Page 76 of The Billionaire Is Back

“Oh, hello there, Grady,” Aston says, shaking my hand vigorously.

First. He greets me and shakes my hand first. I smirk at Lynch as Aston greets him second.

Is this a trivial win? A petty battle? Absolutely.

But when you’re world conquerors like Lynch and I are, fighting multimillion-dollar wars every year, really all you have left to enjoy is the frivolous.

I almost feel bad for Lynch as I watch him struggle to turn his usual frown upside down. Aston doesn’t seem to notice, but there’s another somewhat terrifying battle going on between Lynch’s forced grin and his furrowed brow.

Aston holds up his hands, pretending to separate us. “Now, now, gentlemen, please remember—this is a peaceful function for charity.”

Lynch and I chuckle at his lame joke.Oh, we know.We aren’t going to fight each other directly. Our weapons are the amazing women on our arms.

Lynch gives Mrs. Pembroke a peck on the cheek. “Genevieve,” he croons. “Mind if Iplanta kiss on your cheek?”

She laughs heartily at that stupid punny joke that I was planning to make. Dammit. My delivery would have been a lot smoother.

“I think you’ve already met my assistant, Emma, but not…as my fiancée.” Lynch, I must admit, presents Emma with a charming flourish.

Emma does a weird bow-curtsy thing before taking Mrs. Pembroke’s hand. I notice Lynch holding her arm to steady her. She might be a bit tipsy. “So wonderful to see you again, Mrs. Pembroke.”

“Oh, please, call me Genevieve.” She admires the engagement ring. “I just think it’s so lovely that you two have finally given in to your very obvious affections toward one another. I just adore workplace romances. I suppose they’re frowned upon nowadays—in real life anyway. But that’s how I met Aston, you know.” She clasps Emma’s hand, and they share a warm, knowingsmile. “I was his secretary back when he had a three-man company in a one-room office. We know how much help these boys need and we know exactly how to help them, don’t we, dear?”

I refuse to meet Lynch’s smug gaze.

He may think he’s currently winning, that Claire and I are a third-rate, third-wheel couple next to the sham workplace relationship that is LynchJoy. But I know better.

I clear my throat. “Mrs. Pembroke, I’d like to introduce you to my girlfriend, Claire Sweeney, from Beacon Harbor. Claire, this is Aston and Genevieve Pembroke, our hosts for the evening.”

“It’s a great pleasure to meet you,” Claire says, shaking their hands, and you just have to believe her because she’s so sincere. “Thank you for a lovely evening.”

“Pleasure, my girl,” Aston says. “Pleasure.”

“Oh my, what a lovely gown,” says Genevieve. “Sorry—he said you’re from Beacon Harbor? Is that a subsidiary of Beacon Holdings?”

I have to hand it to Claire. I can sense her entire body clenching, but she continues to smile angelically. “Not exactly. Beacon Harbor, Maine. It’s the coastal town that Grady and I grew up in.”

“That’s why I named my company Beacon Holdings.” I smile at Claire. “To bring a piece of home with me.”

Claire smiles back at me, then looks at Genevieve. “I own a bakery there.”

“Oh, a bakery! How wonderful. I love Maine. Well,I’m so glad you beautiful young people could come out to support Manhattanites for the Ethical Treatment of Houseplants.”

We all mutter our undying support for her weird charity.

“You know, I’ve always felt a deep connection with plants,” Emma Lovejoy tells our hosts. “Oh, that’s such a pretty dress!” she gasps, suddenly distracted by Claire’s gown. “It reminds me of a trailing golden pothos that I grew up with—you know, with the variegated leaves? But sadly, she is no longer with us. I took her with me to college, and she was senselessly killed by Anthrax.” She shakes her head, continuing. “The band. My roommate insisted on listening to thrash metal music very loudly, without her headphones, and all that negative energy and distressful sound vibrations slowly murdered all of my plants, no matter how much Bach and Chopin I played for them when she wasn’t around.”

Both Claire and Genevieve reach out to give Emma’s arm a little squeeze, offering their condolences, while we men covertly check each other’s reactions.

Yeah, we all think this is horseshit.

“Well, that’s why I love METH,” Claire says. “I mean, this is why we need it. I’m so happy to be a big new supporter of METH.”

I swear, I hear a record scratch. Only hipsters in Brooklyn have record players anymore, and the band is still playing on the stage, but I swear I heard one.

Mrs. Pembroke sputters, then begins mouthingMeth, meth, methover and over again to herself, as if she’s never realized what her foundation’s acronym is.

Aston Pembroke squeezes his eyes shut and massages his temples, as if he’s been fearing this moment would come, but his plan is clearly to avoid talking about it.

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