Page 41 of Billionaire Grump
“Leah,” says Alexander, “meet Ivy. Ivy, this is Leah, the blushing bride. And Blake, her lucky groom.”
Blake shakes Alexander’s hand and pats him on the back. “Ivy, it’s a pleasure.”
“Nice to meet you both.”
Leah glances at our hands, noticing how Alexander’s is still tightly clasped around mine. “Blake and I have been dying to know who this mystery date is! Anyone who can make Alexander late for anything must mean it’s serious,” she laughs. “We’re so glad you’re here.”
She seems nice, and I internally breathe a sigh of relief. But then she gasps. “Wait a minute. You’re Ivy Laine!”
Shit. “Um…yes.”
Alexander catches my eye.
Damn it, my cover is already blown.
“What? Oh my god! Alexander, you never told me you’re dating Ivy Laine!”
“So it would seem,” Alexander murmurs.
Leah is overcome. “I am such a huge fan. I’ve been listening to your newest album on repeat for months.”
“Can confirm,” says Blake.
“I absolutely love your music,” Leah gushes. “That song called Dreaming of You, oh my god, it just hits me where I live every single time. You’re so talented.”
“Thank you so much.” It’s always nice to hear.
Alexander is watching me slyly. I should have known this would happen. It’s getting harder for me to go out in public without someone recognizing me.
Leah chides him. “Alexander, I can’t believe you didn’t tell us you’re dating Ivy Laine! How did you two meet? How long have you been dating?”
I answer without missing a beat. “We met at a party in the Sky Bar at Invested Enterprises. My best friend Cleo works there and Alexander’s brothers, of course, own the company. We started talking and we just sort of clicked. I guess it was around two months ago, wasn’t it, honey?”
His eyes are blue with intensity. “Yes, sweetie, it’s been exactly two months.”
“Alexander, you sly dog, keeping this from me for two whole months!”
“I knew you’d demand to come over and meet her,” Alexander replies smoothly. “And we’ve been busy.”
“Doing what?” asks another woman sharply, who’s just joined our circle.
I guess immediately that she’s the infamous ex. She has a dark brown bob and she’s wearing statement tortoise-shell glasses. She’s slim, with impeccable posture. She’s carrying an iPad and is dressed in a beige linen jumpsuit with a beige belt and beige shoes. Her look is very…beige. She’s beautiful, in a severe, in-control, one-too-many-fillers, Hamptons kind of way, but my first impression is that she’s just...completely wrong for him.
Alexander immediately tenses. His expression changes, to the grouchy glower I recognize from the photo I saw online of the two of them. He’s suddenly morphed into the the grumpy workaholic Cleo described, and I find myself missing…him. The softer, playful version of his personality that shone through when we were alone together.
“This must be the highly-anticipated plus one,” the woman says, her voice full of authority and self-importance, but with an edge. There’s a longing behind her expression that’s hard to miss. It’s easy to see she’s still pining for Alexander.
“Margot, this is Ivy J—Laine,” Alexander quickly corrects himself. “Ivy, meet Margot Russo, the wedding planner.”
Margot scowls at the job title, like she would have preferred being introduced as The One That Got Away.
All the humor in him is suddenly, completely gone and I remember what Cleo told me, about how Alexander’s brothers were discussing how miserable he’s been lately. It was one of the reasons I agreed to do this fake date in the first place.
Margot’s checking out my outfit, my hair, the fit of my dress. My tattoos. I’m here to play a role and this is my moment. But I also want to ease the obvious tension that’s now radiating off Alexander. I slide my arm around his waist under his jacket, like it’s second nature. His body is unbelievably hard and so warm I instinctively lean in. “Alexander was telling me how in-demand you are. And how you’re the most sought-after wedding planner in New York.”
“Oh.” She wasn’t expecting me to compliment her. She watches as Alexander wraps his arm around me, pulling me closer, playing his role perfectly.
God, he smells good. That woodsmoke and whiskey spice. So incredibly masculine.