My Grumpy Billionaire

Chapter Thirty-One

Griffin

By the time I get to Sierra’s place, it’s a little after six. Her red Ferrari is in the driveway, so maybe she’s decided to quit ignoring me. Or at least come home at a normal hour.

When I unlock and open the door, I’m hit with the scent of tomato sauce and basil from the kitchen and a fancy riff from Axelrod’s new album. Killian Axelrod starts singing, and a wail that sounds like a dying coyote joins him.

I almost drop my laptop bag. I blink, then openly stare as Sierra screeches the lyrics. She’s gloriously joyful. Her head is swinging, her body is twisting and moving and she raises her hand and points like she’s on the stage and millions of fans are screaming her name.

Unfortunately, she’s completely off-key. She can’t manage any of the high notes, but apparently can’t quite figure out how to substitute lower ones that might be okay instead. Tendons stand out in her neck as she throws her head back and yells out the final lines.

I stand there until the song ends. “Wow.”

She turns to me, her face flushed pink with exhilaration. “Welcome home! Is that a great song or what?”

“Yes, a great song.” I open my mouth again. Would’ve been better without you suddenly gets stuck in my throat.

It’s that damn smile of hers, the sparkle in her eyes. If I say what comes naturally, it’ll snuff out the joyous light in her gorgeous purple gaze. That certainty makes me choke back my words, which is highly atypical. I generally don’t care too much whose feelings I hurt, unless it’s going to make it more difficult to get some desired result.

Telling Sierra the truth about how horrific her singing voice is won’t cause any personal problems for me. But I still can’t do it.

“Who does it hurt but me?” I mutter to myself. I’m the only one listening. Hopefully, Bullet and G-Spot are tone-deaf.

“Axelrod is amazing. I’m so mad I missed their tour this year. I’ve never missed one before,” Sierra says, checking the oven.

I put my laptop bag on one of the dining room chairs. “So what happened this time?”

“Oh, you know… Got distracted with the divorce, and then by the time I remembered to check, everything around here was sold out.” She shrugs. “Now they’re off touring Asia or something, so it just isn’t going to happen. But I won’t miss next time.”

Axelrod starts a new song. Before Sierra can join in, I ask, “What’s for dinner?”

“Lasagna. I picked some up from the store.”

“So you aren’t avoiding me today.”

She purses her lips, her cheeks growing pinker. “I wasn’t avoiding you. I was just trying to get used to the idea of having a fake boyfriend. Then I realized I was being rude. You’re doing me a favor by keeping Todd away, so the least I can do is be a cooperative fake girlfriend in return.” She empties two bags of store-bought salad into a bowl and places it on the table, head bobbing to the beat of the music. “And I can do a lot of my work at home instead of at the office.”

“I got the data from Silicone Dream,” I say. Have to keep her talking. She sounds amazing when she isn’t singing.

“Great! I asked Heather to put it together. Your students can come by maybe one more time later in the semester to show us their work if you want.”

“I’ll make it an extra credit for the final.” That’ll make my students take the assignment more seriously, especially since so many of them did poorly on the midterm.

The timer on the oven dings. She takes out the lasagna and garlic bread and puts both on the table.

My shoulders sag with relief—you can’t eat and sing at the same time. But best to make sure. “What are you working on that you have to bring work home?”

“It’s the new line we’re designing.” She smiles animatedly, her eyes bright.

“You have different lines of toys?”

“Yup. Contrary to what people think, there’s more to our products than just dildos.”

Someone else might choke at this casual dinnertime admission. But I grew up around wild, out-of-control celebs with zero shame and decorum.

Sierra eyes me, judging my reaction. “We have to do research, product design, features and material selection…lots of stuff.”

She’s getting the same sparkle she did earlier when she was singing. Hoping that she’s better at making sex toys than carrying a tune, I say, “Why can’t you continue to sell what you have? Don’t you have some core products like Coca-Cola has Coke Classic?”