Page 33 of Hate You More

“Fuck you.”

“Look, this is hard for me too. But I was trying to pay you a compliment. Trying to say you look like you’ve barely changed.”

“You must be very out of practice.” But as the heat of the situation dies, it leaves behind that scratchy sense of discomfort. Shame based, naturally.

He rakes a hand through his hair, then grabs the edge of the countertop behind him. “I get it, you’re not interested. The kiss was a mistake.”

“Exactly,” I retort. “There’s nothing between us but history.” My eyes flit from the way his biceps strain under the cotton of his T-shirt. I also don’t notice the veins popping in his forearms. Much. Nothing but history and chemistry.

“I’d say that’s for the best, given what I’m about to suggest.”

“Finally, you’re getting to it.”

“Yeah, my proposition. One I hope you’ll find more appealing than waiting tables.”

My expression: I doubt it.

“I want you to come work for me.”

“What?” And why do I feel oddly disappointed?

“I showed you the posts.” Another flex as his gaze dips briefly to his Ferragamo kicks. “The lift in Table’s stock is because the market is under the impression we’re together.”

“But we’re not.”

“I know that. And you know that. But right now, that narrative is worth two-point-six billion dollars.”

“That’s insane.”

“You’re telling me.”

“No, what’s insane is that this has nothing to do with me. It’s some perceived link to my dad.”

“True. Traders have assumed your father’s endorsement. The signal is that he’s backing us, that he’s about to invest.”

Rothschild, Rockefeller, Morgan, Forbes. Titans, one and all.

“But there’s no truth to it. It’s just a . . .” I wave my hand in the air as though I might pluck the right term from it. “A bubble.” Pretty sure that’s what it’s called when a stock shoots up in price for no apparent reason. “And a bubble inevitably pops.”

“Bursts.” His lips twitch, though I’ll credit him as trying not to show his amusement. “But this isn’t about the share price. Or the money.”

“That’s the kind of thing only a rich person would say.” The look he slides me is chastening. A reminder that I’m not the only one of us who knows this. “If it’s not money, then what?”

“Our regulatory risk has dropped. You’ve gotta know that’s huge.”

I don’t know a lot about the stock market, but I do know that the fintech industry is often labeled as the tech Wild West. It’s for that reason it’s often subject to more scrutiny than other ventures.

“But that’s also only temporary.” When the bubble bursts, it all bursts.

“What if it’s not—what if it holds? We draw a different kind of interest, is what. The Forbes family office sees us as a good play, and suddenly, we have the big players and legacy banks sniffing around, wanting a piece of the pie.”

“So it is about the money,” I say flatly.

“It’s not only about the money.”

“But my father isn’t going to invest. I don’t think he knows who you are.”

“He’ll know.” His expression isn’t quite a grimace yet not quite a smile. “And I bet he still doesn’t like me.”