Page 11 of Grumpy Billionaire Seeking Wife

"Tonight is going to be a good night," I tell myself as I go see what Erica is up to.

I run my fingers down the side of my hips and spin around, my earrings jangling with the movement. I scream as I see a tall, large body standing right behind me. A body that is not Erica’s. A body that is tall, dark, and handsome. He towers over me, and all I can do is shiver.

“You’re not wearing that outfit on the date, are you?” The questioning dark brown eyes accompany loud laughter, and my entire body freezes as I take in the muscular body of Wes, Erica’s oldest brother. His tie is tousled, and his white shirt fits him like a glove. Why does he make me tremble so? He's too handsome.Even more handsome than he was the last time I saw him and made a fool of myself.

The sound of his laughter makes me stop in my tracks, and my heart pounds so loudly that I’m positive he can hear it. I didn’t hear him come into the apartment, and I’m annoyed by the fact that my face is turning bright red at his assertive gaze. He looks amused as he stands there, with his cocky smirk and laughing dark brown eyes. I haven't seen him in over a year, but he's just as gorgeous as I remember him being. Gosh darn it!

“Who do you think you're talking to?" My hands fly to my hips as I jut out my chin. I am not going to let him intimidate me or make me feel guilty for parading around his apartment like I own it.

“I’m speaking to you, Sabrina.” The words slide out of his full lips smoothly, and I resist the urge to poke him in the chest—hard. I don't want to have to beat him up, especially since I'm in his apartment. Uninvited. If my mother finds out, she'll be so disappointed. She loves the Carrington family.

“Excuse me.” I try to speak in a haughty tone, but instead, I sound like a squeaky mouse. Darn my nerves. There is something that happens to me when I’m around Wes Carrington that turns me into a fool. Wes Carrington has always made me self-conscious and irritable. I’ve known him since I was thirteen, when Erica and I became best friends. He’s six years older than us, so he never actually spent any real time with us, but I spent enough time in their home, ogling him from afar, for most of my high school years. Not that he's ever really noticed me as more than Erica's best friend. I finally got a quasi-boyfriend when I was a senior in high school and attempted to dismiss Wes from my brain. There was one instance that I went to him for advice about my relationship, and ever since then, he's acted like I'm some sort of doofus, while he's some sort of wizened sage that knows everything. Just because I asked him if I had a right to beangry at my boyfriend for getting head from Amber Davidson at a football game while I stayed home to study.

Wes spent an hour laughing and then telling me I had no business dating if I couldn't stand up for myself against jerk boys. I didn't appreciate his harsh advice and never sought advice from him again, even though there were a million more pieces of boy data I needed to help me in the dating realm. That was what happened when you didn't have a dad or older brother to ask. And then, of course, I started college, broke up with said stupid high school boyfriend, and attempted to move on with my life. Only I felt brave one night, and— I stop the thoughts in my brain. I am not going there right now.

"Don't be mean, Wes." Erica walks back into the living room, a glass of lemonade in her hand. She brushes her dark hair back nonchalantly as if there was no issue with us being here in his apartment, even though Erica did inform me she didn't ask him. We snuck in, using the emergency key he'd given her, so we could take photos for our dating profiles, and she assured me that he was out of town. "By the way, you don't have any Diet Coke in your fridge."

"I'm not being mean. I just asked her a question." Wes turns to his sister and frowns. "Also, I don't drink Diet Coke, so I wouldn't be buying it. Why are you both in my apartment, acting like it's a Paris Runway?" He looks back over at me. "For designers and models that haven't quite made it."

I make a face as I walk over to him in what I thought was quite a cute black mini skirt, tight red knit top with small pink hearts, and homemade pineapple earrings. I swirl and fluff my recently highlighted honey-blonde hair over my shoulders and admire the lighter blonde strands. I look down at my Doc Marten combat boots and once again wonder if they look trendy or ridiculous.

“What is wrong with my outfit?” I frown as I glare into his laughing brown eyes. I try to ignore the specks of gold in his pupils as he looks me up and down. A huge smirk crosses his face as he once again looks me in the eyes. He's grown his facial hair out, and my heart races dangerously fast as I take in his scruffy beard and mustache. Why did the man have to be so good-looking? And when did he go from handsome boy to dangerously hot man?

“What’s right with it, Sabrina?” He shakes his head and runs his fingers through his silky hair before heading to his large tan sectional and taking a seat. “I’m telling you as a man, that is not an outfit I would want my date to show up in.” He stretches his legs out and loosens his tie as he leans back, looking like a million dollars. Which I'm pretty confident he has because he lives like a king in this penthouse apartment overlooking Central Park. In fact, ifThe Wall Street Journalis correct, he is now a billionaire, which blows my mind. The Carrington family has always been wealthy, but Wes has taken them to the next level.

“It is trendy. It's not my fault if you don't understand fashion.” I turn around and face Erica and aim my glare her way. "This is not the vibe I needed before my date tonight." My heart is racing, and I'm feeling incredibly embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, Sab. I didn't realize the big bro would be back already." Erica grabs her phone. "Miles told me Wes wouldn't be back until later this week."

"Miles told you to break into my apartment?" Wes looks pissed as he brings up his younger brother and business partner. Miles is the middle child and also gorgeous, but for some reason, I've never been as into him as I've been into Wes. Maybe because Wes was the serious and silent type, while Miles was the jokester. Being the youngest, they both spoiled Erica and acted like her dad, but I knew she loved them both more than words could say.

"He just told me you'd be out of town." Erica grins at her brother, a picture of innocence. "Just in case I wanted to check your mail or something. You know I'm the best little sister ever."

"You're such a great little sister that you and your sidekick have invaded my apartment without me even knowing." He jumps up and heads to the kitchen on the other side of his open-floor-plan apartment. I watch as he opens his Bosch French door fridge and pulls out a beer. "Would either of you like one?"

"I'm drinking lemonade." Erica shakes her head as if we didn't just drink half his tequila.

"I'm not going to say a word." Wes looks over at me. "What about you, Sabrina? Need some liquid courage for your date? Might make you see just how hideous your outfit?—"

"Wes," Erica chides, and he holds his hands up in the air.

"Fine, I will keep my thoughts to myself." He takes out another beer and walks it over to me. "You want it?"

"What I want is to throw it over your head. You may have gained a couple more dollars, but you sure didn't gain any manners."

"Hold on, I'm going to the restroom," Erica states as she leaves us alone.

"It's not like I'm saying you're hideous, Sabrina." His fingers brush mine as he hands me the beer, and his dark eyes crinkle as he looks down at me. "You grew up to be kinda pretty."

"Kinda pretty?" I wrinkle my nose as I pull the tab back on the beer can and take a long sip. I sputter slightly at the bitter taste of the liquid. I still don't really appreciate the taste of beer. I don't know why anyone would ever choose a beer over a cocktail. It makes no sense to me.

"Careful there." He takes a step closer to me and makes a move that causes me to jump back quickly. "You okay, Sabrina? Just ensuring I don't need to do the Heimlich or anything."

"I'm fine."

"Not the adjectiveIwould use." He grins. "I would say pretty, beautiful, stunning, but I suppose some men would say fine."

"What?" I take another sip of the beer and manage to keep it down this time. "What are you going on about?"

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