Page 73 of Knocked Up by My Fake Fiancé
She leaves before I can ask what she means. I frown, replaying her words as I inspect the stubborn red blotch on my gown. The water alone isn't helping much. Hopefully the vinegar and lemon mix will.
I wait about five minutes for the server to return, but when the door finally opens, it isn't her—it's Grayson, carrying a garment bag.
I raise an eyebrow. "You know this is the women's bathroom, right?"
"I know," he says easily. "It's a woman I'm looking for."
His voice is low, his eyes simmering with heat as he approaches. My pulse jumps.
"You saw what happened?" I ask.
"Yes. I was on my way to step in when I heard what you said." He shakes his head, half smiling. "You were incredible. I couldn't stop watching."
I shrug, blushing. "Well, it's not my first time dealing with a rich brat—and probably won't be my last."
"Rest assured," he says darkly, "you won't have to deal with that one again."
"Why? What did you do?"
"Nothing terrible—less than she deserves. Let's just say she won't be getting invited anywhere for a while. At least, not anywhere we'll be."
I shake my head. "That's sweet, but unnecessary. I can handle her."
"I know," he says softly. "But I don't want you to have to." He lifts the garment bag. "I got you a new dress from Chanel. Rush delivery."
"Wow. Vivienne was going to lend me one of hers."
"I heard," he says with a smirk. "But no one else is buying my future wife's clothes but me."
I can't help but smile at that.
After I change into the new gown, we walk out together, returning to the glow of the chandelier-lit ballroom. The night hums with music and chatter, but all I feel is the warmth of his hand at my back.
"Oh, by the way," I tell him. "Have you seen the girl who spilled the wine? I need to find her and give her a big tip. She's had a rough night."
He stops, looking down at me for a long moment.
I raise an eyebrow. "What?"
He just shakes his head, a slow smile forming—and right there, in the center of the room, beneath the glittering chandeliers, he pulls me close and kisses me passionately.
CHAPTER 22
Grayson
Despite my warnings, my father charges right ahead with his plans and announces an EGM—an Extraordinary General Meeting—for directors and senior shareholders. That sounds impressive, and in a publicly held company it would be a huge deal, with representatives from investment banks, other large firms, and even private investors attending, along with the full roll call of board members.
With the Wolfe Group, however, the "owners" are all family—George, Stephanie, and me, each holding ten percent as junior shareholders, and Mom and Pops holding thirty-five percent apiece. Between them, our parents still make every decision that goes to a vote in a board meeting. It's only if they disagree that my shares, Steph's, and George's suddenly count.
Truth is, my mother and father have never once voted against each other.
Of course, as CEO, I get to make all the non-voting decisions—which, to be honest, are practically all of them. Or at least, I have up to now.
The atmosphere in the boardroom is tense. You could almost cut it with a knife. The air is heavy with excitement, concern,stress, and that ominous sense that whatever happens today could change all of our lives.
"Okay, let's call this meeting to order." My father taps the table, and the low hum of conversation dies instantly. A hush descends as he looks around the room, pausing on each of our faces, as if to make sure we're all paying attention. He always did like the sound of his own voice, the old fool.
"Now that everyone's here, we can start. I know you're all very busy, and so am I, so I'll make this short, sweet, and to the point. As of today, the Wolfe Group will have two people sitting in the CEO seat as joint acting CEOs. Both my sons—George and Grayson Wolfe—will assume the role, and all decisions will be made in full agreement between them. Two signatures on contracts, two nods of approval on informal decisions.
