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“What is it, Ryder?”
“It’s . . . I . . .” God, this was so much harder than he’d thought it would be. He looked away, ran his hand through his hair.
What if she laughed? What if she was furious at him for deviating from the plan? What if—
It didn’t matter. He had to try. He hadn’t seriously wanted anything in forever. He wanted this.
He took both her hands in his and held her gaze. “Vic . . .”
* * *
Vicky searched Ryder’s eyes. What was he going to say?
It felt like a moment. It felt like this was going to be a huge moment. Was that just her?
Was he . . . Did he want . . . Was he feeling what she’d been feeling? Was that even possible? She leaned in closer. “Yes?”
“I . . .”
“Elevator’s here! Here they come!” yelled a woman near the entrance as she ducked behind a serving cart.
There was movement at the top of the stairs, and everyone yelled, “Surprise!”
But instead of Cheryl and Warren stepping down to enter the room, there was just one person.
A very sheepish-looking Davis King.
He waved to the crowd. “Sorry, everyone. I don’t think I’m who you were expecting.”
He was definitely not who Vicky had been expecting. How was he here? Why was he here?
She turned back to Ryder as if maybe somehow he would have the answers and found him staring at Davis with an unreadable expression. His jaw ticked.
She glanced back to find Davis scanning the room. His gaze fell on her, and he smiled. She must have looked confused because he held up his phone, and mouthed, “Tracking app.”
“Who is this fellow?” boomed a man’s voice. Warren and Cheryl stood on the steps behind Davis, having apparently slipped in without anyone noticing. Only to find an uninvited guest (who they clearly didn’t recognize) the focus of everyone’s attention.
Davis cleared his throat and smiled awkwardly. “I’m Ms. Ashby’s date, I hope.”
Ryder was still holding her hands. He gripped them harder now. Or maybe she was the one holding tighter.
A confused murmur spread through the crowd. People were staring. At Davis. At Ryder. At her.
Somewhere off to the side a light flashed, momentarily blinding her.
“Vic?” Ryder whispered in her ear now, his breath warm on her skin. But she couldn’t pull her attention away from the scene across the room.
Davis was here? Davis . . . wanted to be her date?
“I don’t understand,” said Cheryl, her brow knit as she looked back and forth between her son and the woman she thought was his girlfriend and this newcomer.
Vicky stood paralyzed.
And then her hands were cold. Ryder had let go.
* * *
He hadn’t asked the question, but he had his answer. His answer had arrived in a three-piece suit and shave so clean he must have had it done on the plane and was probably squeezing this in between trillion-dollar deals.
