My Grumpy Billionaire

“What?” I open the menu. Sure enough, he’s right. There doesn’t seem to be a point in studying them, since all the offerings seem to be in “courses,” which I understand are set and cannot be changed. “I’ll still have whatever you’re having. I’m pretty sure everything’s good.”

He nods and drops his menu on the table. Our server appears immediately. Griffin orders in Japanese, then the server confirms and leaves.

“Okay, so when did you learn Japanese?” I ask.

“When I was younger.”

I sigh. “Obviously. But how young?”

“Mm… Eight, maybe?” A casual shrug.

“I don’t know how you can be so blasé about something as cool as knowing Japanese. Are there any other surprises? Do you speak Chinese, too?”

His lips twist into a reluctant smile. “No. But I have some other languages.”

“Like?”

“French, German, Italian, Spanish and Portuguese.”

My jaw slackens. “I thought you were a professor of economics.”

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive.” He shrugs again. “I grew up in Europe, that’s why.”

“That is so cool. Did you live in Japan, too? Is that why you speak it?”

“No. One of my brothers likes anime, and he insisted on learning it with me.”

“You have brothers?” A mixture of envy and longing unfurls.

“Yes. Six of them.”

“Wow. Lucky you. I wish I had some siblings, but it’s just me.”

“Don’t you have a stepsister?”

“Yeah, but Felicia and I don’t really do anything together. She doesn’t consider me her family.” After trying for years in the beginning to be close, I had to give up. She resents that I have something her mother wants. She probably hates me more for not bringing her along on this trip. She won’t care that it was a surprise getaway completely arranged by Griffin. What matters is that she wasn’t invited.

“She isn’t in the family photos, is she?” Griffin says.

“You mean the pictures on the mantel in my house? No, she isn’t. Grandma refused to add Linda and Felicia to the collection.”

“No recent pictures of your father, either.” His words are slow and cautious.

“He chose Linda, so…” I shrug.

Our conversation is interrupted by our server bringing a bottle of champagne. He uncorks it expertly and pours it into two tall flutes. Tiny bubbles rise in the golden vintage.

“Cheers.” Griffin lifts his glass.

I clink with him. The champagne is good—smooth and rich, like liquid cashmere with a mixture of glazed lemon, pastry and candied ginger. It ends on a slightly salty note that is refreshing and lovely.

Or maybe it just tastes so good because of the company. It’s impossible to have a bad time when you’re with a guy who makes your belly flip and heart flutter, sending languid pleasure through you for just being who he is.

The server soon brings our first course. On the huge white plate in front of me, there are exactly two bite-sized pieces of fish and swirly lines of sauces in green and orange and yellow. Three dollops of green sauce are to my right, each topped with a small pink flower the size of a rice grain.

The plating is maybe the most gorgeous I’ve ever seen, but the portion size is outrageously small. After snapping a shot of it, I take a bite, then moan at how delicious it is.

“It’s criminal that they only give you two bites of such tasty food,” I say after swallowing my fish.