Page 9 of Rival to the Billionaire

Thinking about how it might look from the public side of things.

How it might make her look.

I watch my words sink in, and I know I'm winning…

Because when her eyes meet mine next, they're full of fire.

"What do you say, Forde?” I say, raising my eyebrow.

She looks at me a moment longer before she turns on her heel.

I follow her a few steps before I lean in close, bringing my lips to her ear.

"I'm not really a fan of yours," I say in a low, casual whisper. "But I'm a bit of a softy for desperate cases."

Her upper lip curls into a malicious smile. "You walk in with an empty-headed social climber," she says, "and I'm supposed to be the desperate one?" She laughs. "Thank you for that. I needed that laugh. Clears the sinuses."

"We'll see who's clearing what when this dance is over," I murmur in her ear.

She scoffs. "Same ol' Ryder. You know, you're such a bottom feeder. Trying to slither your way into the good graces of success because you've got nothing of value to offer." She pauses. "You know what's really sad, though? I really should be insulted by your offer. I don't need your pity for dates. I'd rather be seen as pathetic than touch you."

My expression stiffens, my jaw clenches. But I keep my eyes on her as she lifts her chin.

“Still, I'll dance with you," she replies, her voice soft. “But only because you're right. Desperate cases do need help. And since you're so desperate for attention, I think I'll use some of that attention you attract. Maybe if our colleagues see me dancing with you, they'll realize I'm not?—"

"A shrew?"

“Uptight,” she spits back.

"Semantics."

She steps towards me, and I reach for her small wrist, squeezing it tightly. The music changes, some deep-rumbling, intense grooves that should be impossible to dance to. But I find her other hand, and I pull her closer, our bodies colliding.

My mouth touches her ear again. "Now, aren't you lucky that your 'replacement date' is such a good dancer?"

"Is that supposed to impress me? That you can make it through a song without tripping over your own feet?"

"Well, I'm no Spice Girl wannabe like you, Miss Forde. But I do alright."

I pull her a bit tighter against me.

"You've got some nerve," she says in a low voice. But I feel her body melding into mine, and my lips moisten in anticipation, my own excitement building as we dance.

I slide one hand down her hip, letting it rest on the small of her back.

She's warm through the fabric, her body moving closer.

Jenny and I, dancing. Together. It almost feels…normal. If not for the barbs we can't help but exchange.

"Why are you doing this?" she asks. Her eyes are fixed on mine like a dare.

"I'm trying to help you out. Thought I’d use this as an opportunity to remind you that your objections about my app are misguided.”

“Noted. And ignored.”

“Of course. You can’t be grateful for the olive branch I’m extending.”

“You call that an olive branch?” She rolls her eyes. “Christ, you really are one of the most arrogant, ignorant people I've ever met."

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