Falling for My Poor Billionaire

Veridian City. The Belmont Hotel.

It was nine o'clock at night, and the VIP hall on the third floor was currently hosting a lavish birthday party. Unlike the blindingly bright, ostentatious lobby downstairs, the lighting in the inner hall was deliberately dimmed. It was a moody, intoxicating mix of deep shadows and warm amber, washing over the velvet carpets and the ornate, textured walls. Paired with the low, smooth hum of a live jazz band, the party was practically oozing atmosphere.

"Ru, word on the street is you went on a blind date?"

The spicy burn of vintage red wine hit the back of Ruth Keen’s throat. She coughed, barely managing to keep herself from choking on the mouthful she’d just taken.

How the hell did news travel that fast?

"You're dangerously well-informed for a birthday girl," Ruth said, swallowing the wine with lingering dread. she shot Anne Clark a sideways glance. "I literally did this out of the country, and you already know?"

"Oh, please. My brother knows the guy. He came over today, brought you up, and I just happened to overhear." Anne’s eyes widened, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial, highly excited whisper. "You aren't denying it! So it's true?"

It was true. A few days ago, Ruth had technically endured her first-ever blind date.

And it had been a colossal failure.

To be fair, it wasn't voluntary. She was just playing the good daughter, humoring her elders by grabbing dinner and meeting a guy. But if it walks like a duck and talks like a duck... it was a blind date.

"So? How was it? Any sparks? Did you click?" Anne fired off the questions like a machine gun, before adding, "Because let me tell you, he was singing your praises to my brother."

Tyler Cosmo, the trust fund kid in question, was tight with Anne's brother. They were the kind of friends who shared everything. At first, Tyler’s praise had been pretty standard, but apparently, he’d gotten a little drunk on the memory of her and ended up talking about her like she was some descending goddess. It was borderline unhinged.

Ruth tilted her head slightly, her expression thoughtful as she tried to find the polite words.

She had a small face with features that struck a devastating balance between pure and seductive. Her off-the-shoulder gown put her swan-like neck and delicate collarbones on full display. As she held her wine glass, her slender wrist and porcelain skin contrasted sharply with the dark red liquid. The entire visual was effortlessly, lethally captivating.

Anne had known her for a decade and always knew she was gorgeous, but three years abroad had somehow evolved Ruth’s beauty to an entirely new level.

No wonder the Cosmo heir lost his damn mind, Anne thought, staring at the flawless face in front of her.

After a few seconds, the goddess finally spoke, answering the questions in strict order: "No sparks. Didn't click. Not my type."

Anne rolled her eyes so hard she practically saw her own brain.

"Not your type. Again."

It was always that exact same line!

They’d been friends since middle school. Back in high school, Ruth was affectionately known as the "Lawn Mower"—because she effortlessly mowed down every "grass" who tried to ask her out. Class idols, sports captains, school heartthrobs; she harvested them all.

And her reason for rejecting that endless parade of gorgeous men was always exactly the same.

No sparks. Didn't click.
Translation: Not hot enough to date.

As her best friend of ten years, Anne knew the cold, hard truth. Ruth Keen might look like a fairy-tale fairy, but deep down, she was an absolute, unapologetic face-worshipper.

If she saw a beautiful woman, she would obsess over her aesthetics all day. But when it came to men? Her standards were viciously, impossibly high.

"You spent all these years at Harvard," Anne sighed. "If the foreign guys didn't do it for you, fine. But there are so many gorgeous trust fund kids back home, and none of them do it for you?"

It was tragic, really. A lifelong VIP member of the superficial club who just couldn't find a face she wanted to worship.

Anne softened her tone, dropping the teasing. "Honestly, the guy who meets your standards probably hasn't even been born yet. Just be patient, Ru. Wait for him."

Ruth smoothly picked up the thread. "Right. And then what?"

"Huh?" Anne blinked. "What do you mean, 'then what'?"

Ruth drawled her words, slow and lazy. "I wait for him to grow up... and I'll be a cougar by the time he's legal."

"..." Anne stared at her. "Ah?"

Ruth didn't miss a beat. "So, it’ll have to be a wild one-night stand. I'll get knocked up, pull a secret baby trope, and flee the country."

What the fuck kind of campy dumpster fire poetry is this? Why did it even rhyme?

Anne looked at her like she’d completely lost her mind. "Did Harvard teach you to write trashy soap operas? You’re drunk. Go eat some carbs and sober up."

Ruth was, admittedly, a little buzzed. Anne’s horrified expression put her in an excellent mood, and she couldn't stop laughing.

She stayed and drank with the birthday girl for a bit longer, but she quickly noticed the shifting atmosphere. More and more people wanted to come up and schmooze with Anne, but they were intimidated by the stunning, unfamiliar woman sitting next to her. They just kept casting lingering, hesitant glances their way.

Their stares practically screamed: Are you done monopolizing her yet? It's our turn!

Receiving that same look over and over got boring fast.

Ruth set her empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray. "I’m out, babe," she said. "Jet lag from yesterday is still kicking my ass, and I’ve got an errand to run tomorrow. We’ll hang out properly another time."

"Alright, get some rest." Anne paused, her brow furrowing. "Wait, you've been back in the country for like twelve hours. What kind of errand do you have tomorrow?"

Ruth hesitated. But considering this would be a highly public project in the very near future, there was no point in hiding it.

She brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear and said it as casually as if she were picking up groceries.

"I have to go donate a building to Cal U."

Anne nearly choked on her wine.