Lucy started to protest but let it go.

Once the server left, Ryan stared at Lucy. “Did you know I grew up here?”

Lucy nodded.

“Not with a water view.” His smile was thin, strained. “But I have one now. The Marina District would suit you too, Lucy, I can tell.”

Another gentle nod as Lucy’s mind spun, trying to figure out how to transition the conversation toward her Stanford recommendation.

“Getting there,” Ryan added, “getting Lit to be on the tip of everyone’s tongue, will require sacrifices. Offerings to the tech gods—otherwise known as VCs.” He laughed. “Yours are your teammates. Complete the program, have your Demo Day together, but when it comes to business—our business—Pulse-Lit only has room for two pretty faces on its founder’s page. Yours and mine.” He lifted his glass, and Lucy knew he was waiting for her to do the same. She did. “It’s not the journey, Lucy, it’s the destination. Know your endgame and do whatever it takes to get there. That’s how I’m here. Surrounded by water views.”

He clinked his glass against hers. “To the endgame.”

She raised her champagne to her lips. When Ryan tipped his back, downing more than half in one swallow, she poured some of hers into her water glass.

With the moonlight sparkling on the Pacific, the Bay Bridge soaring above them, the restaurant full of servers waiting to please and customers whispering in awe, this should be the best night of her life. It wasn’t. Because she was here with Ryan Thompson.

And Ryan Thompson was an ass.

*   *   *

When the ninth and final course was cleared, Lucy stood.

“We should get going.” Not wanting to come across as rude, she added, “Thank you, this was amazing, truly.” Less so was hearing all about the computer Ryan built himself when he was—supposedly—five; listening to the tale of his first unrequited love who he’d sent a dozen black roses to when Pulse went public; and sitting through the call where he scolded the curator for bringing art pieces under a hundred thousand dollars to his home. “But Delia and Maddie are waiting for me.”

Lines etched into his brow at the mention of her teammates, and Lucy silently cursed herself. She still hadn’t found a Stanford opening, and this wasn’t going to help.

She grabbed her notebook off the table, slung her purse over her shoulder, and plastered on a fake smile. “We have the whole car ride together, though.” The whole, hour-long car ride. Awesome. But this was business. Business didn’t care if Ryan Thompson was an ass. Neither did Stanford.

“Maybe we can get back to your ideas for getting Lit off the ground?” she said.

“Focused on the endgame. I like it.”