The Last Eligible Billionaire(82)

I am the biggest goober known to gooberdom.

This is where I will actually die of mortification, and I do not embarrass easily.

I’m attacking my fake boyfriend’s movie star brother, and he’s letting me, because it makes it look like we’re besties, even though we’ve never met, which means he knows.

He pats me on the back and releases me, giving nothing away, because he’s a freaking actor. Of course he’s giving nothing away.

Maybe he doesn’t know.

Maybe he’s playing along with Hayes dating a middle-class, suburban nobody because it amuses him and he likes to irritate his mother.

Maybe he’s a good brother.

Hayes slips his hand to the small of my back, his body close enough to make up for all the heat that’s left my body as my blood cells flow to my brain to make sense of all of this. “You’re back early,” he says to Jonas.

“Peyton loves the sea lions.”

“Who wouldn’t? They’re such cute bundles of flub.” They’re such cute bundles of flub? Shut up, Begonia. Shut up, shut up, shut up.

Hayes rubs my back. “Not nearly so much as you, bluebell. Minus the flub, though you’d be absolutely perfect with or without it.”

His eyes are twinkling.

Hayes.

Hayes Rutherford.

Grump supreme. Hater of people. Bigger hater of peopling with people.

And his eyes are twinkling as if he knows he’s genuinely funny.

“Are you enjoying this?” I whisper to him while Jonas turns to take another glass of champagne from a passing server.

“I enjoy everything about you, Begonia,” he murmurs back. “Everything.”

I glance behind me, where Sturgis and Mrs. Sturgis are eyeballing us, and a wave of utter gratitude washes over me.

Hayes is safe here.

Even with the freaking sharks circling.

Jonas is here and has his back.

I have his back.

“Begonia.”

Amelia’s saying my name.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. I forgot she was there, and it’s making me cuss in my head now.

Also? Amelia would have Hayes’s back, I’m pretty sure.

“Amelia!” I leap for her and hug her too, trying for a dainty socialite hug, and instead, our jeweled necklaces get caught up together and our faces are stuck mere inches apart like we’re debating kissing each other.

“Um, good to see you,” I say.

She smirks. It might actually be a warm smirk. I can’t tell, because I’m a little out of my league has just changed to Hayes will never take me out in public again, which means I’m useless as his fake girlfriend, and this is all over. He has to dump me now, because I got his family’s jewels tangled with Amelia’s.

“You’re quite the breath of fresh air,” she murmurs while she reaches behind herself, bringing her face closer to mine while she fiddles with the clasp on her necklace. “These events are rarely so entertaining.”

Filed under the world is so unfair: my deodorant is failing, while Amelia’s lifting her arms and all I can smell are fresh flowers and baby powder and maybe warm chocolate chip cookies?

How do people get to be rich and have their armpits smell like warm chocolate chip cookies? And I really want to know what kind of toothpaste she uses, because her breath is remarkably pleasant too.

“I thought that’s what the sea lions were for,” I say. “For entertainment.”

“You get tired of them after the first seven galas of the year with them present.”

“Oh my gosh, I could never—”

“I’m aware, Begonia,” Amelia says, but there’s no snark in her voice. It’s all warmth. “I only wish I could’ve counted on you to slice and dice Brock and Trixie Sturgis’s livers.”

“I tried, but I don’t know if they were smart enough to get the insults.”

She makes the same kind of noise in her throat that Hayes has made several times tonight. The kind that made me wonder if I was amusing or annoying him.

Warm hands settle at my neck, igniting goosebumps all over my skin, and I’m suddenly free.

Amelia pulls back too, dangling our intermixed necklaces in hand. “Shall I send yours back once my assistant has solved this little issue?” she says to Hayes.

Not to me.

To Hayes.

We can be friendly, but I get it. We’re not friends. And I’m clearly borrowing jewels, because I don’t belong here.

“Begonia would love to have her necklace back,” he replies. “Thank you.”

“Begonia!” Peyton joins us. Yes, Peyton Baker, Jonas’s movie star wife who won a Golden Globe and an Emmy this year, which I know because awards shows sometime get exceptions for my no-gossip rule. To my utter astonishment, she grabs my hands and pulls me in to kiss my cheeks in turn, executing the move so flawlessly she manages to make me look like I know what I’m doing with air kisses too. “We were so sorry to miss you at the wedding, but completely understood. I’m so glad you’re here. How’s Hyacinth?”

“She’s like a Thanksgiving turkey with her popper thingie stuck in the wing instead of the thigh. Ready to pop, but not fully baked.”

Peyton Baker knows who I am.

Peyton Baker. Hollywood’s biggest badass leading lady.