Page 50 of Billionaire Grump

They’re both staring at me, Alexander with mild amusement, Margot with unbridled jealousy. “I sure am, sweetie,” he replies.

“Where are you going?” Margot asks tentatively, like she’s not sure she wants to know.

I’m making this up as I go. “To the South Pacific!”

“You are?” Margot sounds almost breathless.

I don’t want to be mean. I feel for her, I really do. But I can’t change the fact that Alexander wants nothing to do with her—so much that he’s willing to shell out a shitload of cash to send her that direct message.

It occurs to me that Alexander is actually being kind by staging this tedious charade. He’s genuinely trying to let her down as gently as possible. He’s told her he’s not interested. It’s not his fault she won’t take no for an answer. And I want to get it through to her, for his sake and for hers—and mine—once and for all.

“I told Alexander I’ve always wanted to go to Tahiti because I read about it online and the next thing I know he’s booked us two tickets! For two weeks in a little seaside bungalow that’s actually perched over the water, so you can dive straight in from the deck. Can you believe that? He’s so sweet.” I don’t even know if they have those huts in Tahiti—I think they do—but I smile at him, standing on my toes to kiss his lips, which are almost smiling back.

“Sweet,” Margot repeats, as though she’s unfamiliar with the word and Alexander’s name in the same sentence.

“I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve such a fabulous gift.” I beam up at Alexander lovingly. Hell, maybe I’ve missed my calling. Maybe I should go to freaking Hollywood.

“You know exactly what you’ve done to deserve it, sweetheart.” His sneering reply is sort of…absolutely filthy.

I blush—for real—and giggle coyly, pushing at his chest. “You are so bad.” To Margot, conspiratorially: “Men. They have such dirty minds, don’t they?”

“Mmhm.” Her frown is testing the limits of her Botox. Admitting defeat, at least for now, she turns to head back to the party. “Please take your seats. Dinner is about to be served.”

13

The night has become a strange kind of slow-motion torture. I’m addicted to this sweet and sassy girl on my arm who has more power over me than anyone ever has. I don’t even know how that’s possible.

I can’t analyze it tonight. All I know is that something in me has shifted and it feels monumental and out of control. I’m trying to get a handle on my new obsession, but then I watch her amber eyes catch starlight and I’m spellbound all over again.

It occurs to me that I spend most of my life surrounded by people I don’t actually like. Employees who were picked for their ability to predict the market and not at all because they’re fun to be around. Or decrepit old board members who are more ancient than my father was. Most of them are grumpier even than me. Or women who endlessly pursue me, not because they know me or because we have anything in common, but because they like the way I look and most of all they love my money.

My brothers are the only people I know whose company I genuinely enjoy, but I don’t see enough of them. Besides, that’s different. They’re family. I love them because they annoy me.

It’s so rare for me to…have fun, if that’s what this is. To smile because her laughter is so fucking cute. To feel mesmerized by the shape of her mouth as she makes up lies to convince my ex that we’re in love.

The plan was ludicrous. But it’s turning out to be my favorite mistake.

Is it possible to fall for someone this fast?

Of course it isn’t. I’ve known her for a total of three hours.

Then why do I feel so fucking unhinged? Like I could kill anyone who glances in her general direction. Not to mention that I’m hard as fuck and can’t seem to deflate. I want so badly to be alone with her so I can kiss that delectable mouth again, I’m going half insane with it.

First I have to get through an entire five-course dinner.

We’re back at our table.

Ivy’s chair is close to mine, at my insistence, and she’s talking to a woman who’s seated on her left. Ethan wisely moved to the furthest table from ours, trying it on with Samantha Bentley, a nightmarish heiress who I very briefly “dated” after Leah set us up at one of her strategic dinner parties. It might have been eighteen months ago.

I regret to say I went with it that night. I regretted it practically before it was over and I’m regretting it even more right now.

She’s not the only one at this party I’m regretting spending time with.

I’m not proud of any of it. The soul-destroying one night stands. The serial leave-before-morning-and-never-call behavior that’s accounted for 98% of all the “relationships” I’ve ever had.

I’m thankful Ivy is with me tonight for many reasons, but most of all because it actually feels good to be with her. Fake date or no fake date, it’s the first time in a long time—or ever?—that I don’t feel like I have to force it. I like her company. I’ve spent most of my time tonight enthralled by her gorgeous pixie-cute face, her full, pink lips and her golden eyes that scold me and watch me, seeing me. Reading me. Calming me with that glittery effect she has.

What happens on Sunday afternoon, when she walks away and takes all that soft, magical gorgeousness with her?