Page 55 of Resisting the Billionaire

Mackenzie

Istep around a couple arguing heatedly in the living room, fairly sure one of them is a model I saw on a billboard uptown last week, and catch up to Gabriel. I really wish I could wrap a hand through the crook of his arm so I don’t lose him in this crush, but I don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea about us.

We’re friends. Professionals. Not anything more.

If someone snaps a picture tonight to post on ThousandWords, it’s going to be of the two of us standing a respectable distance apart.

“How many people do you think are here?” I murmur as he searches for the host of the party. “And how big is this apartment?” Seriously, it has to be at least three thousand square feet, including the balcony. And here in the middle of Manhattan, that’s truly saying something.

“Uh, probably about the same size as mine.” I gape at him. Is he serious? He must have had an attack of claustrophobia in my place then. “And no clue how many are here. James likes inviting an… eclectic assortment of people.”

“And how do you fit in?” He steers us out toward the balcony with its prime view of the harbor. God, I could get used to a view like this.

His hand rests on my lower back for the briefest moment as he guides us around a rowdy group, my body singing at the slight contact before he drops it. “Son of the owner of a major social media app and a billionaire? Why wouldn’t you invite me?”

Is there a hint of bitterness in his tone? Or am I imagining it?

“Gabriel!” a heavyset man calls out jovially. I’ve never heard of him, but apparently, James Halwell is big in the real estate game around here. He must be if he can afford this apartment. I’m itching to find out what Gabriel’s is like now.

“James,” Gabriel replies, less enthusiastically.

A ripple of awareness runs through the crowd surrounding us, most of them looking our way, whispering to one another. Two women to the left of me don’t keep their voices lowered quite enough, though.Who’s that? He’s cute.My fingers automatically curl before I consciously release them.You don’t know? That’s Gabriel Bishop.He’s insanely rich.Is that the only thing they care about?Well, I’m going to introduce myself then.My hands clench again.No, he’s engaged. But not to her.

Oh, shit. It’s starting already. I step a little further away and tune back into the conversation Gabriel is having just as James asks, “And is this the lovely Serena? Word around town is you’re engaged.”

“No, I’m Mackenzie Sweet,” I tell him, holding out my hand for him to shake. “His wedding planner actually. Gabriel invited me so we could get some ideas for the reception. He said you throw amazing parties.”

A little sweet talking never hurt anyone, and my words hit their intended target as James appears suitably flattered.

Gabriel makes a noise of amusement next to me and I resist the urge to elbow him in his side. “I love how you’ve decorated out here.” I actually do. Comfortable seating, strung lights, and a second bar area for people to make their own drinks has everyone relaxed and chatting happily.

“Mi casa es su casa then,” he says, spreading his arms wide. “Anything you guys need is yours.”

He wanders off, greeting another couple, and I whisper, “He didn’t seem so bad.”

“Nah, he’s fine for the most part. But be careful what you say around him. The guy’s got loose lips.”

“He seemed to like you.”

“I mentioned him to someone who was looking for a realtor years ago. That sale really got his business off the ground.”

I see the same pattern throughout the night as different people stop Gabriel to talk, thanking him for one thing or another, asking him about the most random things. Does he know anyone who’s interested in buying a restaurant? Actually, he does. Has he heard anything about that reality show following the sons of tech titan Franklin Nash? Yeah, it’s in pre-production right now.

Last year he even paired up a socialite who wanted to diversify her image with the daughter of a clothing industry icon, who in turn created a collaboration I’ve seen on billboards recently. I would have never guessed he was the initial matchmaker behind that.

He’s modest in their praise of him, charming, sociable, and for the first time, I truly see how well connected he is. Fellow children of other industry giants, models, singers, those from seriously old money families. They’re all here and most everyone knows him.

And the absolute best part? He talks me up. With every new group we make our way to, the first thing he does is introduce me, including my job title, and without fail, someone always has a question about it. I honestly didn’t come here intending to network, but I end up passing my business cards out to eight different people in an hour alone. He was serious when he said he could throw business my way.

I pull him aside over to the balcony railing after we finish talking to two people he knows who are recently engaged and in the early stages of planning their wedding. “I really appreciate what you’re doing, but you don’t have to, you know.”

“I know,” he says, resting his elbows on the edge of the railing as he looks out toward the harbor. “But the more we talk about you, the less I have to talk about me.”

“I don’t want to take over your night. In case you actually wanted to speak with anyone.”

“Here?” He shakes his head slowly. “I know them, but I don’tknowthem. I’m not… close with any of them.”

“Why not?”

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