I snort. “I don’t know anyone that enters your orbit who’s prepared for full-spectrum Max. I can see that after only knowing you a few hours.”
She laughs. “Either way,” she goes on, “I think rich men have this uptight way about them. They live in a world I have no interest in being a part of. Even though I work in a field where I’m surrounded by them.”
Something about that lands sideways in my chest.
Maybe it’s the way she said it so casually, like money itself is a red flag. Maybe it’s because I built my life from the ground up and I’m damn proud of it. Or maybe it’s because, for her, I want to be the exception.
“Interesting,” is all I manage to say. “What exactly do you do for work that has you surrounded by men like that? I mean I know you said tech but that could be anything.”
“I work for an elite matchmaking company. They just launched a new app last year and I’ve been instrumental behind all the tech.”
“Impressive,” I say as we pull into my driveway.
Her gasp is audible.
And here we go.
“So…you’rerich.”
It’s not a question.
“I’ve made money in my endeavors, yes.”
She leans forward, eyes taking in every detail. “Beautiful home.”
“Thanks,” I say cautiously, wondering what this makes her think about me. “I designed it myself.”
It’s cold, so neither of us rushes to get out of the truck. I watch her instead—how she’s cataloging every detail of the landscape. There’s a gentleness to it at first. Then her brow creases, as if a thought clicked into place.
“Wait,” she says slowly. “What’s…what’s your last name?”
Now it’s my turn to frown. “Shaw. Why?”
She pulls out her phone, fingers moving fast, scrolling with a kind of urgency that should be reserved for teenagers who text nonstop. Then she freezes.
Shit. She’s seen it too.
“You’rethisEli Shaw?” she asks, lifting the screen toward me.
I don’t even need to look. I know exactly what she’s found. I fought that profile from start to finish—right up until the news crew showed up on my doorstep. Drake swore it was good visibility for RootHaus, especially with an important business pitch coming up. And against my better judgment, I let him have his way. But I refused the staged photoshoot and insisted they captured me in my natural element.
I groan. “Yeah. That’s me.” I run a hand over my face. “Drake—the guy you met tonight—set the whole thing up for PR. Saidit would help our positioning ahead of a big business summit we have to attend. I hated every second of it.”
“That sounds about right,” she agrees.
I let out a breath. “Yeah. But he knows what he’s doing from a marketing standpoint,” I add. “So I stay quiet, grit my teeth, and try to trust his unhinged process.”
“Well, I am actually impressed.”
I glance over at her. “Why?”
“Because we’ve been sitting in this car together this whole time and not once did you feel the need to list your assets or flex your net worth. You didn’t try to impress me.” She looks at me then, really looks. “That makes you…different.”
Something piercing cuts through me at that. The fact that she noticed. That she valued the restraint instead of the display.
And it wakes up every predatory instinct I have.
“Come on, Bear,” she says, preparing to get out of the truck. “Show me your den.”
