Page 98 of The Elusive Billionaire
Heat floods my face, and my defenses rise. “Care to elaborate? What, exactly, am I lying about now?”
“I know you, Monroe. I’ve watched you. You don’t let nerves stop you. You bulldoze through them. It’s who you are.”
I want to argue, but I can’t. Not really.
“What could you possibly be nervous about here?” he asks, all push and no pause.
“Oh, I don’t know… maybe the fact that my life feels like it was swept up in a hurricane that hasn’t spit me out yet? I can’t tell which way is up, and now I’m in a $4,000 dress that could’ve fed 1,500 people. I know because I looked it up. I’m wearing the equivalent of 1,500 emergency meals, and I can’t even think about the cost of this ring.”
He studies me for a long moment, his silence saying more than our squabbles ever could. “Did you worry about food as a child?”
“What?” I blink. Heart racing. Palms sweating. Blood rushing. How the hell did he get that from our conversation?
“Did you have food insecurity growing up?”
I hesitate. “Sometimes.” Lying would do me no good, since he’s a human lie detector that seems to have a direct connection to my conscience, so I supply a sliver of truth instead. “But that has nothing to do with this.”
It does, but there’s no reason he needs that information.
My stomach rumbles again, and Grey’s face hardens into furious lines. “Did you eat today?”
“Why are you so obsessed with my food intake?” I snap.
“Because someone has to be.” His tone is sharper now. “Pick. Something.”
He pushes the plate toward me. When I narrow my eyes, he softens. “Please.”
Ugh. Fine. I grab the mushroom puff and bite into it, then try not to moan when it hits my deprived taste buds.
He watches me like I’m performing magic. Like chewing is an intimate act.
“I may have grown up in a different world than you,” he starts, “but I’m insensitive, not ignorant. Braxton and I paid for this event, and the foundation is matching our costs in donations to Stillwater. These events bring in bigger donors. It’s a game. One we play to help others.”
I glance at the food when he inches it closer to me, then grab an oyster. He grins as though I just agreed to sink to my knees for him right here.
I allow myself a moment to savor the salty flavors that burst along my tongue. I am hungry, and I do need to get control of myself.
He offers me one more bite of something unidentifiable, and I decline. He pops it in his mouth… then immediately regrets it. Do I take satisfaction in his grimace? Yes, yes, I do.
“Want anything else?” he asks, swallowing so hard it’s audible.
“No,” I sigh, hand over my stomach. “There’s dinner at this thing, right?”
He nods, but his expression carries a shadow, a secret I don’t understand.
“Let’s get this over with,” I say.
He slips my arm through his, and irritation prickles my spine when his touch centers me, reminds me who I am—that I can do anything.
“Try to have fun, sweetheart. I’m on your side here.”
My breath catches. I don’t respond, but I can’t let it go either. When we’re standing on opposite sides of the same line, things make sense. I can handle whatever he throws at me. Side by side, fighting together, is a game I don’t know how to win.
As we move through the crowd and find our table, his touch grounds me, tethering me tighter to him with each step.
The rest of our party is already seated. Madi is next to Braxton, and Grant, who I met this morning, is next to him. On Grant’s other side is Grey’s nephew Sage, followed by Clover, then Grant’s brother Roman. Sitting in such close proximity, I notice the similarities between the brothers—I’d think they were twins if I hadn’t overheard Grant introduce himself as the oldest brother earlier in the day.
Grey pulls out the chair next to Madi, and I quietly slip into it. Who knew he could be such a gentleman? Then he sits next to me, his hand finding its home on my thigh like we’ve done this a thousand times before.
