Page 55 of His Ruthless Match
I’d been nominated as one of New York City’sTop 40 Under 40professionals.
I squealed, a sound I wasn’t entirely proud of, but screw it—this was huge. My heart swelled. This was the kind of validation that came when someone noticed the endless hours, the sacrifices, and the sheer willpower I poured into my work.
There would be a photo shoot and interview for the feature, as well as a black-tie gala next week to honor the nominees and reveal the rankings. I quickly fired off a reply, ensuring I’d make room for the shoot and interview, provided they didn’t conflict with my court schedule.
After hitting send, I leaned back and stretched. My entire body felt alive. This nomination was proof that my efforts weren’t just spinning in place.
The urge to share the good news tugged at me, but I resisted. Instead, I decided to celebrate in my own way with coffee and pastries for the office.
The coffee shop was bustling,but thankfully the long line moved steadily. As I waited, I scanned the menu for something indulgent. Everyone deserved a little sugar rush on a good day. Even me.
I felt it before I saw it. Someone’s gaze was burning into me.
Turning my head slightly, I locked eyes with a man who looked to be in his sixties. When most people got caught staring, they looked away. Not this guy. Instead, he raised his phone in my direction.
What the hell?
My chest tightened, but I refused to let it show. Image was everything, and I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of seeing me react. I turned my body slightly so he couldn’t get a clear shot of my face.
My mind raced. Was he part of the media frenzy circling Genevieve? Or just some random creep? Either way, it was invasive, and it pissed me off.
I stayed in line, forcing myself to breathe evenly as the minutes ticked by. When it was finally my turn, I ordered the largest assortment of drinks and pastries I could carry.
The man still had his phone pointed at me as I left. I itched to flip him off, but I bit down the urge. The last thing I needed was a viral video of me losing my shit in public.
Once outside, I glanced back briefly. He was gone. I exhaled deeply. “What a way to ruin a good morning.”
I shook my head. No, I was not going to let it ruin my mood. This was my win, and no random creep with a phone was going to take that from me.
The last thing I expected when I stepped into the office was a chorus of voices shouting, “Congratulations!” followed by the unmistakable squeal of party whistles. I practically jumped out of my skin, clutching the coffee tray so hard it nearly tipped.
My team, grinning like a bunch of overeager kids at a birthday party, erupted into laughter.
“Holy shit, you nearly scared me to death! What the hell is all this?”
Theo stepped forward with his arms spread wide. “This, darling, is yourTop 40 Under 40celebration! How does it feel to be famous?”
I frowned. “How do you even know about that? I just found out this morning.”
Theo rolled his eyes. “Have you not read theNew York Timestoday? Big article. Your name is in print, baby.” He gestured to the desk where a copy of the newspaper sat, folded open to the exact page. Sure enough, there was a feature about the honorees, and my name was there in bold print. My stomach dipped strangely.
I glanced around the office. My team had gone all out: tacos from my favorite food truck, a chilled bottle of champagne, and a ridiculously large fruit bouquet shaped like roses. It was almost too much. Almost.
“You guys are ridiculous. But seriously, thank you.” I sheepishly held up the bag of pastries, which now seemed pretty lame compared to what they’d pulled off. “I have pastries to contribute.”
They grinned and cheered, raising plastic champagne flutes in my honor. Theo, ever the fashionista, asked, “Now, what are you going to wear to the gala? Because if you need help picking out a gown, I’m your guy.”
I chuckled. “I might just take you up on that.”
As I ate my taco and sipped champagne, I noticed movement outside on the street. A group of people had gathered outside, hovering near the door. They kept glancing inside, whispering, pointing up at our windows—and then, the inevitable—pulling out their phones to take pictures.
Theo, of course, seized the moment and struck a dramatic pose in front of the windows. “If they want photos worth sharing, I’ll give them some.”
“Theo,” I hissed, laughing despite myself. “Stop it.”
He ignored me, transitioning to a new pose, this one involving him flexing his nonexistent muscles. Nadia stepped forward and closed the blinds.
“Should I call your bodyguard?” Nadia asked with genuine concern.
