Page 39 of Billionaire Grump
The helicopter starts to descend and the estates of Southampton are dotted around the landscape below us.
I watch Ivy’s face, reflected in the glass and illuminated by the low sun, which hovers at the horizon line, painting the water with an orange glow. She’s taking in the view of the green of the trees and the manicured lawns, the stripe of the beach and the blue water of the Sound.
I’m relieved to have a minute to just stare at her beauty. Her full, pink lips barely parted, her eyes that are light gold in the sunlight.
For the first time in a long time, I allow myself to savor the moment.
The girl is a unicorn. I’ve smiled more in the past forty-five minutes than I have in the past ten years.
She’s here, she’s gorgeous and she’s mine for the entire weekend.
It takes me a few seconds to identify the emotion I’m feeling.
It’s been a long time since I’ve felt it.
Too long, is what I’m realizing.
I feel hot and spellbound and fully alive, but most of all what I fucking feel is happiness.
10
We start to descend into Southampton, giving us a better view of the grand houses surrounded by lawns so manicured, checkerboard patterns have been mowed into the neon-green grass. The wide strip of sugar-sand beach and the blue water just adds to the perfection. Who lives like this?
The scene is surreal and hyper-fantastic, like something out of a fairytale instead of real life.
Alexander doesn’t seem interested in the view. I guess he’s used to it. He’s watching me, as he’s been doing the entire trip, and a smile almost touches his lips, like he’s amused by my wide-eyed awe.
“It’s been way too long since I left the city.” I try not to stare at the little dimple that appears then disappears on his cheek. The man even has a dimple. Billionaires shouldn’t have dimples. Especially not sexy, built ones with wide shoulders and muscular arms that look like they’re testing the limits of Armani’s stitching capabilities.
It’s unfair that every single detail of him is somehow ideal. It’s easier to take in one thing at a time. The combination of all of it—the handsome face, the thick hair, the big, outrageous body—is dazzling me. It’s like staring at the sun.
“Have you traveled much?” His low, husky drawl makes me aware of a warm, light pulse in…an incredibly intimate place. Yikes.
“I’ve been to New Jersey a few times. Philadelphia. And once to Virginia.” To perform, but I don’t mention that part. “Other than that, I’ve lived most of my life within a two mile radius.”
I’ve had plenty of invitations, from all over the country. Austin. L.A. Seattle. Even London. But of course I’ve always been worried about leaving Josh for too long. I figured I’d get a chance to travel later.
Now, it feels both exciting and daunting that my life is about to change so dramatically.
In fact, it already has changed. It’s changing right now. I’m on the arm of a hot billionaire, ready to take the Hamptons by storm. Okay, maybe not by storm, but a small corner of me is excited by the newness of this weekend’s adventure.
And my personal fake-date-for-the-weekend matches the fairytale. He’s ridiculously beautiful and not at all what I was expecting.
He’s definitely grumpy, as Cleo promised, but it’s more of a hardened cynicism than actual meanness. Like he’s lived his entire life being thrown into the deep end of corporate hell and has no time to be anything but laser-focused. Which I guess comes with the territory of running your family’s four-generation multi-billion dollar empire.
“If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?” His question catches me off-guard. It’s genuine. It feels weirdly personal.
And it’s easy to answer. “Tahiti or Bora Bora or one of those places where they have those little huts that sit above the water and it’s so blue and clear it doesn’t look real. The hut has a glass floor so you can see the colorful tropical fish swimming around underneath. There’s a deck off the front of the hut and you can dive straight into the turquoise ocean that’s as warm as the air. I have a picture of one of those huts on my screensaver. I think about it all the time.”
He smiles at my description. A real smile—and wow. He reminds me of one of those mythical gods that flies down from Mount Olympus every now and then to mix with us mere mortals. “I’ll see if I can get us a couple of tickets.”
“Maybe for our next fake date,” I joke.
His five o’clock shadow seems to have darkened. His mouth is full and masculine and lightly sneering. His dark hair has that barely-there wave to it and makes me wonder what it might feel like to run my fingers through it.
He might let me, is what I’m thinking—as part of the show we’re putting on. The man is practically dripping with sex appeal.
But this is purely a business arrangement, of course. I try to ignore the fact that his closeness is having a physical effect on me. My body feels warm and flushed and reckless in a way that’s new to me.