Page 35 of Billionaire Grump

Not people. Just her.

Whatever.

I knock on the window, signaling to the pilot. I’m not waiting any longer.

I’ll just have to cowboy the fuck up and tell Margot she can fuck off. Again.

What the hell was I even thinking? Noah and Cleo of all people somehow managed to talk me into something I would never usually consider.

All because of this photograph. Which is probably A.I.-generated anyway.

Still, I still can’t quite bring myself to delete it.

Damn it.

I shove my phone back into my pocket and take one more look at my watch.

5:16.

The helicopter blades start to slowly spin and I’m about to open the door and climb in when I notice movement out of the corner of my eye.

The doorman has opened the door that leads to the main elevator. He’s wheeling a small bag and he holds the door open.

The girl steps through it.

Well, look who finally decided to show up.

But my annoyance fades out almost immediately as I watch her walk toward me.

Holy hell.

I might have expected cute…but not this.

Okay, so it wasn’t an A.I.-generated photograph.

In fact the photo doesn’t even come close to capturing how stunning the girl actually is.

She’s cute as fuck but also sexy in a way she doesn’t even seem to be aware of.

She’s wearing a little pink dress that barely covers the tops of her thighs. It’s low-cut but not scandalously so. The lacy top part of it looks like it has one of those built-in wonder bras because her tits—holy fuck—are just…unreal. Very faintly, I can see the outline of her nipples, which are high and so fucking sweet, my cock, which is not at all happy about my extended dry spell, thickens hotly.

Her long hair is dark but has highlights of reddish-blond at the ends. It lifts gently in the breeze that’s being kicked up by the helicopter, like she’s a supermodel on the catwalk. Her bare legs are lightly tanned, like the rest of her. Her skin is golden, glittery and so flawless it makes my chest weirdly ache. She’s wearing high-heeled sandals and her toenails are painted pink.

Jesus.

And her face.

Holy hell, her face.

She’s devastatingly, jaw-droppingly beautiful. And there’s more to it than that. Like the photograph, she has this sassy but at the same time soulful look on her face. Her expression is somehow both kind and determined. It’s hard to describe, but something about the directness of her gaze slays me.

Okay, so she’s not an airhead.

She’s an absolute knock-out is what she is.

She stands in front of me and it takes me a second to snap out of the trance I seem to be mired in. Against all odds, I’m momentarily starstruck by her blinding, over-the-top beauty.

Get it together, Maddox. What the fuck.