“We met two weeks ago,” he said.
“Actually, we didn’t,” EJ corrected. There was no reason to let this man think he could have his way. “I don’t even know your name.” Well, she hadn’t then, anyway.
His eyes flashed, like he’d never had someone not recognise him, like her attitude was provoking him to try a little harder. Which might be to her detriment. Or maybe not, judging from the way his gaze flicked down her ensemble then straight back up again, lingering on her face.
“Eric, this is EJ Bennett,” Gwen said. “EJ, this is Eric Churchill.”
EJ knew she had to shake his hand, to prove she wasn’t intimidated by this man, even though everything about him seemed a little prowly and unsettling. But that was only because she’d never before met anyone who was uber-rich before. Someone who had—by all accounts—partied with Saudi princes and the like. Who had just completed a media deal of his own that apparently had left certain Asian countries a little miffed.
She retrieved her hand and stretched it out, and he eyed it then her, a discomfiting smirk on his face as he paused. This was a power game, she realised, so she quickly withdrew her hand, took a step back, and shrugged. “Well, nice to meet you.”
His eyes widened a fraction, but she wasn’t going to play. Jordan was right. There was something unsettling about the man.
She turned to Gwen, who was watching the interplay with her own look of amusement. “Thanks, Gwen. I hope you had a good day today. What did you get up to?”
Who cared if asking that made her sound like a small-town hick? She didn’t want this man’s rudeness infecting her own manners.
“EJ?” he finally drawled.
She glanced back, affecting disinterest, with that raised-eyebrow look that Lionel had always objected to. “Emma-Jane. But I prefer EJ.” Especially when dealing with those tech heavyweights who preferred dealing with a man and didn’t realise that EJ was female.
“EJ.” He held out his hand and finally smiled, properly this time, and her stomach swooped. She didn’t have an excuse not to shake his hand, and she knew she had to now; otherwise, she’d be accused of being rude. But it felt like round one of this power play had gone to him, something she was sure he was used to. And something that made her determined not to let him win again.
In some ways, the super-rich seemed to possess powers not unlike a superhero. One look and people came running. Or scattered. Or were drawn like a magnet into their orbit.
EJ had a front-row seat to this over the next two hours as Eric Churchill displayed all his powers to full effect while the yacht completed a circuit of Sydney Harbour. Part of her wanted to be the girl who oohed and aahed and took photos of the amazing views of the city skyscrapers illuminated in the night. Another part—the part she was trying to listen to more these days—knew that if she displayed her small-town roots, she’d never get taken seriously. So she adopted the same sophisticated persona as the others here, chatting about things she pretended to know about while nursing a glass of champagne she didn’t want to drink. She needed a clear head to remember all the conversations, to makethe most of the connections today. To try and figure out the enigma that was Eric Churchill.
She lingered near the buffet cart, with its sliced exotic fruits and little plates of caviar-dusted croquettes. She’d never liked caviar—it tasted like dirt to her—but had stuffed in a few at Gwen’s insistence. But pretending to eat and drink allowed her to watch what was going on, which was fascinating.
Eric was the sun around which all the other party guests revolved. Even tonight’s hosts—a cricketing sporting star and his influencer wife who were promoting a brand of gin—weren’t as popular. Every so often, Eric would glance at her and she’d fight the temptation to glance away. Nobody liked being busted for looking by the instant look-away. That was weak. And while she wasn’t sure about the wisdom of studying a man who seemed far too sure of himself, she thought he was an interesting case.
She wondered what Eric would fill out in the Dream Match questionnaire. What qualities he’d look for in a girlfriend. He must be single, right? The Google hunting she’d done since Harriet’s call had indicated that he’d broken up with his latest girlfriend, a Brazilian model named Allessandra, who was as blonde and tanned and thin yet disproportionately curvy as EJ was not. It was easy to see why Allessandra had attracted him, and all the women before. Eric clearly had a type. One didn’t need to be a professional matchmaker to know that. But still, people could change, and there had to be more to the man than what the headlines screeched, something she was determined to find out. Studying relationships, why people were attracted to others, was what her business was about, after all.
She had completed a few psychology courses over the years, and the knowledge had proved really useful to help hone their questions, to help clarify the real things people wanted to know. It was why she had agreed with Jordan’s suggestion that the app didn’t allow for people’s pictures to be revealed until peopleactually read their profiles and made the first move by indicating interest in wanting to chat. He’d always said—and she agreed—that it was more important for people to get to know each other, not to be blinded by their looks. And while others might argue and say there needed to be a spark of physical attraction for anything to ignite, time and a close study of relationships had shown that it was far more important for people to find those things in common that would last even after looks faded.
That was part of what made Dream Match different from the other dating apps out there. That, plus Jordan’s insistence that it be focused on Christian singles. And that women should have the right to swipe first. And their filtering system, which required that users had a professional social networking account like LinkedIn, to help prevent creepy dudes from clogging women’s attention. “We don’t want women being harassed by red flag–type guys,” he’d said. Her heart softened. Jordan had always been thoughtful and protective that way.
“Emma Bennett, right?”
Emma? While she normally didn’t appreciate someone forgetting half her name, she couldn’t afford to tick off anyone in this crowd. She turned to see another man whom Gwen had introduced her to last week. What was his name? Oh, now she remembered. “Neil Elton, right?” she gently teased.
He grinned, then introduced the handsome man he was with. Jason Willoughby wore a look of assurance not unlike Eric’s. Like he was used to being recognised and valued, simply for existing. “And what is it you do?” she asked him.
“I’m in investments.”
Hmm. She didn’t like to judge, but it seemed like Jordan’s red flags were flapping. There was something about Jason she didn’t trust. He looked at her, but his gaze kept flicking away, like he was looking for someone more interesting. Which so wasn’tgood for a girl’s ego. She wondered what kind of investments he was involved with, then put that to him.
He shrugged. “A bit of this and a bit of that. And you?” he asked quickly, as if eager to change the subject.
“I—”
“Let me see if I can remember this correctly,” Neil interrupted, smiling at her like he thought she might appreciate being spoken over. “Emma is the owner of Dream Match, right?”
“Dream Match?” Jason asked.
“It’s a—”
“Dating app,” Neil supplied. “Very successful.”
