Page 50 of Stuck With the Billionaire Grump

It won’t stop.

Cocktail hour is a blur. I think I sip at a whiskey ginger. I think I take a bite of something rich and savory served on a silver platter by white-coated staff. I think I pretend to pay attention to a nearby conversation, nodding along so that I don’t look like a social pariah.

All the while, however, I am searching for Lucy. I don’t even know why. I don’t know what I intend to say to her. I don’t even know if I have anything to say to her in the first place. I just want to see her—to be near her.

She’s off being a dutiful maid of honor, though. I think I catch glimpses of her as cocktail hour moves seamlessly into dinner. I thought she might be seated near the new Mr. and Mrs. Cromwell, who are smiling and bashful up at the head table, but Lucy is merely a slip of blue silk weaving through the crowd like a ribbon caught on the breeze. Even though that means getting close to her will be even more difficult tonight than I hoped, I can’t help smiling to myself. She’s elusive and it’s maddening, but she is also fascinating to me. I think she always has been.

“Hey, Theo,” says the woman seated next to me at the dinner table—another Caltech alum named Stacy. I wasn’t particularly close with her during college, but I appreciated that she always gave the guys a run for their money.

“Hi, Stacy. Haven’t seen you around these past few days.”

She shrugs, tucking a lock of short brown hair behind her ear. “Just flew in this morning. I was in Seoul dealing with some clientele and almost didn’t get away in time. I already missed Elijah’s first wedding, though. I really didn’t want to miss this one. Especially since they’re so clearly…”

Stacy turns to look at the bride and groom at their designated table. Elijah is grinning at something Josie is saying. He looks like the happiest man alive.

Akim, who is sitting on my other side, leans forward and finishes Stacy’s sentence for her. “Soulmates?”

Stacy snorts. “You know, I’m really not the sort of person who believes in stuff like that, but I think you’re right, Akim.”

“Of course I’m right.”

Just when I think I’m about to become the awkward silent one stuck in the middle of their banter, Akim’s attention is grabbed by Harry, who is sitting at the table next to ours. He leans back precariously in his chair to speak with the best man, leaving me to figure out how to make small talk with Stacy.

Stacy, however, is never one to mess around with useless niceties.

“Anyway,” she continues, “I was actually hoping to talk to you, Theo.”

“Oh? About what?”

“Business.”

I quirk an eyebrow at her. “What kind of business?”

She readjusts her glasses, then spears a perfectly seared piece of steak onto her fork. “You still freelancing?”

Everybody else at the table is absorbed in their own conversations, so I don’t bother sugarcoating when I reply, “Yeah, I guess so. If that’s what you want to call it.”

Stacy snorts. “Well, listen. That app you sold to Samsung a few years ago? It was genius.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

“Any chance you’ve got a price on that genius?”

“Pardon?”

“I mean, what do I have to do to get you on board with my company? I want you, Theo. Professionally, that is. Men aren’t really my cup of tea in the other sense.”

I stare at her for a long moment, food temporarily forgotten, as I try to remember what Stacy’s company does. I think it began as a tiny telecom startup based in her dorm room when we werestill in school. I think I remember reading a feature on her inWireda few months ago that mentioned how insanely successful she is now on an international scale. If she was just in Seoul on business, and name-drops Samsung as if they’re an old friend, I believe it.

“I’m not sure I’m looking for a full-time contract at the moment,” I admit.

Stacy’s already shaking her head before I’m done with my halfhearted protest, though.

“No, no. It’s more of a leadership gig. I want to open up an office here in Boston so I can finally scoop up some prodigies from MIT before they run off to Google or Meta. Or whatever. And when I was thinking of old school chums who might be a good fit to run that office, your name came up.”

Old school chums? Stacy and I barely had three conversations during our time at Caltech. Then again, I’ve never been the chatty type. It’s probably my fault we didn’t talk much.

“That’s… flattering,” I answer.

---