Page 86 of Billionaire Grump
But I know by now how turned on she gets when she blushes like that. How wet she probably is for me right now. “That’s cool. We’ll have other opportunities.”
She gives me a look, biting back a smile, but she doesn’t reply.
I get it. It’s overwhelming. I basically steam-rolled over her entire life with too much too soon, probably, but it’s something she’s going to have to get used to. Even if she hates me by the end of the month, one detail might tie her to me for life. Either way, she’s getting every single one of her dreams answered and then some, in spades. It’s my new mission in life.
She asked for it when she sat on my lap that first night and kissed me with those soft, pink, perfect lips, squirming and wet, then singing to me with her angel’s voice. It’s not my fault I’m fucking whipped.
We get to her apartment and she unlocks the door.
The place is tiny but nice. There’s a small living room with tall windows that let in a lot of light. Outside is a minuscule balcony that has enough space for two chairs, a small table and some plants. I can see a yoga mat out there, where she must have left it on Friday afternoon.
Imagine if Cleo hadn’t called her. Imagine if she hadn’t needed the money for her brother’s tuition and refused to do it. I’d never have met her. I’d have lived my whole life not knowing that the most beautiful girl in the world was out there, swanning around just waiting for me to discover her. What if I never had? I would have been doomed to be a lonely, miserable grump for the rest of time.
I make another mental note to send Cleo flowers and give her a huge bonus.
It’s clear to me now that Cleo did this on purpose. She knew Ivy was drop-dead gorgeous but couldn’t see that about herself and had shut down all relationships because she was snowed under by the life she was busy carving out, a little desperately. Cleo also knew my brothers were worried about me and my dumpster fire of a love life. She hoped the two of us might click. And she packed Ivy’s bag but conveniently forgot to pack panties.
Well done, Miss Cleo. You’re getting a raise.
She set us up.
I can admit Cleo irritates me to no end, but I owe her one and it’s a doozy.
“So, this is it,” Ivy says. “It’s small but I love it.”
She walks into the postage-stamp-sized kitchen and I follow. There’s a kitchen table that barely fits and two chairs. Everything is neat and tidy except for the odd football jersey or baseball hat or empty orange juice carton left on the six inches of counter space. Signs that a seventeen-year-old boy lives here.
The dynamic is easy to read. All the girlish stuff is organized and thoughtfully placed. All the oversized little brother stuff is messy and haphazard. It reminds me again that she’s done this the hard way because she had no other choice. She’s been a parent to him as well as a provider.
The kid and I need to talk. He’s a genius but a punk—as all three of my brothers were when they were seventeen. Josh got into Columbia and he also somehow managed to reappropriate funds from a Bahamas bank account into his own—which is basically the digital equivalent of breaking into Fort Knox. I could use someone like him and so could Cash. I’m sure the two of us can come to an agreement that works for both of us.
Ivy’s leaning a hip against the kitchen counter, arms folded across her chest. “I should probably clean up a little before Josh gets home and I have a million emails to answer.”
“Are you kicking me out?”
“You can sit there and watch me answer emails if you want to.”
I walk over to her, towering over her. She’s so small. So perfect. I touch a finger to her chin and tip her face up to me. “Look at you. You’re so beautiful.”
Softly, I kiss her, touching my tongue to hers, dizzy with lust that has sharp, heart-piercing claws that dig and slice all the way down to my soul.
Fuck. How am I so in love with her?
Both our phones are buzzing.
She glances at hers. “I should probably take this. I’ll see you later, okay?”
“You sure you don’t want me to stay?”
Her smile is heartbreaking. Because I’m not going to see it for at least three hours. “I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll either come get you or I’ll send a car for you,” I tell her, and my voice sounds husky. “You’ve got my number. Don’t go anywhere. Make sure your doors are locked.”
She places her palm on my chest, pushing gently, walking me to the front door. “Goodbye, Alexander.”
It’s fucking unbearable. “Not goodbye, Jones. Later.”
She stands on her toes and kisses me. “Alex?”