My Grumpy Billionaire

Chapter Five

Sierra

“Holy shit,” I breathe as I step into the masquerade party. I’ve never been to one that didn’t take place on Halloween, but apparently in New Orleans it’s an everyday thing.

I look around, taking in the vibrant scene. I’ve been to expensive homes before, but this one is…

Well, it’s something.

Most mansions in SoCal are fairly new, slick and shiny monuments showcasing modern sensibilities and wealth. Every inch drips with the money their owners are dying to flaunt, so everyone can see that somebody very important, very successful and very rich lives there.

Not this place.

It’s oddly understated, with a décor that reminds me of old European palaces. Sedate, but no less expensive and important. It’s the kind of place kings and queens from the Renaissance might’ve felt at home. What it lacks in modern gloss, it makes up for with class.

I love it.

I wish Ellie were here, because she’d get a kick out of the place. But that darn airline! How can they be so unreliable?

Since there’s nothing I can do about the fact that she’s stuck in St. Louis right now, I take several pictures to send her. I also snap a selfie next to a huge suit of armor in an alcove. It’s super cool.

I preview the picture to make sure it’s good. The armor really adds to the photo. I look mysterious in my pearlescent white mask, with its tiny feathers and cubic zirconia around the edges. In the left-hand corner are the small embossed letters SF—my initials. The dress I picked for the masquerade is pink, with spaghetti straps and a skirt that stops at mid-thigh, showing off my legs. My wig is long, wavy and purple. I seriously adore how the colors go together for me.

I send the photos to Ellie, then take a look around. The lube display should be here somewhere. Saori told me over a month ago that the organizers of the party requested Silicone Dream send them some of our lubes to give away. Marketing sent an entire display for them with samples of our chocolate-flavored lube in penis-shaped bottles.

Which was smart.

Silicone Dream makes the best adult products. The kind that are more reliable than your significant other, and I do speak from experience. I’m confident that if people try our catalogue even once, they’ll become fanatical customers for life.

But even after weaving through the crowd in several rooms, I don’t see our samples anywhere. Darn it. The organizers better not have hoarded them for themselves! It’s a problem when your products are too good, and we do have a blacklist of hoarders.

Finally, I spot a bar and march toward it. People thirsting for alcohol mill around. There are three bartenders; I wait until the one closest to me gets a moment, then slip her a ten.

“Have you seen the lube display?” She might’ve noticed it earlier when the staff came to set things up. It’s disappointing that the organizers didn’t put our stuff next to a bar. Once you have the right packaging and hook, getting as many eyeballs as possible is the name of the game.

She looks confused for a moment. “Oh, you mean the little chocolate dicks? Over there.” She lifts an arm covered with a thorny rose and points at a room behind me.

“Great, thanks. Love the tat.”

“Thanks.” She smiles. “Something to drink? It’s on the house.”

Right. The eccentric billionaire—or his minions—who organized this party made everything free and plentiful. Most of the complimentary stuff is probably provided by companies like Silicone Dream.

I think for a second. Shedding Todd from my life definitely deserves a flute of Dom, but I should save that particular toast for later with Ellie. “How about a dirty martini?”

“Not a problem.” The bartender goes into action, mixing the drink and then handing it to me.

I give her another ten and take the glass. As I sip the martini, vodka with a tinge of sweetness from vermouth burns a fiery trail from my mouth to my gut. The drink leaves a refreshing aftertaste. Strong and reinvigorating. It’s probably the best martini I’ve ever had.

Must be the city. People in New Orleans drink like bosses and party like bosses. Just look at this place. Upbeat music’s in the air, and the masked guests are dancing and laughing. A couple I pass by starts kissing, somehow moving toward a wall without hitting anybody in the process, even though their eyes are closed.

Like bosses.

It makes me think. Maybe if I hang around long enough, I might get some inspiration for the new product line. The morning meeting was a bust. The ideas weren’t bad…but they didn’t make me jump with excitement, either.

I need an idea that puts fire in my blood. Something that will keep me up at night with feverish enthusiasm. Because if I’m not excited by a product, I can’t sell it. Silicone Dream’s customers deserve the very best the company has to give.

But first, I’m going to do what Saori wanted. I walk into the room the bartender indicated and immediately see the display to my left. A giant board with our lube is set up on a table next to the buffet. The dick-shaped mini-bottles are stacked delicately like a tower of happy time.