Page 61 of Rival to the Billionaire

"I wouldn’t dally around. I would tear through the menu and order everything," I respond without thinking. "And knowing your appetite, I'd say that eating all of that would take us—oh, I don't know—five minutes or so?"

Jenny snorts, her pink lips working overtime as she bites her bottom lip. "What, the women you usually take out don't eat?"

"There's only been one woman I've taken out in the past few months," I say, watching her face flush, "but I can't say we shared the most sophisticated meal or anything. I mean, inhaling a tower of street Italian food isn’t exactly rom-com movie material, but it worked for me.”

Jenny's surprised gaze flickers in my direction. But before she can say anything, our waitress arrives, asking our drink orders.

"I'd like a glass of the house mezcal margarita," I say. "And, maybe, a splash of fresh lime to go with it?"

"And for the lady?"

Jenny bites her bottom lip, slowly glancing at me. I can tell she's never had mezcal.

"Uh, she will have the same."

"Oh, no, no. That sounds amazing. I mean, really." Jenny quickly corrects herself, then breathes out a soft chuckle as she glances up at the waitress. "But we're working right now."

My brows arch. "We are? No, Miss Forde, I can tell you with some surety that we are not working tonight." I peer back at the waitress. "We'll also have the sample platter for the table."

"No, no. No. Work… We can't. We're…"

"Relaxin' and enjoying this. If I'm going to take myself more seriously, Jen, then you're going to have to take yourself a little less seriously, understand?" I lean back in my seat, taking a sip of my water. “And if we're not working, Miss Forde, then it's just another Wednesday for us." I shrug. "We might as well enjoy.”

Jenny glares at me, swallowing hard as if contemplating whether or not she wants to argue with me.

"I think that'll do," I add, prompting the waitress to leave. I lean in as soon as she's gone, smiling. "Speaking of not working, let's talk about what happened on our ride here. I heard you back there, praying to the Big Man."

"I was praying to the little man, actually. The little man who was steering the big bike we were riding on that could turn us into a smear on the pavement if he wasn’t careful."

"Ah. And I am supposed to be the little man in this scenario?"

"Yes, you are."

I lean in. "I can assure you, darling, that there's nothing 'little' about me."

Jenny's face takes on a subtle red flush. But just as soon as it appears, her cheeks blanch when a smile begins to curve across my face.

"There is so much more to me than you might think, Miss Forde," I tell her.

"I'm going to have to retire, if this whole 'dangerous biker' thing is going to be a thing."

"The danger is all in your head, darling," I reply. "That's what I'm always telling you."

Jenny frowns, her eyes flicking to the side as the waitress returns with our drinks. I watch as she gulps down the tequila like it's air, and then reaches for her water glass to sip on it, her cheeks flaring from the alcohol.

The waitress leaves again.

"I assume when you're talking about 'danger', you're not referring to Chastity Sanders, then?” she says. “The overgrown woman-child who wants to blackmail our company by having her fiancé withhold his father's investment money if we don't do what she says? Because I don't think it's wise of you to joke about that danger when we're kinda in the middle of a financial shit-storm, don't you agree?"

"I'm not joking about that," I say softly. "I'm serious, Jenny. The more I think on it, the more I can see it's all a bluff. I'm certain. And, hey, look at how this has all paid off. We're here, eating a delicious meal together in a glorious restaurant." I grin at her. "And you agreed to come. How's that for paying off?"

Jenny glares at me for a moment, before exhaling. "I see you only want to joke about this."

"I want you to see the funny side of it, dearest. Because…we're going to enjoy. Even if we're being blackmailed by a sugar-scoffing, spiteful brat that thinks she can make us bend to her immature will. That's what I do want us to see. A comedy."

"You're enjoying this way too much, Mr. Anderson. You realize that this is my career on the line here."

"I'm aware." I raise a brow, taking a giant sip of the mezcal. "And in case you haven't forgotten, my career is on the line, too. And thus, my life, it seems."

---