My Grumpy Billionaire

Chapter Fourteen

Sierra

I wonder if Rachel was okay after that horrible son of hers dragged her away.

It’s been a few days since Ted’s birthday bash, but that poor woman keeps popping into my head. Maybe because she seemed so fragile…and probably because of the way her son treated her. He sure looked good, with that chiseled jaw he obviously got from his mom and a body he must’ve spent hours sculpting in the gym. But inside? He’s rotten. He could’ve sat and listened to his mother with me, made her feel understood and appreciated.

Instead, he dragged her away like she was an embarrassment he didn’t want anybody to see. Like a huge red zit in the center of his otherwise pristine chin.

But he has no idea how lucky he is. If I still had my mom, I’d spend as much time with her as possible.

I’ll bet the Midnight God treats his mother better. A man that protective—and awesome enough to jump to a stranger’s defense—is maybe the pinnacle of good behavior. A true gentleman in public, an amazing sex deity in bed—the epitome of chivalry in my book.

I’ve been thinking about the Midnight God a lot. Actually, it’s more like an obsession. I go over what we did together. The crazy orgasms I experienced with him.

I always thought romance novels lied about how great the orgasms were in the sex scenes, the idea being to talk up the hero’s virility and prowess in bed. But maybe romance novelists have their own Midnight Gods in their bedrooms, and they’re just writing from life experience.

Because that one-night stand? It’s been filling my head with more ideas for our next product line than I know what to do with. I’ve spent the last two weeks sorting them out so I don’t sound like a disorganized babbler when I present them. Now that I’m done categorizing and refining the ideas, I’m finally ready to talk to my new product development team lead.

Carrying a big mug of fresh coffee, I step into the conference room four doors down from my corner office. It’s large enough to accommodate twenty attendees. Grandma, who founded the company, liked functional, contemporary comfort, and the interior is mostly natural wood, with colorful ergonomic Embody chairs around a rectangular oak table. There’s also a huge window that overlooks the verdant woods that surround the headquarters.

Ellie is waiting inside, her long fingernails tapping on her tablet. Since Silicone Dream doesn’t have a dress code, she opts for the comfiest outfits in her closet. Today she’s in a teal shirt, black Nike tights and a pair of purple Converse. She has, of course, also thrown on a white lab coat that she loves to wear just for the hell of it. But then, everyone in new product development and R&D has their own quirks, and Ellie’s is pretty benign, considering. A guy who quit last month to move to Seattle with his wife when she got a job with Amazon preferred to walk around topless—or at least expose his chest, which had more hair than a mink dipped in Rogaine. He said covering it made it too itchy.

“You look good,” Ellie says with a grin.

“Thanks.” I take a seat opposite hers. “I wanted to…you know. Try something fun.” Like wearing a pastel-pink sleeveless dress and matching pumps to work. While I was married, I refrained from putting on the clothes that I preferred. I went for more of a conservative banker look—lots of navy and black, business suits with actual jackets. Todd was already unhappy about what Silicone Dream does, and my dressing like the CEO of a financial institution lessened his embarrassment about my job.

But hopefully all of his complaints are in the past. He pestered me incessantly during the entire divorce proceeding—and after—about getting back together, but since he got his face kicked in New Orleans, I haven’t heard from him.

“Did you throw out all your boring outfits?” Ellie asks. Her eyes are narrowed and gleaming with petty hatred for my ex. She called him “that dickhead” while we were married. She calls him “that fucker” now.

“Basically. Took a while, though. It’s amazing how much crap you end up accumulating.”

Ellie snorts. “Especially when somebody’s forcing you to buy shit you don’t need.” She leans forward. “Anyway, let’s talk work. You have some ideas for the new line?”

“Yes!” That one syllable bubbles with more enthusiasm than I’ve felt in months. “I want to call it ‘Midnight God.’”

Her well-shaped eyebrows rise, twinkles in her wide eyes. “So he was really that good, huh?”

Thinking back on our interaction makes the flesh between my legs tingle. “Yeah. But more to the point, it’s a great name.”

“Is he going to know it refers to him? He might get weird about it.”

“I don’t think so. We didn’t use nicknames. It was just… We had this zing. A real connection, you know?”

“So when you came, did you scream out ‘Oh, yes! Yes, hot dude!’?”

I laugh. “I don’t usually say much when I come.”

“But you said he gave you the best orgasms of your life.”

“He did, but…” I shrug. “It was just a hot, anonymous sexy time.” A memory I cherish. I force myself to switch gears. “Okay, we’re here to work, not have another postmortem about my one-night stand.” I tap my legal pad. “This line needs to be premium. Every product should look and feel top-of-the-line luxurious.”

Ellie’s eyes narrow, a sure sign she’s lost in thought—and designs. “I wish you’d taken a cast of the Midnight God’s amazing premium penis,” she muses.

I laugh, twirling my pen. “Yeah, I can just picture how that’d go.” Hey, could you just hold still for a moment while this cast fully dries? Oh, and you have to stay super erect while you’re at it.

Of course, I’d have to do something to keep the excitement level up for him. Hmm… Soo many interesting possibilities…