Page 3 of Rival to the Billionaire

Shit.

He wasn't supposed to be here tonight. None of the Andersons were.

Carmina's chocolate-brown eyes stay fixed on Quentin Anderson, the Chief Marketing Officer at Hare & Holeton. Dirty-blond and muscular, Quentin Anderson is everything a billionaire publishing company co-founder should be.

Clad in a blue blazer, button-down and navy slacks, his appearance is neat and polished.

But my eyes are nowhere near him. Not now.

They're not even on the man I now recognize as Julian Sabado—the blind date I've been waiting on.

No.

They're on the dark-haired man standing beside him, and practically taking up two-thirds of the space in the trio’s circle, with a bottle of champagne in hand.

Black hair and blue eyes. A firm jaw with a determined set of his lips.

Ryder Anderson is like night-and-day compared to his brother Quentin.

But where I feel amused indifference to the blonder Anderson, I feel nothing but blazing contempt for the darker one.

The one who's loathed me since day one.

The one who's the reason everyone at Hare & Holeton hates me in the first place.

As if he can feel my eyes on him, he turns on a heel, his face smooth and emotionless as it looks away from Julian's smiling face to allow his oceanic gaze to find mine.

"Jennifer Forde," he says smoothly with the faintest trace of a smirk on his face. "Good to see you. We were just talking about you…" His smile grows wider. "Please join us."

ChapterTwo

RYDER

Here she is.

Jennifer "Can't Take a Joke" Forde. Jennifer "Needs the Stick out of Her Ass" Forde.

The devil in a skirt-suit.

Looking like she's swallowed a bad pill.

I must admit: It's funny catching her off-guard when she's least expecting it.

When I came across Julian Sabado, economist and CEO of Sabado Global Solutions, lost in the lobby, and dragged him to the open bar, I had no idea I'd stumbled into something I thought I'd never see.

Jenny Forde on a date. On a blind date, at that.

When Julian told me he'd come here to meet her, frankly, I'd been shocked. And it takes a lot to shock me these days.

I didn't think Jenny Forde even knew what the hell a date was.

Since the second grade, she's been a loner, someone who's always been too busy to date anyone. Too self-serious. Too intense.

Even now, at an open bar event, in a silky, emerald cocktail dress, her lips painted in a red that clashes with her upswept fiery red mane, hazel eyes ringed in kohl, it's easy to see how self-contained she always is. She barely cracks a smile.

No doubt too preoccupied with the trivialities of corporate life to even think of having a social life.

While the rest of us are here, knocking back the drinks, her mind has likely already moved on to focus on some spreadsheet that's going to line up all the numbers perfectly.

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