Page 112 of The Billionaire Is Back

Returning to the kitchen, I open a cupboard and retrieve the cupcake I saved for myself. I saved a carrot cake muffin for Grady. I just might have to eat it if he doesn’t show up soon.

I carry my treat back out to the store, automatically reaching out to flip theOpensign toClosedand lock the door. But I stop myself. I may not have any fresh treats left to sell, but I am, technically, still open. I take a seat at a small table by the window, glancing out ever so subtly, looking up and down and across the street. No limos pulling up. No billionaires running down the block like Tom Cruise at the end of every movie ever.

Gazing over at the original Sweet Treats sign that hangs on the wall behind the counter, I breathe a sigh of relief and acknowledge that it’s done. I’ve done it. My bakery reopening was a success. Buddy and Ruthie would have been pleased if they’d been able to make it up from Florida.

My store is now empty, and my heart is mostly full. But my stomach is definitely empty,and I’m salivating for this red velvet cupcake. The universally acknowledged snack choice of ladies who eat their feelings.

It’s perfect.

Not perfect in the perfectionist sense. It’s a perfect cupcake. It’s pretty, and it makes me happy to look at and to eat. That’s what cupcakes are for.

But I myself am not a cupcake. As sweet as I’m capable of being and as much as I do like to make people happy, I am not consistently perfect or cheerful. And I don’t have to be. I don’t want to be sad today, but I can’t pretend that I’m not. I refuse to use the worddisappointedbecause I really hate that word, but the Resignation Plane has been circling overhead for hours and it’s about to come in for a landing. I think it’s not just Grady that I miss, it’s the foolish optimism I had for a little while that we could actually make a relationship work.

I whisper one more affirmation, one more quiet bargain with the future, somewhere between hope and a promise.

“Grady will always come back to me.”

Chapter 30

Sir Texts-a-Lot, Grady Got Back

Grady

I know justabout every fact there is to know about human psychology. I use this knowledge every day in business. I know that by design we habituate to our surroundings. Things that seemed novel to us, exciting and interesting, become mundane so that we can focus on the next thing we need or the next threat coming toward us. It is a constant battle to not get used to all the abundance that I have, to appreciate it all to the fullest extent that it deserves to be appreciated. I don’t want to get used to private jets and personal drivers. I don’t want to take them for granted.

Those luxuries are special and hard won, and most people never have the opportunity to experience them even once.

But for how badly I want to get to Claire and howfast I need to do it, this jet might as well be a fucking donkey.

Since I am a billionaire who is appreciative of what I have, I’m texting her in-flight, updating her minute by minute about where I’m at. I’m able to do that because I have excellent Wi-Fi service and a personal encrypted text relay. I work very, very hard to appreciate these things. While Claire apparently works very, very hard to not text me back.

ME: Baby, we’re in the air. Here is the GPS link to track the flight if you want to. You don’t have to. I want you to focus on your day.

ME: Babe, we’ve landed. I’m just getting my stuff and I’m gonna hop in the car. I’m sure it went wonderfully.

ME: I’m driving myself and dictating this. I’m gonna stop at the bakery first.

ME: Unless you’re at the house?

ME: Just let me know.

No answer. None. Maybe it’s foolish to go to the bakery, but if I go straight to our place, it feels like giving up. I know I’m late. I’m very, very late. Her silence makes it clear that she is aware that I’m very, very, very late.

The sun is going down. But as I drive down Main Street, reaching the block with theLittle Sweeney’s Sweet Treats sign, I see that Claire is sitting inside her store. The lights are on, but it looks like she’s alone. There is hope. I whip into a parking spot and rush in through the front entrance, which is thankfully still unlocked, opening the door so quickly the bell shrieks my arrival.

“Hey” is all I say.

“Hey,” she says. Her voice is thin and far away.

“Baby, I’m so sorry.” I lean down to kiss her. She doesn’t offer me her lips—or any of her at all, really—but she doesn’t move away either. I plant one on her cheekbone. Glancing around the store, I can see that the shelves are all empty. “How’d it go? Did you sell out?”

She gives a little nod. “It went great. You were missed.”

Whoa. Even in my most intense alpha meetings with fellow empire builders I have never been hit so hard by six words. She isn’t being sarcastic or passive aggressive. She’s just sad. And it’s a dagger to my heart whether she meant to stab me with those two short sentences or not.

She’s staring down at a little plate with an empty baking cup and some crumbs on it. “I saved you a muffin. But then I ate it.”

“Okay. Well, I’m glad to hear it went great.” I pull out the other chair at this small table so I can sit across from her. Really be here and not look like I’m about to leave again—because I’m not leaving here without her. “I’m very sorry I’m late, Claire.” I’m not a guy who apologizes to people, but I’ve apologized twice since I walked in.

---