Page 2 of Rival to the Billionaire

She chuckles. “Julian will love it. And yeah, he’s late, but I’ll text him and tell him to look for the lovely redhead who is so damn hot that it looks like her vagina could cure cancer and save seagulls at the same time.”

“My vagina is not curing anything. It has better things to do. Like sleep or get this show on the road before I pass out from the effort of trying to smile."

"You'll make it through this. Trust me. The rest of the C-suite can only ice you out for so long before they realize you're clearly the best fit for their company."

I lick my lips as I check my phone once again. The party started an hour ago, and I’m sure I'll turn into a pumpkin by midnight. "Car, you don't understand. They hate me. Tightening up our cybersecurity measures, building a new IT department, cutting down on executive expenses…they hate it all. Particularly—and unfairly—me. Not to mention, I'm a woman, the offspring of Barbadian immigrants, and I'm young."

She smirks at me. "We're twenty-nine, sweets. Hardly children."

"Come on. You know what I mean. I'm younger than the other C-level executives."

"Not by much. Julian is thirty-four, and he's CEO at his company, remember? And besides, I don't look a day over eighteen, and it hasn't stopped me from giving these senior good ol' boys the softer side of my ass to kiss." She squeezes my arm with a reassuring smile on her face. "Now, back to the original topic: let's talk about you…and your vagina. Why don't we get you both a drink?” She smiles and grabs my shoulders. “He'll be here soon. Don’t worry. Julian is respected in this town. Admired. And he'll help those overly stuffed executive peacocks see that you're the better ‘man’ for the job."

I sigh, but she takes my arm anyway. "C'mon,” she urges. “It'll calm your nerves. I promise. He'll be here any second."

I bite my tongue and follow her over to a table where a selection of champagnes, wines, and other spirits are lined up. The scent of the food entices me. Earlier, I got a bit of a peek of it being set out. Steak duchesse and kiwi cocktails.

And that's the least of it.

The entire Spanish ballroom at the Fairmont Hotel is decked out in Palladian windows and crystal chandeliers. Gold and white votive candles light up the tables. Bejeweled napkins line the white tablecloth. Ornate gold bud vases brim with assorted flowers, jasmine and orchids.

Plates of canapés are set out everywhere.

"Ah," Carmina sighs out loud, examining a line of men talking in suits. "Now, this is my kind of party. And the food's not bad either."

I look over in awe at the mountains of food that have gone uneaten so far. Apparently, I’m the only one who can admire the sight of this lavish spread.

"That caviar looks too good to eat," I say.

She smiles at me as she picks up her champagne glass. "I'm sure Julian will be saying that about you when he sees you in this dress."

I flush under her compliment, as I take a sip of champagne.

"Well, he'd better be," she continues with a wink. "He's half an hour late. The least he can do is go down on you like Santa on a chimney."

She somehow doesn't catch the look of panic her last sentence put into my eyes. "Now," she begins, "don't go thinking you can't do this when he shows up. You're a force to be reckoned with." She holds my gaze. "A veritable boss. A sexy femme fatale. You are an idol. You are Buffy Summers incarnate…with even better hair. And any man would be beyond lucky to get a piece of you."

I nod, feeling my nerves quell as I sip from my champagne glass again.

In an office, confidence comes easy for me. That's where I thrive. Where hard work is rewarded.

I know how to raise the bar for myself, how to scale the ladder to success. But this balancing act of the office and the ballroom is different. My skills at following the rules don't transfer well here.

In a world built for rubbing elbows with the opulent and powerful, I'm a fish out of water.

My co-workers have already gone through this ordeal hundreds of times, have already mastered it.

In theory, I know all the "right" things to do, to say. But I'm not sure when to say them. When to lighten things up. When to play my cards close to my chest.

If I mess it up, my chances at shaking things up in this company become nonexistent.

The old guard will never accept me in their world.

"You're doing great," Carmina pipes up, her voice suddenly chiming as we amble across the room. "Let's go see some art and not let these idiots see that they're getting to you." Her gait slows suddenly as her gaze catches on something. "And speaking of idiots…"

My heart stops as I turn to see what she's looking at.

And then I stop breathing all together.

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