Page 12 of Rival to the Billionaire

"Oh, I don't think it's stupid at all," Derek says, his eyes narrowing slightly at me.

I ignore his piercing gaze. "In any event, we figured I'd talk to you first, and?—"

"Oh, no," Derek interrupts. "I want to talk to the both of you. At the same time. In my office. That is, if you think you can stop trying to one up each other long enough to do so."

"Sure," I say, my teeth close to grinding.

"It's totally fine," Ryder says, his words coming too quickly. His brow furrows and he looks at me, his eyes hard. "I've got nothing to hide."

Derek gestures around us to his office doors, which are still wide open. "Okay, then. Let's go."

I hold my ground as Ryder gives me one last threatening look before waving me ahead into Derek's office. I walk in first, head held high.

The red glasses perched on my nose threaten to slide off from the sudden sweat of nerves, but I quickly push them back into place.

I lift my gaze to take in Derek's newly decorated office since I left the position as his Chief of Staff.

There are no longer any photos of Derek with various politicians or business leaders. Gone are the huge posters of great white sharks jumping through hoops of fire. No Nelson Mandela quotes. No huge ship-sculptures in the center of the room.

The photos have been replaced with his fiancée's romantic photographic work, rather than photos of powerful men shaking hands and congratulating Derek.

I smile slightly at the thought.

Falling for his assistant Mia Kamaka was the best decision my boss had made in a long time.

Love has changed the man in front of me.

Well, most of him, anyway…

He gestures for us to sit in the two seats opposite his desk, then settles himself in his whiskey-colored leather chair, his fingers steepled. His bright blue eyes peer at us both across his desk.

"Do you want to start?" he says, his eyebrows raised in my direction.

My eyebrows rise in return, but I say nothing.

"Okay… Ryder, why don't you go first," Derek says, nodding at my archenemy.

Ryder straightens. "About what?"

"About why you felt the need to derail this morning's board meeting by going off on a tirade about our Chief Information Officer here,” Derek says. His voice is level, but I recognize the look on his face. It's the look he gives me whenever he's being nice, but also surprised I haven't figured out the answer to a question yet.

I fight the smile that threatens to break out across my face.

Ryder clears his throat. "That was called passion, Der. I'm passionate about this company. Passionate about our future. Passionate about this new app I want to show…" He trails off for a moment, his eyes glancing at me. "I'm passionate about my employees. And what our company can and should be."

"Looked to me more like you being passionate about taking a three-hour, coffee fueled rant at the board meeting," Derek says, unconvinced.

Still in our seats, I can feel both Ryder and I deflate. Barely. Clearly, pride is a hell of a drug.

"Look, I don't have time to explain every single thing I do," Ryder says. "For me, it's just a given. There are some things in life I'm passionate about and have been all my life. My family. My company. And if we want to launch Hare & Holeton into the future of publishing, I think we should all be on the same page…which is what I was trying to achieve with Miss Forde here."

Derek leans back in his chair, his hands interlaced, studying the two of us. "Is that what you two call 'getting on the same page'? I half-expected you to draw weapons and get blood all over my new carpets. I just replaced those damn things; I'll have you know."

My nose wrinkles as I intercede. "If either of us were that stupid, Derek, you would have already fired us. I'm sure we can at least agree on that much."

"That's true," Derek concedes, "which is why I've thought of a better way to get you two on the same page from here on out."

"What, matching pajamas?" Ryder says dryly, his fingers tapping his muscular thighs. "A book club? How about a naked fitness class? I hear the Pink Ladies Aerobic Dance is bumping."

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