Page 42 of The Billionaire and I

I have a quick business meeting. Be right back.

Chef left breakfast in the fridge, and please help yourself to coffee.

Can’t wait to see you in that dress, babe.

xx,

Cole

The thing was, Icouldn’twait to see Jenny in the pretty gown we’d bought at the boutique. I had fond memories of that shopping trip! I couldn’t remember ever being genuinely invested in what one of my dates wore. But we’d picked the mermaid dress out together. I was uncharacteristically excited about going to the wedding and the reception—if I could just get through the meeting with my father first.

I reached the Liberty’s bright, polished lobby, the harbor sparkling outside. The Windsor sisters were nowhere to be seen, but faithful Amari was at the front desk. “Do you ever sleep?” I asked him.

Amari smiled, but he looked uncomfortable. “Ha, I do. Sometimes. Listen, Mr. Bryson?—”

“I know all about what Greta and Florence are up to.” I waved my hand.

“Yeah, they filed some sort of petition with the boss. And then they bent my ear all about it. I’m sorry—I didn’t want tolisten to their garbage about Ms. Jenny. But it’s hard to walk away from one of the tenants. I have to be polite, you know?” Amari asked.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” I assured him. “I know what they’re like. They shouldn’t have put you in that position.”

He shook his head. “All they do is complain. You think maybe they could just enjoy all that money they’ve got instead.”

“Some people thrive on being miserable, and misery loves company.” I shrugged. “Have John call me if he’s concerned. Actually—callhim. Tell him I’d like to buy out the Windsors’ unit. I’ll pay double what it’s worth, cash, and I’m ready to close whenever he is. Tell him to write me up a Purchase and Sales Agreement, and we’re good to go.”

Amari’s jaw dropped. I was, after all, talking about a six-million-dollar cash deal. He managed to nod his head. “Y-Yes, sir.”

“We haven’t got time for their shit, am I right? I’m handling it, Amari. I should’ve done this months ago.” I patted him on the back and headed outside.

Why hadn’t I thought of buying out those bitches before? Jenny was like my good luck charm. She was helping me turn things around. Now, only if she could help me with theThunder’sdefense, and also, my father…

His club, The Bromfield, was located in the Financial District and was a short walk from the Liberty. It was the oldest racquetball and squash club in the city. It boasted a lap pool, sauna, and a dining room filled with solid oak tables, oil paintings of hunting dogs, and red leather chairs. The restaurant had chicken liver pate, green peas, and even turnips on the menu. It was about as old-school as you could get.

Although it was ridiculously expensive, I was also a member, but I never went. I paid my dues mostly to annoy my father. If he could afford it, so could I—I just liked to remind him of that.

The young, besuited attendant rolled his eyes when I reached the entrance. “Dude, youknowI’m not supposed to let you in when you’re wearing sweats.”

“Dude, deal with it.” I slapped five hundred dollars into his hand and patted him on the back. “If they threaten to fire you, tell them I’ll pull my funding for the fundraiser next month.”

“Yes, Mr. Bryson,” he groaned.

I found my father in the stately dining room at a table by himself, eating oatmeal with what looked like apricot preserves on top.Ick.His hair was wet around the edges. He had probably already worked out, taken a shower, and had plenty of coffee, all the better to chew me a new asshole for dating an escort.

He blinked at me as I sat down. “How did you get in here dressed like that?”

I glanced down at my hoodie and sweats. “These are Lanvin,” I said as if the designer label explained everything.

He sighed. “You’re supposed to wear a collared shirt here. There’s a dress code.”

“I know, Father. I’ve been coming here since I was a little kid. And I’m a member, remember?”

“Then you should know better.” He ate some more of his preserves before speaking again. “I saw your pictures online.”

I braced myself. “Yes, Father?”

“It’s come to my attention that your new lady-friend is… How do I say this?” he asked. “That she’s less than legitimate.”

“She’s legitimately my lady-friend,” I said.

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