Page 43 of Rival to the Billionaire

I sigh as the cacophony from the cocktail party falls upon me. I bypass the ballroom, knowing where I'm heading. I just hope Carmina is there.

Tonight confirmed it. Ryder and I are in a place that I've been avoiding for years. For good reason.

And I have no idea what to do next.

I let him in—in my life, my circle of trust once before. And he burned me.

Am I willing to risk that again?

ChapterThirteen

RYDER

Cocktail hour is over. At least, for me, it is.

I make a beeline past the ballroom, heading for the elevators. I don't stop, not even as a few people wave, recognizing me in the hallways of the hotel. I have no desire to speak with them, or to catch the attention of anyone else who has seen me.

I haven't the time or the energy to deal with anything else.

Nothing else, but the rock in my pants that I've got right now, in this very hallway.

By the time I return to the gigantic hotel suite we've booked for the length of the conference, I'm sporting a hard-on that could hit home runs.

Problem is: I know that relief won't come until I've eased the ache in my mind first. The ache that comes from repressing this current impulse. The impulse to turn around, head back into that powder room and drag Jenny Forde into my arms.

Into this hotel suite. To my bed. Coming and screaming…and not necessarily in that order.

No one's ever gotten to me like this before. Ever. And I don't know how to deal with it, because I'm not someone who likes it.

Any of it.

As a single man, I've had my share of women—Hell, I've had many men's share of women—but I've never paused to think about why I breezed through the women in my life so easily. Until now.

Quentin was right. He and I are the same man.

But until now, I've never asked myself exactly why.

Exactly why I was always restless with the women I bounced around, never quite finding my place with them. Never staying for too long.

I was waiting…

But for what?

I'm still not sure, but the real answer will have to wait.

I came to this Next-in-Tech conference for a reason. And that's to work.

Now inside the suite, I decide that's exactly what I'm going to do since I'm presenting in front of a Next-in-Tech audience in two days at this hotel.

Shucking off my Armani shoes, I completely unbutton my dress shirt, toss it on the arm of the plush tufted sofa and stride to the corner of the cavernous suite to put my laptop on the office desk.

Sliding behind the luxurious wooden desk, I feel strangely at home. Working on the app I've helped to build is where I feel most comfortable these days and most myself.

Seated in the leather, office chair, I open my laptop and start to work, humming as I go through some of the newest features' code line after line until my eyes start to blur with exhaustion. My brow furrows as I try to translate the latest piece of code into the newest platform we're working on this week.

I'm busy filing yet another bug when my head snaps up.

The sound of the hotel suite door opening echoing through the space distracts me. I hear footsteps soon after.

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