My Grumpy Billionaire

“Fewer, not none.” Personally, I think the paper’s conclusion is ludicrous. There are things you can’t measure via statistics and data. Fear. Loss. Joy. Advertisers select images of sheer happiness when they showcase new parents in their campaigns because they resonate, because they touch something fundamental in all of us.

The door to the private room opens, and Sierra walks in.

Everything in my body prickles and comes alive. Her purple dress reminds me of our night in New Orleans, where we had our first scorching encounter. Actually, everything about her reminds me of tangled sheets—even if her smile also reminds me of a sunbeam breaking through a cloudy sky. No matter my mood, it’s hard to be glum when she smiles.

“Sorry I’m late.” She waves. “Hi, everyone. I’m Sierra.”

Everyone turns to look at her. From the expressions on my brothers’ faces, I’m not the only one who thinks she’s amazing.

Huxley looks at her up and down, assessing her like he would a potential spokesperson for one of his clients’ brands. Noah starts to let out a whistle but catches himself. Sebastian takes one look at her, then raises an approving eyebrow in my direction.

I stand and go over and kiss her, wrapping my arm around her waist possessively. “I’m glad you made it.”

She smiles, her shining eyes on me. Only me.

I like that more than I care to admit.

I indicate my brothers in turn. “Grant, Sebastian, Noah, Nicholas and Huxley.”

“Nice to meet you all,” she says with a huge smile.

Nicholas beams, which makes him appear utterly harmless and sweet, which is a lie because he can be a complete asshole. Grant smiles the warm, polite smile he always puts on when he sees somebody he decides to like.

I take her to the empty seat next to mine and start to pour her a margarita, but she shakes her head.

“Oh, no thanks,” she says. “I, uh, have a small headache.”

“Did you take something for it?”

She nods.

“If you want, we can cut the dinner short,” I whisper.

“I’ll be fine. Besides, I love Manny’s.” She smiles, patting my hand reassuringly.

“You look better in person than in the video,” Noah says, snagging Sierra’s attention away from me.

“It was taken too far away,” Huxley says. “Too grainy.”

“I guess everybody saw the video, huh?” Sierra smiles. “Some of the local reporters want to interview me about the trip.”

Should’ve expected them to go after her, too. Killian Axelrod didn’t say my name, but he sure said hers. “Do you want to talk to them?” I ask.

“No. Somebody from marketing said it might be a good way to mention our products, but I don’t want to turn the trip into a marketing opportunity.”

I squeeze her hand. So many people I know do everything in their power to turn even the most miniscule thing into an attention-whore moment. Then everything turns into a competition to see who can one-up the other, cheapening the experience without realizing what they’re doing. Fame is one of the most sought-after currencies, and many people don’t care what they have to sacrifice or whom they have to trample to get it.

“Good for you. They won’t bug you for long. The moment some juicier bit of gossip pops up, they’ll vanish like roaches when you turn on a light.” Grant’s tone is cynical, but oddly reassuring.

“If you wanted avoid the so-called reporters nipping at you for a story, you shouldn’t have outsourced the singing to Axelrod. You should’ve done it yourself,” Huxley says, giving me a meaningful look.

Asshole. Bringing it up in front of Sierra, trying to make it appear I don’t care about her enough to bother. “I don’t sing.”

“No, you choose not to sing.” Hux wags a finger.

Sierra looks at us curiously.

He leans closer and lowers his voice as though he’s about to reveal a military secret. “He sings like a dream, but won’t.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not a dog doing some trick.”

Nicholas snickers. “No dog sounds like you.” He turns to Sierra. “If he ever sings for you, you’ll know he loves you.”

I grit my teeth at how annoying my brothers are being about this. I don’t want Sierra to assume I don’t have feelings for her just because I won’t sing. I can express my feelings in other ways. This is real life, not a damned musical!

“I’d love to hear you sing,” Sierra says, her eyes sparkling with good humor. “But not if you’re uncomfortable.”

“See? She’s sweetly reasonable, unlike you assholes.” They don’t bother to hide their disappointment over another failure to corner me into singing. Huxley thinks it’s a waste of talent. What he really believes is he could use my voice to sell something.

“Forget singing. Let’s order some food,” Noah declares as he swallows the last of the chips. “I’m starving.”