Page 4 of Grumpy Billionaire Seeking Wife

My parents, though they have extreme wealth, have never been the sort of people who joined private social clubs such as these, but maybe that is because they wouldn't have been welcomed with open arms. My mother, on her mother's side, had her descendants come over on the Mayflower, but when my grandma married my grandfather, a recent Italian immigrant, she lost her respectability. Not that she cared. And my mother cared even less when she married my father, a mutt of a man with a penchant for gambling, cussing, and brawling in the streets. Until he joined the Army and realized that my mother may not wait around for him. It was a stroke of luck as well as business savviness when his import business took off, and coupled with my investments in the stock market, my family was very rich. But the members of this club would not care that my family's net worth is likely five times the sum of theirs combined.

"Many seem to think that class differences don't matter here." Jeremiah looks around the room, and I follow his gaze. We are surrounded by about a dozen men, dressed smartly in expensive suits, smoking cigars and pipes, and drinking overpriced liquor. "But, of course..." His voice trails off, and he smiles at me weakly. None of those people are in this room. This room is old New York. The New York that lives for the society pages and whispered gossip behind dark velvet curtains and solid mahogany and oak wood doors.

"Though we are not English, we still value breeding here in New York City," I finish his sentence for him. I try not to roll my eyes, jump up, and leave the room. I hate snobbery in all its forms. Especially those stuck in antiquated times. "I have watchedThe Gilded Ageand did study history at Harvard, so I am aware of the subtle and complicated dynamics that exist..." I lean forward, take a sip of the whiskey drink, and then place it down on the dark wood table between us. "I think you'll find that my offer of 500 million for the paper is more than generous." I smile and lean back. I am here for a business deal, and the time for niceties is done. "It's my best offer, and I will not go any higher." To most people, my comment would sound friendly, but there is a thin veil of warning in my tone. I know that Jeremiah, for all his pomp, is close to bankruptcy. He would be a fool to dismiss my offer.

"Now now, Wes, must we discuss business at this very moment?" He chuckles and waves someone over. Before I can blink, a pretty brunette with big blue eyes and even larger breasts appears before us. "Sheryl, my guest is hungry. What does the chef have prepared for today?"

I am not, in fact, hungry, but I decide to keep my mouth shut. I have heard many things about Jeremiah, and one is that he likes to be in charge. He is a small old man with a God complex. I will play along for now. I sigh as I look down at my Rolex. I'd had plans to meet my brother, Miles, for drinks later this evening, but I have a feeling that is not going to happen.

"Tonight, we have a tender cut of prime rib," Sheryl responds promptly and then eyes me eagerly. "And we also have a sea bass dish that the chef has won awards for."

"We'll have the prime rib," Jeremiah states without even deigning to ask my opinion. "And a bottle of the Chateau Lafite-Rothschild 2018 Pauillac, please." He looks over at me. "You drink red, yes?"

"Of course." I stand up and reach for my phone. "Excuse me, I have a call I need to make." I don't wait for him to answer as I head to the side of the room. I don't care if he thinks I'm being rude. I'm annoyed, and as an alpha male who likes to be in control, I do not appreciate his style of doing business. I walk through the doors and call my brother.

"How'd it go?" he answers almost immediately. "Are we the new owners of theNew York Guardiannewspaper conglomerate?"

"We are not." I sigh, trying not to lose my cool. I am not used to having to pretend I am having a good time and enjoying myself. Nor am I used tohaving to explain myself. ”Miles, I swear, if I hear one more comment about old money, I am going to shove a wad of hundreds down his throat."

"Now, now, Wes, that would not be becoming of the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. And certainly not of?—"

"Shut it," I growl. "He just ordered a twelve-hundred-dollar bottle of wine." I scoff. "He is taking advantage of my generosity and kindness. I do not like to be used or taken for a fool."

"You have to play his game, Wes." Miles is serious for a few moments. "We both know that owning a paper is the next step in the Carrington Empire. Wait until Erica finds out; she'll want to write a gossip column."

"Lord, have mercy on us all." I laugh as he brings up our sister. "Don't let Jeremiah Astor hear that. He's already made it very clear how he feels about those with new money."

"We're new money?" Miles asks in surprise. "Dad was a millionaire in his own right."

"Dad's parents are not blue-blooded." I chuckle. "And we cannot trace our heritage back to King Henry VIII or any landed gentry." I laugh out loud, thinking about how ridiculous it is for class lines to still exist. I'm about to make a joke when the dooropens and Sheryl walks out, her head down. She looks up, sees me, and smiles widely.

"Is there anything else I can get for you, sir?" She walks directly over to me but trips over something and comes crashing into me, her breasts pushing into my arm for a few moments. "Oops, clumsy me. Sorry." She giggles and presses her hand against my bicep. "Sorry about that."

"No worries."

"I haven't seen you here before."

"I'm not a member," I say, by way of explanation. "They say never join a club that would have you as a member, but I don't want to join this club either, and I know that they wouldn't want me as a member, either."

"The annual membership fee is a hundred grand, I heard." She lowers her voice and looks around. "Crazy, right?"

"Indeed, it is."

"You trying to get a job with Mr. Astor?" She looks me up and down, trying to assess who I am and why I'm there. "You in sales?"

"I'm in many things," I say smoothly, not wanting her to know who I am or how much money I have. She's pretty, but I am not here to meet a woman for the night. No matter how sexy she is.

"You can be in me," she says boldly and then laughs. "I'm just joking." She tilts her head to the side to observe my face. "Unless you're interested." She continues. "Joke," she says quickly as she bites down on her lower lip.

"Have you worked here a while?" I am not sure why I asked her that, but I don't want to be rude.

"No, just a few months. My roommate, Anastasia, got me a job here. Said the tips were good. She lied. Who knew rich people could be so cheap?" She makes a face. "I may go back toretail." She leans forward. "There's a room at the back here that no one ever goes in, if you want to check it out."

"Check it out?" I raise an eyebrow as she giggles and flutters her eyelashes. "I'm afraid that won't be possible."

"Oh, okay." She pouts slightly. "You married?"

"No." I hold up my phone as I remember Miles is still on the line and likely laughing at whatever parts of the conversation he's privy to. "But I'm also not in the space for any complications in my life."

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