Page 1 of Grumpy Billionaire Seeking Wife

Chapter One

Sabrina

“If I were ten years younger, I’d give it a shot,” James Painter says seriously as I hand him a bottle of water. His cobalt blue eyes are bright as they gaze at me, and I can tell that he was a very handsome man when he was younger. However, he’s not even close to the age of a man I’d consider dating. Not even if he were ten years younger. “You’re like a reincarnation of Marilyn Monroe with your blonde hair and green eyes.”

“Aww, thank you, James,” I say, trying to be polite because I don’t want to hurt his feelings, nor do I want to get fired from my position as associate activities director at the Creative Humans Retirement Center. “Did she have green eyes?” I ask, not knowing if he was making it up.

“I mean, I dunno. I was never that close to her. I never kissed her.” He chuckles. “Though I woulda liked to do a lot more than that.”

“Umm, well...” I clear my throat and attempt to change the subject. It has been clear to me since the first moment I interacted with James that he was a bit of a ladies’ man when hewas younger and is still trying to shoot his shot with any woman who would listen to him.

“You’ve got that voluptuous body that she did, too.” He winks, and I try not to blush. “You’re a very pretty young lady, Sabrina.”

“Thank you,” I say, thinking of how to change the subject. It’s not that I don’t like accepting compliments, but it is slightly awkward that a man in his nineties is shooting his shot with me, someone who’s just turned twenty-one, and even though I like to feel I’m as mature as a forty-year-old and just as wise, I know it’s not true. At least, not according to my best friend Erica’s brothers, Miles and Wes, who have always referred to me and Erica as the never-ending teenagers, due to all the shenanigans we seem to continue to get ourselves into.

“I mean, if you’re up for it, I can take you on a ride?—”

“James,” I cut him off, while fake-laughing and backing away. I know enough about the goings-on at the senior home I worked at to know that he was serious. “We should get going to the main hall. Abigail is waiting for everyone to be seated before the show begins.”

“Strip show?” he asks eagerly, as he sits forward on the faded dark brown recliner. The game room is full of old things—no pun intended. It’s big, with several recliners, one large couch, and several tables and chairs. On the far right side of the room is a large wooden shelf system, donated by one of the previous residents, and it’s stacked high with books and board games. Most of which never get read or played. A small TV sits on a coffee table across from the couch, and there’s a DVD player to the right of it, with a collection of about a hundred different movies and TV shows. Though only one or two residents ever watch the TV there, as they all have TVs in their rooms. The four recessed lights are on and uncomfortably bright, but the window on the other side of the room gives a glimpse into the outsideworld, which allows the residents to look out at the streets of Brooklyn that they don’t get to venture out into very frequently anymore.

“The talent show, remember?” I remind him and then look around the room. “Meredith, Trevor, MaryAnn, it’s time to end the Monopoly game. Abigail wants everyone to watch the talent show,” I remind the other retirees, who are hanging out in the game room. MaryAnn groans loudly to express her dissatisfaction, and I give her my best apologetic face. I don’t make the rules. I just work here. And I need the paycheck, as it’s my only source of income and one of the only jobs I could find that worked with my school schedule. It isn’t my ideal job, but hopefully, it will come in handy once I have my college degree.

My phone beeps as I wait for everyone to get up, and I grab it from my back pocket eagerly, hoping that it’s Connor, a poet I’d met the week before at the weekly writers’ meetup I attended in the Lower East Side. He is a tall hipster, with longish blond hair and deep blue eyes that mesmerized me as he read his somewhat boring poem about whales at the last session I attended. I’d never seen him before, so I was happy when we engaged in conversation after the show ended. He told me his day job was as a software engineer, but his real passion was his epic poetry. When he asked for my number, I was conflicted. Personality-wise, he didn’t seem like a match, but he had that tortured artist soul persona that called out to me. Plus, I hadn’t had a date in over a year and was starting to feel like a little bit of a loser.

“Your boyfriend calling you?” MaryAnn asks nosily as she attempts to look at my screen. All the occupants in the room wait for me to answer.

“No.” I shake my head despondently as I look down and see my best friend Erica’s name on the screen. It’s not like I’m upset that she’s calling, but she isn’t Connor. I’m starting to give up hope that I’ll hear from him at all.

“Hey girl, what’s up?” I ask as I answer the phone. “I’m at work, so I can’t really talk.”

“Do you wanna go to karaoke tonight?” she asks me quickly. “Suki is getting a group together from English Lit, and we were thinking of dinner and karaoke.”

“I don’t know. Where?” I ask before committing to anything. I love being a student at Columbia University, but most of my classmates come from wealthy families and always want to plan extravagant dinners and trips, and I just can’t keep up with them. Which sucks, because I want to be young, rich, and just concentrating on living my best life. But in reality, I’m young and poor and just trying to get by.

“We haven’t decided where yet, maybe that yakitori restaurant in St. Marks Place that we love. I can spot you, if you want.”

“No,” I say sharply, and then pause as I hate being the defensive scholarship student. “But thanks. I think I can manage to pay for myself as long as we don’t try and get some crazy expensive karaoke room,” I add quickly.

“Oh, no worries. Suki’s dad already rented the room for her and got a limo to drive us there and back so we don’t have to travel on public transportation.”

“Must be nice,” I say with a laugh. “But yeah, that sounds fun. I’ll be done around 5:00 p.m. and will be back around 6:30 p.m., if the trains are all running on time. What time were you guys thinking of doing dinner?”

“I think Suki said around 8-8:30. She’s going to pregame with Cody and his friends.” Erica makes a puking sound, and I groan. Cody is Suki’s situationship that has been going on for far too long. She thinks that one day, he will wake up and realize she’s the love of his life, but we all know she’s just one of many in his rotation of women. And the sucky part is that he sleeps withall of them. But Suki is still deluding herself into thinking she’s special.

“Ugh, that is so annoying.”

“Yeah, she really needs to get over that jerk. Oh, shit, did I tell you that Kacie thinks she may be pregnant and went to get some tests? She told Cody about it last night, and yet, he’s still hoping to hit it and quit it with Suki tonight. He’s such a pig.”

“No fucking way,” I exclaim loudly, forgetting I’m still at work for a minute. Nosy Parker MaryAnn is standing right next to me now, practically salivating for more information, while James leans forward. I lower my voice. “Did you say pregnant?”

“Ooh, who is pregnant?” MaryAnn asks as if she knows my friends; which I guess, technically, she does because I spend far too much time regaling the residents with tidbits and gossip from my friend group. I really need to stop that.

“Well, we don’t know yet...” Erica says, happiness in her voice. She loves to gossip and talk, which is one of the reasons we are planning on starting a podcast together.

“Sabrina, is everyone ready?” Abigail's accusatory voice carries through the room as she steps into it. “We’re waiting for your group to sit before we start the show.” She sounds annoyed, and I know I’m going to get another long email from her tonight explaining to me where I’m going wrong in the job. Like I care. Like anyone in this room cares. Abigail may have more experience than I do working in retirement homes, but she certainly doesn’t understand what the residents want.

“Yes, we’re coming; aren’t we, guys?” I press end on the phone call and attempt to surreptitiously put it back into my pocket. Erica won’t mind that I had to hang up on her.

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