Page 160 of The Elusive Billionaire
“Er, yes, ma’a—ah, Savvy?”
“We agreed to three guards.”
“We did, yes.”
I drag my friends another ten steps, and swear I can feel eyes on us from every direction.
“Then tell me why it feels like so many more?” I ask. “Did Greyson approve more?”
I almost feel bad for Carson right now.
He holds up his hands. “I’m only in charge of your team, and there are three of us here today. I stay with you—Jack moves ahead of us, and Mark bats cleanup.”
“We had a plan,” I grumble, pushing through the crowd toward the main stage. “If Grey went back on his word…”
Stay calm, Savvy. What’s the saying? Paranoia will destroy ya?
Cutting through the concession stands, I take a right at ring toss and another right at the house of mirrors, then stop in my tracks when I come out at the front of the main stage.
The first thing my brain registers is that Grey is shirtless. The second thing is that he’s laughing. Really laughing. His head is tipped back, showcasing his Adam’s apple and day-old scruff along his jaw.
Greyson has day-old scruff.
And he’s wearing jeans.
Jeans that hang low on his hips, and all his tanned California skin glistens under the midday sun.
Cian claps him on the back. They’re too far away to hear what they’re saying, but their mannerisms are loose and comfortable.
Grey could pass for a regular guy in this moment—it’s a shock to my system but not unwelcome. This is Grey unguarded, and I might like this version of him as much as I like the protective asshole who pushes my buttons for fun.
All the guys are here. Braxton, Sage, Moose, Pops, even the football team has circled around Grey. They’re all here—for him.
Roman leans into Grey’s space, then nods in my direction. I’m sure Carson alerted him to our arrival, and Grey scopes me out as though he’d been waiting for me.
It hurts to breathe.
This moment feels poignant, like I’ve been running my entire life to get to him, and here he is, standing in a crowd of people that fades into nothingness as though it’s just him and me on the precipice of something great.
He waves, never losing his smile, then parts the sea of people to come to me.
I feel high, drugged on the happy pheromones he’s exuding.
“Hey,” he says when he’s close enough to touch. “Sorry, I’m all sweaty.”
His smile never wavers.
“I—I’m mad at you.”
“You are.” His eyes dance—two pale blue irises bouncing with delight. “What did I do now?”
I think I might be floating.
What the hell is happening to me right now?
Smiling like an idiot is my answer.
“I don’t remember,” I say.
