Page 49 of The Billionaire's Beauty

Jeremy the Rotten zooms over, tail wagging, and wriggles happily as Griffin scoops him up in a football hold. A canine groan of ecstasy makes me wonder if Jeremy will be packing his little bags and heading home with Griffin when he leaves. Griffin raises a brow and gives me a smug look, apparently amused by my drop-jawed amazement. If he knows or cares about the dog hair he’s probably getting on his dark custom suit, he doesn’t show it.

“Anyone else around here that I need to charm?”

“No,” I say sourly, waving him to the sofa. “You’ve done quite enough already.”

Still chuckling, he sits and arranges the dog across his lap. “So this is the place, eh?”

“This is the place. I’m going to give you the nickel tour. Which will be nothing like the nickel tour you gave me of your house in the Hamptons, trust me. So don’t blink or you’ll miss everything.”

“Got it.”

“Living room. Kitchen. Bedroom. Bathroom. That’s it. I like to think of it as ten square feet of paradise.”

He takes it all in, nodding. “What do they call this? Shabby chic?”

“Exactly.”

“Love it. Love all the neutrals. Very warm and cozy. Very you.”

“Thanks.” To hide my ridiculous flush of pleasure at this praise, I head to the kitchen. “Prosecco? I just opened a bottle.”

“Sure.”

“Help yourself to a petit four if you want one. Ella’s a great pastry chef. But don’t try to sneak any treats to Jeremy when I’m not looking. And don’t fall for his sad face. He’s playing you.”

I return to the living room, glasses in hand, to find him shifting my Berkeley apartment listings on the coffee table, frowning.

“What’s wrong?” I say.

“What the fuck is all this?” he demands, glaring up at me.

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