Page 27 of Her New Billionaire Bosshole

“Green,” I say, and she laughs.

“I wasn’t…” She stops, considers, then says. “Mine is blue. Well, then you should also know that I have a sister.”

“Is she also a soccer superstar?”

“No, she’s a journalism superstar.”

“So, what’s the nextstandardquestion, then?”

Sophie thinks, and I wonder why I care so much about this — specifically about hearing her answers. For a second, I think of the Australian girl from London — Abigail, was it? — and realize we never did anything like this.

“So you did horseback riding,” she says, settling her chin on her hands. “What other sports?”

“Tennis, mostly,” I say. “Though I did play rugby for a few years.”

She nods, like that makes sense, and I swear her eyes flit to the table, and if she could look through it she’d be staring at my legs.

We go on like that for the next hour or so, trading standard questions and learning the answers. I learn that she did ballet and soccer as a kid, and eventually had to choose one or the other. That explains her highlight clips, the way she moved in them.

She learns that my dad used to take me to the park when I was a kid, tell me to watch the different people, learn as much as I could about them. That observation would be the most useful skill for me when I was older.

I learn that she had a college boyfriend who cheated on her, but she didn’t care that much because soccer was her one true love. That, for some reason, actually manages to make me jealous.

Then, I tell her that I haven’t spoken to Brandon in over a year.

She gasps, bringing her hand to her chin. “Ayear? What did he do?”

The question is confusing, and I realize it’s because she thinks he must have done something horrible for me to cut him off like that. I run my hand over the back of my neck.

“Well… nothing, really. We just don’t see eye-to-eye on things. Guess our paths just diverged, and we’re living different lives. He doesn’t really talk to our dad, either.”

“I can’t imagine it,” Sophie says, shaking her head so a loose blond tendril rolls over her forehead. “Olivia and I talk at least once a week. She’s the first person I think to call when something happens — she’s my best friend.”

It twists at something in my chest, and I push it away. It’s not like I hate my brother. It just makes things easier with Dad to go along with his plan. Besides, Brandon divesting all this moneyisa wild move.

“I guess if I had to point at something, it’s the fact that Brandon is divesting. Dad hates it, says he’s getting rid of decades of hard work.”

Sophie squints. “Divesting?”

“Yeah.” I shift, realize this isn’t something most people understand — most people aren’t born into families like mine. “So, when Brandon and I were born, we both had these trusts. Then our grandparents passed away, and our grandfather specifically left his money to us, skipping over our father. I’ve used my money for business, stuff like buying this team, investing. Brandon is choosing to give his away.”

“Hmm,” Sophie says, then a smile curls at her lips. “You really arerichrich, aren’t you?”

“Sophie Kendall,” I tease, leaning back in my chair. “Have you not searched me up?”

She raises her eyebrows, “No, why? Did you internet stalk me?”

Usually, in situations like this, I’m the one keeping my date on their toes, teasing them and backing them to a corner. Just like on the plane.

But right now, Sophie has me on my heels. Because yes, of course I internet stalked her — first, the preliminary time, just briefly glancing over her details. Then, later, after our first encounter, I spent time on it. Watched her games, scrolledthrough her social media, reviewed her stats from her short-lived soccer career.

And then, when I came to the articles about her injury, I just couldn’t bring myself to read them. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t see the titles, all some variation of:Sophie Kendall suffers career-ending blow during championship game.

“Wow.” She sits back and crosses her arms, looking me up and down. “Youdidsearch me up. That is so embarrassing for you.”

“I think you’re lying,” I say, leaning forward. “I think you definitely did some digging on me.”

Her cheeks turn pink and I want to put a name to that color, figure out what it is and see it all the time.