Page 5 of Dirty Nasty Billionaire: Part 4

The will be no empty seat beside me at the reception, though, because I did manage to scrounge up a plus one. Elise was more than happy to be my date to the wedding, especially when she found out all the groomsmen would be single firefighters.

“Um, hello, it’s always been a fantasy of mine,” she said. I’m pretty sure she spent the entire ceremony eyeing the groomsmen from her pew, trying to decide which one would be her target for the night.

The one thing that brings genuine joy to my face is the thought of the job offers that began arriving as soon as the statement released on GizmoGossip. I had been under the assumption that releasing it would only pour cold water onto the dying embers of my career, but it actually had the opposite effect. Though I think I have Dr. C to thank for that. He got busy calling around and telling people that I was a person full of integrity, putting my name in the ear of quite a lot of his contacts. Thanks to him, I’m now considering a job in tech journalism, thanks to an offer from The Globe. That plus a few others is making me feel like maybe things might just turn out ok, even if I’ll probably never see Nixon again.

It’s not perfect, but it’s getting a little. There’s a path forward. All I have to do is start taking steps.

Even if my heart is still broken, my life isn’t totally in ruins.

* * *

“So here’sto many years of happiness, Brad and Miranda!” Brad’s best main raises his glass, only slightly slurring his words, as the rest of the crowd toasts to the bride and groom.

“Thank you Liam,” the DJ says. “Now let’s hear from the Maid of Honor, Delaney, sister of the bride!”

The crowd applauds, there are few whoops in the crowd, as I make my way to the microphone. My champagne glass is clutched in my hand. My goal is to get up there, say a few words without embarrassing myself, and then sit down before everyone can start whispering about what happened. The last thing I want is my gossip to upstage Miranda’s wedding reception. I want to give a stealth toast: get in, get out, leave no trace.

“Hi everyone,” I say, my voice causing the microphone to screech. Ok, not a great opener. I quickly step back and try again. “I’m so glad to be here tonight to support my awesome big sister Miranda, who taught me so much about life and love as we shared that tiny bedroom in Southie for all those years. I also learned that Miranda snores if she sleeps on her back, so Brad, I’m gifting that information to you to help with the whole happy marriage thing.”

A titter of laughter rises from the crowd. Good, ok, now bring it all home, and then sit down before you pass out from this many pairs of eyes on you.

“Anyway, I won’t keep you all with embarrassing, yet hilarious, stories of Miranda’s life. You can always come see me at table two if you want to hear those. I just want to take this moment to say —“

And that’s when I see him. He’s standing in the back of the room, having just come through the door. He’s wearing a black v-neck sweater. His hair is wavy and a little bit wild, and I can see his blue eyes from all the way up here. His muscular arms are crossed over his chest. The sight of him causes my knees to go weak, and I wobble just enough on my heels to make my champagne slosh over the edge of my glass. I nearly lose my breath at the sight of him, tall and powerful back there, but I quickly remember that there are a couple hundred people waiting for me to finish so they can toast my sister and her new husband.

“I just want to say I love you and best wishes,” I say, the words pouring out of me all at once. I toss back the glass of champagne and practically bolt from the mic. But I don’t rush towards Nixon. Instead, I find myself racing for my seat, where Elise is waiting.

“Um, did you enter a fugue state there for a moment?” Elise asks as I drop down into the empty seat next to her.

“He’s here,” I say, my chest heaving as the breath really starts to leave me. Oh god, am I going to hyperventilate? Because if I’m going to hyperventilate, I need to get out of here before I draw too much attention.

“Who’s here?” Elise asks, but before I can answer, a tall, muscular shadow falls over us. Elise looks up and sees him, and though they’ve never met, she knows immediately who he is. “Oh my god.”

“Delaney, can we talk?” He asks. The sound of his voice, all steel and gravel, takes me right back to those days in his office, the nights in his apartment. My body responds automatically, and I feel the lace of my panties grow damp.

“Uh, yeah,” I say, rising from my seat so quickly that it nearly topples over backwards. Thank god for Elise and her quick reflexes, because she catches it before it can clatter to the parquet floor and attract attention. I turn and start for the door, expecting him to follow me, but instead he grabs my hand.

I feel a bolt of electricity shoot up my arm and straight into my heart.

I spin around to face him. He doesn’t drop my hand. Instead, he reaches for it with both of his, clasping it warmly between his palms.

“What are you doing?” I whisper. I’m aware that people at nearby tables are starting to look. I don’t blame them. Even if they don’t know who Nixon Blake is, the man himself just draws attention. He’s by far the most attractive man in the room, and at well over six feet tall, you can’t just look past him.

And besides, most of them probably know who he is thanks to, you know, him practically being the face of the internet and all…

“I’d rather stay here,” is all he says.

I glance around and see that now a lot of people are looking. We’re starting to become the center of attention, as the only two people in the room who are standing. Everyone else is finishing up their dinner and waiting for the cake to be cut.

“Nixon, people are looking,” I say, and only partly for my benefit. I know how he feels about crowds. I know how he feels about people knowing his business. This is not going to be a good situation for him if we don’t get out of here soon.

“I don’t care,” he replies, and his voice is growing louder, more confident. There’s no trace of his previous qualms about crowds or publicity. The only part of him that betrays any nerves at all is his hands, which are clutching mine fairly tightly. “I came here because I needed to tell you something, something I should have told you a long time ago.”

And then that fucking DJ lowers the music. Now everyone is paying attention. Like we’re the main event.

His eyes are steady as he looks at me, unblinking and unwavering. “Delaney, I love you. I love you because you’re smart, and fierce, and beautiful. I love you because even though I put you through hell, you’ve somehow managed to keep a backbone of steel. You never give up, and you never duck out. And you never let me get away with anything. You make me better. I know I didn’t do a good job of showing it. Our relationship meant a lot more to me than I wanted to let on, or maybe I didn’t even realize it myself until it was gone. But being without you has been a living hell. And I’ve come here to tell you that I don’t want it to go on like this. I love you, and I need you. Please come back to me.”

My mouth drops open. I’m totally speechless.

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