Page 73 of The Grumpy Billionaire

“A lurid and tawdry, no-strings office, no-life-details affair. Yes, please.”

“Stella, no. You deserve better. We deserve better.”

“That’s how far I can go. That’s what I want. Isn’t that your preferred style of dating anyway?”

“Not with you!”

I press a finger to his lips. “But if it were your only option?”

He gives me a stern look, thoughts churning behind dark gray eyes. He doesn’t say what he’s thinking, but I’m guessing the idea of making me relent is in there somewhere.

ChapterThirty-One

Stella

Mom picksup a silk scarf from a display table and presses it to her cheek. She’s in town for a short stopover before she flies out of JFK for the wedding of a school friend in Ireland.

“It goes with your dress!” Kelsey says brightly.

“I’d like it better in a lighter color,” Mom says. “And smaller.”

The three of us are at Macy’s because Mom has a gift certificate to spend. She’s been trying to buy us stuff with it—such a Mom move!—but we refuse.

“You will use it for yourself, and if you buy something for anyone other than yourself, I’ll personally rip it to shreds and toss it over Fifth Avenue like confetti!”

“Money down the drain and littering…” She gives me her disappointed face. My mom, the most literal person ever.

“I’m just saying to use it for yourself,” I say. “I wouldn’t actually rip it up.”

Kelsey gives me a sympathetic smile. I’ve explained to her how my entire family thinks I’m an irresponsible doofus. She had a hard time believing it, which made me feel awesome, but it’s even more validating that she’s able to see it now.

We’ve been eating our way through Manhattan, and Kelsey got us front-row tickets to the Broadway musical she’s in—Anything Goes. Afterwards we’ll stop for champagne at the Plaza, a fun, splurgy treat for Mom so that she can have the whole deluxe New York experience.

I find a brown T-shirt with a chipmunk picture on the pocket. “I would’ve worn this in my old life. In my actual chosen field of employment.”

“You’ll get back in your field,” Mom says brightly. She apologized again about the letter, which I appreciated. She’s trying.

“I do miss it,” I confess. “I miss the brainstorming. I miss the arguing, the testing, the difficulty of making something effective and awesome that the client will actually sign on to.”

“I’ll buy it for you with my gift certificate,” she offers. “As incentive.”

“I don’t need an incentive.” I list off the agencies I’ve applied to. I list off the additional letters of recommendation I’ve marshalled. I’m probably overdoing it—maybe I need to stop being so reactive. “I feel pretty good about getting something on my own steam, that’s all.”

“Of course you will!” she says.

I plaster on a confident smile, telling myself to take that at face value. “And this’ll be a prize for when I land that amazing something.”

Kelsey comes up with giant neon-blue earrings that have silver sparkles and dangly shimmering things. She holds them up to her ears. “What do you think? With this top? Right?”

I smile. Neon pink, neon blue, and sparkles everywhere—that’s so Kelsey. “A hundred percent.”

“Oh, Kelsey,” Mom says. “You’re so pretty, you don’t need to wear such loud things. They just distract from your beauty.”

“But I like wearing loud things,” Kelsey says, unaffected. “I think bright things look good on me.”

“They look great on you!” I say.

Mom’s face says she disagrees, but I love Kelsey’s style—the bold things she wears go perfectly with her big laugh and out-sized personality. Everything about her is awesome.

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