Page 64 of The Grumpy Billionaire

ChapterTwenty-Seven

Hugo

Stella’s curiosity is boundless—especiallywhen it comes to gifts and surprises.

“If you want it, you have to come with me to pick it up,” I tell her.

She furrows her brow, lips pursed under her button nose. I can see the gears working, like she’s trying to solve some equation.

“You want your gift or not? Those are my terms.”

The light changes and I pull her to a protected area, out of the stream of people heading for the subway entrance. Stella still doesn’t know how to move in the crowds.

“You sure you don’t want a ride?”

“I’m sure.” She regards me suspiciously. “So this gift—is it some sort of food served on a plate? And we sit down to eat it?”

“It’s an object that’s in a store. I spotted it a long time ago, and I knew it was the absolute perfect thing for you.”

“What kind of store?”

“You’ll see.”

She rolls her eyes, trying hard to feign disinterest. But this is the girl who snuck down to the living room in the middle of the night and unwrapped her Christmas presents—and a few that weren’t for her—and then carefully taped them back up. Not once but several years running. She’ll crumble.

“I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“It’s too much like a date.”

“You don’t want your gift? Could I be hearing this right?”

“Why do I have to be along to pick it up?”

“Because those are my terms.”

She narrows her eyes. “I’ll meet you at the store,” she tries.

“I’ll pick you up at seven.”

* * *

I makethe call when I get home from work. Cooper picks up right away. The group of us from the Tuesday night game don’t call each other for no reason.

“Jones. What’s up?”

“Remember how a few weeks ago I told you that a family friend had just gotten a job at Zevin Media? You mentioned that business about Bennett Zevin being a scumbag and the assault charges and the secret settlements, remember?”

“Of course,” he says. “The man is a menace. Did you find a way to get your friend to change her mind?”

“Not exactly.” I tell him about the letter, and how the whole thing went off the rails.

“Goddamn,” he says. “You couldn’t have just told her?”

“I know. I wasn’t thinking straight. I imagined her at the mercy of this guy…in retrospect, yes, telling her would have been best. She’s not much for heeding warnings, but still. It was a bad move, and she’s upset—”

He’s laughing. “You’re into her, and you went and tanked her job prospects. And now she’s pissed off.”

“That’s about right,” I admit. “I know what’s said at the card table stays at the card table, but I want to tell her why I did what I did. I want her to know.”

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