Page 52 of The Grumpy Billionaire

“What?”

“Reckless,” he breathes, coming back for a kiss.

“Don’t forgetunrulyandincorrigible. Don’t forget refuses to follow orders.”

He sways before me, eyes fierce, hair mussed, probably regretting he reminded me. And now I can’t un-hear it.

“Why, Hugo? What reason would you ever have to write that? In a letter to a boss?”

“I can’t.”

“But do you really think all that?” I want him to say that he really doesn’t think it. I need him to say it.

He blinks, looking caught out.

My blood races. “It’s an easy yes or no. Do you or do younotthink it?”

“It’s not…I know how it sounds—”

“Oh my god.” I jump down from the desk. “Oh. My. God.” I’m putting myself back together. “This?” I make a circle with my finger to include him and me and the desk. “Not in this life.”

“Stella—”

“And for your information, Iamincorrigible when it comes to you. I will not be corrected, and I will not be changed from my radical path of only being interested in being with nice guys who think I’m awesome.”

I put myself together and get out of there.

ChapterTwenty-Three

Stella

CanI have worse taste in men? What is the matter with me?

This I contemplate as I head home. I get off the subway and walk to our neighborhood, past the flower shop and the cookie shop. I even pass by Gourmet Goose, because the last thing I need is more cheeseball shaming.

My taste in men is appalling.

It’s not just the Hugo clones I went for all through my twenties; even back in high school I dated jerks. Guy who wanted to have a go at a cheerleader or put a notch in their whatever.

One of them even left me in a neighboring town after a night of weirdly strong drinks after I informed him that I wouldn’t be having sex with him—something that I had told him up front.

Timmy Trask—Trasker to his friends on the football team. He dumped me in a gloomy park next to a shuttered strip mall with a dead phone battery, and it wasn’t exactly a safe area at that time of night. I had to beg some passersby to use their phone, but I couldn’t remember Charlie’s number or even his Twitter handle. The best I could do was to have them message Hugo to have Charlie pick me up.

Or at least that’s what I was going for.

But who came? Hugo himself.

I don’t remember a lot from that night, though I didn’t puke in his car, which, considering my condition, was a major win. I mostly remember my utter mortification the next morning, and pretty much the whole rest of the year.

Hugo and I never spoke of it, and my parents never found out, lucky for me.

Timmy Trask. Definitely my worst boyfriend, and I wasn’t alone in my low opinion of him, because a few days later somebody in a Chewbacca costume beat the crap out of him.

Nobody knew anybody who dressed as Chewbacca, so it was this big mystery, though my friends and I figured Timmy was being an asshole to the wrong person on their way to a Halloween party.

I evilly enjoyed his puffy face and big black eye at school the next day, but mostly I was relieved that he avoided me after that. He never so much as looked at me again, and he never spread around rumors about me—double stunner, because he said he would.

I definitely spread around the truth about him to each and every one of my girlfriends, plus the girls in gym class, band, and cheerleading.

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