Page 52 of The Billionaire Is Back

Now, here’s the problem. You don’t get to where I am by being super chill about not getting what you want. You don’t get to where I am by being indifferent about your goals. There are smarter people in the world. More skilled. More capable. Not many, but enough. What sets me apart is when I decide I want something, I don’t rest until I have it.

I want Claire.

I’m up before anyone else in the house today. I set outthe flax muffins, hard-boiled eggs, and overnight oats that my dad will refuse to eat, check on the lobsters in their tanks—why? I have no idea. I guess I’m invested in their well-being now. Then I leave a note for my parents, telling them I’m heading out to “run some errands” but I’m reachable by phone.

I find jumper cables in the trunk of my dad’s truck and don’t think twice about foregoing my morning run, about not checking my emails or the news. Because as soon as I climb into my car and shut the door, the atmosphere is thick with Claire’s fragrance. Her shampoo, her perfume, and her arousal. Floral, earthy, honeyed, warm. I fill my lungs with these gorgeous, sexy molecules as I turn the ignition and try to remember why I had ever convinced myself I can’t have her.

She’s my best friend’s little sister, yes. I am a man of honor, yes. But it’s the memory of my father, looking at stacks of bills with wet, glassy eyes, that has always driven me. Away from Beacon Harbor, away from Claire. My mother’s supportive hand was always on his shoulder, and I know he never regretted his choice to give up the life he had planned for her. But even as a child, I knew that my dad’s home and his business were slipping away. I saw how vulnerable it made him, how weak and ashamed he felt.

That was never going to happen to me.

I was never going to feel that powerless.

Little Sweeney and the guy who had always planned to leave the small town she loved so much? That never made sense.

Young, hungry business student who barely had timeto make it home to Thanksgiving or Christmas with his family, trying to date a girl who was trying to figure out her life but already knew it wouldn’t be in the big city? It didn’t make sense.

A Wharton-grad CEO scrambling for capital, working eighty hours a week, with a girl who wanted to start her own bakery business over three hundred miles away? It just didn’t make sense.

But a billionaire who can marshal the resources to order anything he wants from around the world and have it delivered to his or her doorstep? Who can charter private jets or fly by helicopter over traffic to bridge the miles between himself and the girl he can’t stop thinking about?

That could make sense.

I can make that make sense.

I can make those two worlds come together.

I have that kind of power. And I’m going to use it.

I pull up and park at the curb in front of the Sweeney house. It hasn’t been long since I dropped Claire off right here. Flipping down the sun shade, I check my reflection and comb my fingers through my hair. I don’t have a date or a meeting, but I do have the increased heart rate that I’ve come to associate with Claire Sweeney. I gather up the jumper cables into one hand, holding it like a bouquet.

Fuck.

I should have brought her an actual bouquet.

I’m so used to letting Alice take care of that kind of thing. I get out of the car and scan the front yards nearby to see if there are any flowers Ican pick. But then I remember I’m Grady Barber. I have a big deal that I need to close. There’s a key player whose wife is obsessed with houseplants. I can’t have pictures circulating of me stealing flowers from some old lady’s garden. I nod at the middle-aged man who’s walking his dog. I don’t recognize him, but I can tell he recognizes me. There’s a woman out adjusting the sprinkler on her lawn, watching me.

Everyone in town will be talking about how the billionaire showed up at the Sweeney house with jumper cables by this afternoon.

And I’m glad.

Let ’em talk about me and Claire.

I knock on the front door, ready to woo the fuck out of the woman I finger fucked in my car last night.

Claire opens the door, dressed in a tight little T-shirt and sweatpants, her hair up in a ponytail, blue eyes the color of the morning sky, mouth already forming a grin, and I just want to kiss her again.

“Is that an Armani suit?” First thing out of her mouth. I caught her catching her breath, but her tone is sassy and I’d expect nothing less.

I confidently smooth down the front of my shirt so she can get a good look at my hand. In case she’s forgotten what it did to her last night. And it’s not like I wore a tie and a pocket square. I wanted to look good, and this was the second-nicest suit Alice had delivered. “It’s Emporio Armani. Calm down.”

“I’ll try.” She’s blushing now, staring at my hand, but she smirks. “Are those jumper cables?”

I hold them out to her. “For you.”

“They’re beautiful,” she coos, taking them from meand cradling them in one arm like a beauty queen. “Thank you.”

I rest my hands against the door frame and lean in, hovering a foot from her pretty face, and we just grin at each other for a minute. God dammit, I want to take her for another ride and make out with her in another parking lot. But we’ve got things to discuss first. Then I’ll make out with her wherever I want. “We need to talk. About last night.”

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