that no one could hear me.

The problem is: everyone would.

When you're standing in the middle of an elegant ballroom for Save The Seagulls—one of Seattle's most baffling charity events—you have to maintain a certain level of restraint and decorum. Especially when your alcohol tolerance is low, and your senses have been well and truly altered by the chafing of the lining of your silken dress against your bare thighs.

Also, your heels.

You know, the ones that are supposed to lengthen your legs and boost your confidence but only make you wobble around like a toddler with one boot on?

When you've grown up the way I have, without a pot to piss in let alone a pair of designer heels, you tend to feel estranged in a room like this. A room full of sophisticated people. Ones who paid thousands of dollars to come here and laugh at—not with—their own peers.

These days, my idea of a good time is a glass of cheap red, flannel pajamas, and a five-episode binge of Buffy the Vampire Slayer reruns. But when you're the newly appointed Chief Information Officer of one of Seattle's premier publishing companies—and the only woman in the top seven positions—you can't afford to be flannel pajama-ed.

Or broke.

Or, in my case, stood-up.

With another glance around the Fairmont Hotel's Spanish Ballroom & Foyer and without my date in sight, I gulp down another swallow of bubbly and laboriously smile at a potential donor. My eyes dart around the richly dressed crowd, looking for the one person who'd unceremoniously ditched me at the last minute.

She finds me first, looking adorable wrapped in a voluminous fuchsia coat with her arms tucked in and her burgundy dress clasped firmly around her saucy curves.

"Well, well, well,” Carmina starts. “Looks like someone's having a good time."

“If by ‘having a good time’ you mean ‘drunk off my ass’, then yes…I’m having an absolute blast.” My smile is strained as I turn to her. “Christ, it’s like they create these kinds of events just to make people feel excluded. I get enough of that at work.”

Carmina glances around. “Oh yeah. It’s designed that way. Charity events for shit-birds like seagulls are invented by men and women who’ve never washed a dish in their lives. People who want to make the people whohavefeel like they’re less than for not ‘saving the world’. It’s meant to make us lesser-thans feel completely out of our depths.”

“I don’t ‘feel like’ I’m out of my depth, Car. I am. That’s the difference.” I glare at her over my glass. “Maybe I wouldn't be, if the blind date you’re hooking me up with showed up on time."

She puts one arm around mine. "Nonsense. You're not out of your depth. You’re perfect. You're a shark among guppies. And yes, Julian is late. But he is coming. Don't I always come through?"

I gulp down the rest of my champagne.

She sweeps her gaze over my dark emerald dress which shimmers starkly against the deep ginger hue of my hair. "You look amazing, by the way."

My smile is genuine as I tilt my gaze down. "Thanks. I'm sweating bullets underneath it, but it makes me feel…classy. I guess it's not all for show."

"Oh, I know. Believe me. That's all I've done for years. Perform. Dance, sing, act, and smile at the best of them. You'll get used to it."

"Um, that's why I agreed to this blind date, remember, Car?" My voice dips to a whisper. With the burn from the bubbly, my head begins to spin. “I agreed so that I didn't look like a total leper in a sea of successful, powerful, rich, and beautiful people." My voice dips lower still. "This is my first step outside my comfort zone since I got promoted to CIO. And all I want to do is crawl into a shell and hide. Especially since my 'date' is late."

She leans into me. “Well, you look fantastic. Like ‘freshly fucked’ kind of chill. That’s a hard type of look to pull off.”

"I'm not."

“Fantastic, or freshly fucked?”

“Uh, both?”

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