Page 69 of The Billionaire's Shrubbery

“Have you been hanging out with my mother? Is she training you in all the looks that disempower the Power men?”

“Notallof them.” She winks and blows me a kiss. “And it is not a fast-food restaurant. It has the best sushi between downtown Vancouver and Whistler. They just choose to not book it up for months in advance … so, no RSVP.”

My six security guys, dressed in matching outdoor gear versus the usual black suits, look farcical getting out of their identical BMW X5s. But Virginia insists they at least try to look like normal people out to eat. Everything about them, however—from their posture to their scowls—screams that these are men trained to be hyper-observant, no matter how many dirt stains they have on the hems of their hiking pants.

Of course, there’s a line to get a table. Virginia goes in and requests two tables for two and a table for four—in that order and all within view of each other so that I won’t be left unprotected. Was it a hassle? Sure. But the thing that irritates me most is having to wait to sit. I wrack my brain for the last time I arrivedanywhereand wasn’t immediately taken to wherever the fuck I wanted to go.

As Virginia tries to chat with the stone faces that stand two in front, two behind, and one at each side of us, I bite my bottom lip to not voice the question running through my mind—

Do you know who I am?

This is, perhaps, the first time in my life when it would not be a benefit for anyone to acknowledge my privilege, my importance, my goddamn power.

And yet, here I stand, like a schmo, waiting to eat food that will probably not even be that good. As soon as theWhy?pops into my incensed head, a laughing Virginia grabs my hand and kisses my knuckles.

“Thank you for coming. I’ve been craving their seafood salad for I can’t even tell you how long. It’s so good. You’ll love it—maybe even more than you love me!”

That smile. She melts my cold, hard heart with her joyful energy. Virginia tilts her head up for a kiss. I don’t kiss in public. I don’t emote in public. I try not to do anything in public. But I can’t say no to this woman.

I press my palm against her nape and tangle my fingers in her loose curls. The kiss is G-rated, but still ignites my blood.

Who am I? When I’m with Virginia “Free Spirit” Beach, I am not the same man. My body sighs a quiet “thank you,” but my brain screams “Danger!”

After forty minutes and a frustrating number of people who arrived after us have gone in, our entourage is invited to be seated. I give the hostess points for the table assignments. My back is against the wall, and four of my guards have a clear view of both the front door and the hall to the bathroom. I settle in and relax.

For about twelve seconds.

A small child screams. I look around to see what appears to be a five-year-old throwing a fit and the adults at his table totally ignoring him. I stare. The hellion continues to voice his displeasure at whatever the fuck a kid can be upset about with a plate full of food in front of him. His parents appear to be stone deaf.

“Seriously? Why is there a screaming child here?”

Virginia wrinkles her nose. “Family-friendly until nine o’clock.”

“What’s wrong with those parents? Are they not aware that their devil spawn is disrupting the entire restaurant?” I wave my hand to get the waitress’s attention.

Virginia half stands to reach my arm and pulls it down.

“It’s a thing in this town … it’s called permissive parenting. And the parents are referred to as jellyfish by, well, anyone who isn’t into letting their kids run the show.”

“You have got to be kidding me. I can’t do this. First the wait just to have to listen to that? We’re leaving.” I push back my chair and nod at the security detail. They stand in unison, with military precision. But Virginia has crossed her arms and is shaking her head.

“Wow,” she snarls, “I never would’ve guessed that your mother was a jellyfish too. Or wait—” She opens her eyes wide and points a taunting finger at me. “Was it your nanny who taught the great Will Power that he can get whatever he wants by throwing a fit?”

When my focus is no longer on Virginia, I realize the restaurant has gone silent. Correction, the brat has stopped bawling. But it’s not quite silent. The whispers that carry my name from table to table sound like wind in a haunted forest.

One of my security detail leans close to me and says, “We have to go now. The space is no longer safe.”

I can’t argue that Virginia is wrong. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t get my way—aside from the whole “you are Will Power, therefore you are a motivational speaker” thing. I unclench my fists and breathe out, glad that I now have no choice but to leave.

“I’m sorry,” I say, “we have to go. Everyone knows who I am.”

Her eyes go glassy, but she squeezes them tight. When she opens them again, I see anger in her look. “Go. You got your way in the end. You always do, don’t you? But I’m staying. I’m having dinner, and if you decide it’s safe enough to stay at the rental, I’ll see you back there. Otherwise …” She trails off and looks away.

“Otherwise?” I repeat, wondering if she’s going to make a threat about leaving me or if she’ll interpret my absence as me leaving her. I don’t like either option.

I crouch to her level. “Please come back to the house with me. We can order takeout and one team will bring it home with them. I can’t leave you here.”

She finally faces me, and her cheeks are wet. I wipe away a tear with the pad of my thumb.

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