Page 128 of The Grumpy Billionaire

“It actually is kind of amazing that he thought of this for you.”

“Really amazing. He thinks he doesn’t know people’s hearts, but he does.”

Kelsey sits down and toys with one of the little arms. “Are you gonna give him another chance?”

“I don’t know. I love him. But I also know that he eventually rejects everything that’s not perfect. I’m not perfect.” I sigh. “But I also love him.”

“Totally get it.” Kelsey grabs a microfiber cloth and starts polishing the spoon.

“And he wants to change,” I say, “but you can’t go into a relationship expecting a man to change. That’s a recipe for heartbreak.”

“Don’t you bake that recipe,” Kelsey says.

“Yeah, no, I know…I just, I don’t know…” And I really don’t know what I’m saying, what I’m feeling.

“Aww, sweetie,” Kelsey says as she comes over and puts an arm around me. I glance again at the cheese ball tray. My eyes feel hot and misty.

ChapterFifty-Four

Hugo

I’m sittingat the poker table, studying my hand, at a loss, for once.

I’m not confused about how to win. I’m reasonably sure Cooper’s got three eights and Leon has a low straight. Fergus could have two pair. Odds are high that what I need is still in the deck, and it’s nearly my turn.

But I’m trying something new. Maybe.

“What’s going on?” Fergus asks.

“Thinking.” I rearrange the cards in my hand.

Five pairs of eyes turn to me.

I never take this long to make a decision on cards, but I spent the entire night walking around the city, turning over what Stella said to me.

She’s not wrong. I’m critical of anything falling short of perfect—in other people, in objects, in myself.

But I’d never be that way to this woman I’ve loved for so many years. I’d never make her feel less than.

But why should she believe that? I do it with everything else.

Do I have a problem?

And even if I proved that I’d never do it to her, even if she believed me, why would she want to spend her life with somebody who does that, even to himself?

“Do I need to go make a sandwich?” Leon barks.

“Like you haven’t ever taken a few minutes to make up your mind,” Cooper chides.

“Patience,” I growl.

At some point during my walk, right about when I was passing the Guggenheim with its shapes and spirals, I realized…I’m exhausted.

Just fucking exhausted.

I ended up home just as the birds started singing, and I did what I always do when faced with a lack of knowledge: went into research mode. I found techniques. I found a therapist. I found books on stopping with the inner critic. On not being a perfectionist. On embracing imperfection.

The idea of embracing imperfection is annoying, ludicrous, and probably the exact thing I have to do. One of the books I dug into suggested perfectionists should learn to enjoy the journey rather than focus on the outcome.

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