The Billionaire Bargain #1(21)

There were so many of these bags I could barely see the driver’s face.

“What the—”

“Mr. Devlin sent these over. For you. And he apologizes for inconveniencing you with the last-minute invitation, but hopes this will help ease the strain.”

He set the bags down and as I watched them pile up, my mouth fell open so wide I’m surprised no one claimed it a parking spot. Before I could think of something to actually say as opposed to standing there catching flies, the driver tipped his hat, said,“I’ll be waiting in the car, ma’am. Take your time,” and left.

I think he looked vaguely relieved to be temporarily escaping the surreal version of reality in which Grant Devlin did nice things for other people without being prompted.

I carried the bags into my room, and laid their contents out on my bed. I didn’t think it was possibly for my jaw to drop any lower without cracking the mantle of the earth and causing a small volcanic explosion, but it did.

Grant had sent over the most beautiful dress I had ever seen. It was black and sleek, with just a hint of gold around the bodice, and I could tell just looking at it that it would cling in all the right places and drape in the all the others. There was a pair of matching shoes, and a purse, and a necklace with—oh my God.

Diamonds. Those were real diamonds. Real actual not even a little bit fake glass or cubic zirconia diamonds. I picked up the necklace with shaking hands, and what I’d thought was a tag fluttered loose onto the floor, where I saw that it was a note bearing Grant’s distinctive slanting handwriting.

The message was short: Dear Lacey,

Thanks for playing along.

Remember, though, I do love a competitive spirit.

Grant

Well, what the hell was that supposed to mean?

? ? ?

Entering the gala was like stepping into an explosion of wealth, or maybe a tornado.

Cameras flashed, glamorous people swept by in a whirlwind of perfect hair and cheekbones that could cut granite—oh my God, was that Pierce Brosnan?! Shrieks of recognition and delight echoed across the polished wooden floor.

Everywhere I looked there were sparkling lights, silver and gold bunting, striking paintings and sculptures that scholars would have given their eyeteeth to study, trays of chocolate amuse-bouches arranged into towering pyramids that would have made the pharaohs jealous.

“I am so entirely out of my lea—mmmph!” That last word of the sentence was brought to you by Grant, sweeping me up in his arms like Prince Fucking Charming and kissing me, deep.

For a second, I surrendered to the warmth of the kiss, the roughness of his stubble igniting my desire, making me think of other rough things we could do together— And then I remembered it wasn’t real.

I shoved him away.“Give a girl some goddamn warning, you—”

“Play along,” he murmured, and oh, the things his voice did to my body, especially when he leaned close, his arm brushing mine, his lips almost on my ear… “Jennings and his wife have arrived.”

My head snapped up and I scanned the room, finally seeing them waving to us by the coat check. Jennings wore a much better suit than he had the last time we’d seen him; it brought out the blue in his eyes and deemphasized his paunch. There was a surprisingly age-appropriate woman at his side, her posture dignified and her teak skin just beginning to show wrinkles, a touch of silver adorning her hair as if it were the proper accessory and not a sign of advancing age. Her smile was wide and warm.

I waved back, and then turned halfway, giving Grant a smile that I hoped looked less pained than it felt.

“Whatever you say, dear,” and then I stood on tiptoe and planted a kiss on his cheek with a loud, wet smack.

There was a cheer of approval from Jennings, his wife, and several other couples around them; they beckoned us over and soon we were swamped with businessmen and businesswoman who I’d mostly only ever seen in the business pages of the paper, kicking ass and taking names: forming mergers, performing hostile takeovers, founding entire new enterprises.

And the few who I had met in person before? Yeah, that had consisted of me handing them a coffee—for which they did not thank me, since I was the admin assistant and therefore invisible—before they rushed over to their meetings with people who were actually important.

They sure were being friendly now, though.

“Grant, you sorry bastard, where’s this young lady’s drink?” cried Lily Chang, who just last week had been dubbed‘The Tiger of Wall Street’ by Forbes.“Do you want her to die of thirst?”

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” Grant said. He squeezed my waist affectionately.“Punch or champagne, my dear?”

“Champagne, please,” I said.

And then I changed my mind. If Grant wanted me to play this game, I was going to play it to the goddamn hilt.

“No, make it punch—I don’t want to lose my head as quickly as I did the night we met. Remember?”

There was a round of“oooooohs” throughout the circle, followed by people chuckling and nudging each other their elbows.

“How could I forget?” Grant said with a raised eyebrow. He lowered his voice, though not low enough to keep our audience from hearing:“It’s one of my fondest memories.”

“Well, then you go on and get it, sugarplum,” I said, and smiled sweetly.