My Grumpy Billionaire

Chapter Fifty-Six

Griffin

The whispers and judgmental stares from everyone burn like acid. Furious humiliation makes my neck tighten.

What the fuck is this thing about my parents? And the sex toys? Sierra never said anything about making sex toys about me.

But I know she did exactly that. I saw her mouth move, her face white.

Everyone at Silicone Dream knew. So did my students. The only person who didn’t know was me. The fact feels like a blade between my ribs.

“It appears Griffin’s talents aren’t limited to economics,” Charles jokes lamely.

A few people laugh, but it’s anything but funny. It’s my fucking career, the respect I’ve labored so hard to earn. All the work I’ve done to stay anonymous and distance myself from everything my parents have done is gone. Lurid speculation burns bright in so many of my colleagues’ gazes. Whereas before there was nothing but polite respect.

Sierra gives me a nervous smile. It feels like a slap.

A scream burns in my throat. How could she do this to me?

My phone pings. I take it out with shaking hands to check the message, praying that the site has retracted the article.

–Dad: Sex toys, eh? I’m so proud of you!

Fury explodes. My vision goes red and the top of my skull aches, as though it’s about to blow into the sky.

Dad—either directly or through Joey—has never told me he was proud of me. Never. Not over my academic accomplishments. Not over the polo matches I’ve won. Not over the amateur kickboxing championship belts I’ve collected.

But I should’ve known. Inspiring a line of sex toys is exactly the sort of crass undertaking he’d admire. He’s never seen anything disreputable he didn’t love.

More texts arrive in rapid sequence.

–Dad: That’s MY penis you’ve inherited, son.

–Dad: Can’t wait to rub it in Josh Singer and Salazar Pryce’s faces that my son inspired a line of sex toys!

–Dad: Now go use that inspirational penis I gave you and make me a grandbaby. I’ve got some great lines I’m gonna use when I see Josh Singer with your kid.

I put the phone away. Maybe more texts come, or maybe not. I have more important things to worry about.

Perhaps leaving right now isn’t the best move, but if I stay here, there’s really no guarantee that I won’t say or do something that I’ll permanently regret.

“Thank you for the party, Charles. I’m afraid I’ll have to leave now. Not feeling well all of a sudden.” The social proprieties must be observed.

I walk toward the door. Sierra’s shoes clack rapidly against the tiles behind me.

Normally I’d slow down or wait for her. I do neither. I can’t decide if I’m relieved or annoyed that she’s following me. I can’t just ditch her here at Charles’s home, but I definitely do not want to see her right now.

I march to the street where I left my Prius and get behind the wheel. She hurries into the passenger seat.

I start the car and drive. Silence sits over us like a smothering blanket. I clench and unclench my hands around the steering wheel. It feels difficult to breathe through the crackling tension.

“It’ll blow over by tomorrow,” Sierra says tentatively. “Monday at the latest.”

“Is that what you think?” I snap.

“Well… I hope so.” Her voice is small.

“It’s easy for you to say because it isn’t about you. You aren’t the one people are whispering about. You aren’t the one whose career and respectability just got wiped out.”