Page 16 of The Billionaire's Rival (Bad Boy Billionaires)

Worth considered that for a moment. “Alright, but you’re on notice.”

“What?”

“If you keep letting him get to you, we’re going to have an intervention.”

I rolled my eyes. “I can handle myself.”

He didn’t look the least bit convinced, and honestly, I wasn’t either.

After brunch, I tried to get Worth to tell his driver to drop me off at the office, but he insisted I go home and relax. “Do you want Miles asking questions about why you came in if you’re sick?”

“Having food poisoning isn’t the same as having a virus. I’ll just say I feel better.”

Worth shook his head. “Go home and get yourself together.”

“Damn. I never thought you’d be the one saying that to me.”

He chuckled. “I have to say I’m enjoying it.”

8

JAY

Istartled awake from a dream. It felt so real that I reached out my arm and felt the bed next to me to make sure Ford wasn’t there. When I was sure I was alone, I lay there, staring at the ceiling as my head pounded. I tried to banish the dream from my mind, but it was too potent.

I’d really fucked up last night. I’d meant to flirt a little with Ford, set the groundwork for convincing him it would be better to settle out of court, maybe buy him a few drinks.

Nothing had worked like I’d planned.

He’d refused to budge at all, saying his client—aka his best friend—would never agree to a settlement unless my client met all his demands. If my client was going to agree to that, she would have given in before Montgomery officially filed his suit.

Once it was clear Ford wasn’t going to negotiate with me—yet—I should have left. Instead, I’d ordered us a bottle of whiskey, and we’d talked about everything but the case. It was the best damn night I’d had in months, maybe longer.

Why did Ford have to be so fucking charming?

Remember, he was drunk.

Not at first.

I’d kept pouring for him, telling myself I wanted to get him drunk so he would spill some secrets. But really, I just hadn’t wanted him to leave. I never talked to anyone who was just a friend, not that Ford was my friend, no matter what I’d said to him. I only talked to people about work or had just enough conversation to get down to fucking, except for when I talked to my Gran, my sister, and a man who hated me. How pathetic was that?

You haven’t done a damn thing to make him like you.

I don’t really like him either. I just…need him to lose this case.

You’re just lonely and apparently bisexual.

No that’s not…even if I want to be friends with him, I don’t want….

To fuck him? To hold him down and shove your dick inside him? To make him beg?

No! I’d love to force him to admit I was as good as he was at more than tennis—not that he even admitted to that—but I don’t want to sleep with him.

A flash hit me from my dream: Ford, his body pinned against my car like it had been against the cab last night. His lips soft under mine, the stubble on his face scratching me as I kissed him. His dick hard against my stomach as I ground into him, making him groan. “More, Jay, I need more.”

Fuck. I was sweating, my hands were shaking. It was just a dream. It wasn’t real.

That was when I realized my boxers were stuck to me and the bed under me was wet. What the hell? I’d had a fucking wet dream for the first time in a decade, and it was about a man.

---