Page 14 of Rival to the Billionaire

A ghost of a smile dances on Derek's lips. "This is why you're my CIO, Miss Forde. You're willing to change yourself for the benefit of the company and your employees. I'm impressed. I'm also glad."

Derek stands. "Glad to be leaving the future of Hare & Holeton in two of my most valuable assets' hands," he says dramatically, grinning to the two of us. "They'll see to it that the conference is a success, which will benefit the entire company. They'll get results. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have reservations for lunch." He smiles wider. "I got a beautiful former assistant whose attentions I’ve been neglecting for far too long.”

Derek opens the door and exits, leaving the two of us in the room together.

And my heart suddenly skips a beat.

"Well," Ryder says, sitting back in his chair, his arms thrown behind his head. "If we do this thing…I think it's only fair we make a few rules."

I cock up an eyebrow. "Rules?"

"Yep. Rules," he says. "Rule number one: I'm in charge. I make the calls; I give the orders. And rule number two: No snoring. I need my beauty sleep."

My stomach drops. “I’m ignoring your first rule because of obvious reasons, but…why would you have to worry about my snoring?"

Ryder exhales, turning. "Maybe because all the rooms are sold out for the conference. And I snagged the last suite in the hotel."

I gasp, horrified. "What?"

"Last I checked, you snore. During that eighth-grade overnight trip to Rock Eagle, you practically crushed my ear drums."

"No. Jesus, Ryder. I mean… wait…we're going to sleep in a suite together? On purpose? For how long?" I can't believe this.

"Two, three days, I guess," Ryder says. "Maybe four. Depends on if we'll be working hard or lounging around the suite. Either way, it's got multiple spots for sleeping, but technically, only one bathroom. The bastards in the hotel industry always cheap out."

"Ryder," I whisper. I can't believe this. This is not happening.

"If you wanted, you could stay downtown, but I'd prefer to be close to the conference center which is in the same hotel. We need to be in the middle of the action, anyway. You said so yourself during the board meeting. It's good for the company."

"I…I didn't mean that kind of 'close to the action.'"

Ryder smirks, feigning ignorance. He stands. "Then you've picked the wrong 'partner', partner. I'm always trying to get as close to the action as possible. It's in my blood."

He takes a few steps toward the door, but suddenly stops and turns around, walking toward me. "Oh, by the way…I'll get to work on finding those matching pajamas for us. Spice World ones might be hard to find, so I think I'll go with unicorns. I'm pretty sure I heard that you still love those."

And with that, he leaves Derek's office, with me frozen in my chair, mouth half-open, staring after him.

ChapterFive

RYDER

At the Seattle-Tacoma airport the next day, I half-expect Jenny Forde not to show.

That dream is instantly killed the moment I spot that coppery-red hair of hers, slicked back into a bun, heading my way.

The gate for our Tuesday flight to Vegas and the Next-in-Tech conference is packed with Spring Breakers, pretty, young sorority girls in yoga pants and flip-flops, complete with oversize tote bags. Blondes, brunettes, redheads, perky round faces—they're giggling and snapping selfies, bouncing from one foot to the next.

It's a stark contrast from the uptight Miss Forde who arrives at the gate in a wool skirt suit, white button-down shirt and flat shoes. Her luggage is austere, consisting of only a two-wheeled dark suitcase, black laptop case, and a purse.

I'm sitting alone, nursing my pint of Olde Seattle Brew from the airport pub when she plops them down in the seat beside me, a sigh on her lips as she slides into the seat and takes off her blacker-than-black sunglasses.

I glance over, beer in hand. "You know, most people try to arrive to the airport comfortably."

"I'm not most people," she says tersely, adjusting her purse on her shoulder, while peering at her phone.

"Well, that sure as hell is stating the obvious." I check out her outfit, avoiding a grin. "It's April, Forde. Spring. And we're heading to Vegas. Don't you think you're going to be a little…hot?"

"I'm dressed appropriately. Airplanes are always freezing," she says, staring out of the window. "It's not like I'm going to be riding a quicksand snake in the desert or something."

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