The hate date, p.6
The Hate Date, page 6
Greg shrugged. “All our time spent out in the water was technically more valuable than the watch, but I couldn’t let my younger brothers get away with it. Otherwise, chaos will reign.”
I laughed. “Yeah, you can’t let little brothers develop bad habits.”
“So what’s your petty hatred?” he asked again.
“It’s dumb,” I said.
Greg stopped, pulling me toward him. “Tell me.”
“Okay, so do you like Disney movies?”
“No.”
I gave him a slight shove, but he pulled me back toward him. “Of course you don’t,” I retorted, looking up into his gray eyes. “That’s why I despise you. Anyway, are you at least familiar with Cinderella?”
“Yes.”
“Disney has a color for all their official princesses,” I said, starting my rant. “There are some who wear traditional cultural garments, but the other girls all have a ball gown in a different color. Tiana has green, Belle has yellow, Cinderella has blue, and Sleeping Beauty has pink. Except,” I railed, “in the movie, Cinderella’s dress is clearly white. The only reason it looks blue is because the lighting during the nighttime dancing scene makes her dress blue, but it isn’t! You know whose dress is blue, however?”
Greg’s eyes were slightly widened.
Stop it, Belle. This isn’t that important.
Except it was. Also the multiple courses had come with multiple glasses of wine, and I had drunk all the wine at dinner.
“Sleeping Beauty’s dress is blue the entire movie! They should have made her dress blue and Cinderella’s dress white as God intended.” I let out an angry breath. “End rant.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone react that strongly about anything so petty,” Greg said, a smile playing around his mouth. “It’s adorable.”
I felt a flush of happiness pass through me. Tall girls were never referred to as adorable. Ever.
“Do you want a cheeseburger?” I blurted out.
Greg raised an elegant eyebrow. “Is that some sort of sex thing?”
“Er, no,” I said, a flush creeping up my chest. I pointed to a small burger place across the street at a corner. “It was a three-hour dinner, and yet somehow I’m starving.”
The mouthwatering smell of french fries and smash burgers greeted us when we walked in.
“We’re supposed to be doing things we hate,” Greg reminded me.
“Oh, I am totally going to hate eating all this food,” I promised him. Drunk me was a starving, bottomless pit. And I wanted everything on the menu.
“Can I have the number three with cheese fries,” I read off the menu above the cash register. “And an order of mozzarella sticks, and a chocolate shake, please?”
What are you doing? I chastised myself as soon as the words came tumbling out of my mouth. You can’t just order all that shit and eat it in front of Greg. What is he going to think?
But it was too late.
“You want anything?” I asked, ducking my head down slightly.
But Greg didn’t seem fazed at all. “Yes, actually. All I’ve had to eat tonight were a pile of sticks, some dirty water, and that strange charcoal-covered onion bread. I’ll have a number four. No shake.”
The burger shop had seating outside with heat lamps, and we took our food out there.
“I love sitting outside in winter,” I said happily as a few snowflakes fell. “More restaurants should do outdoor winter seating.”
Greg sat down next to me on the bench and pulled me close to him. “You’re not cold?”
“Nope.”
His hand roamed around my back, lightly stroking me.
Inside I was elated. I could barely believe what was happening—Me! The tall, weird girl who the mean girls would make fun of in high school, and I was the one half lying on a hot billionaire’s chest.
Calm down. Maybe he’s just being nice.
Except that Greg’s other hand had come up to cup my cheek.
“In the spirit of ending the date with things we don’t hate…” Greg said, his deep voice rumbling through his chest. He tilted my head up. Then leaned down to press his mouth to mine.
The kiss was amazing! It was snow globes and champagne and New Year’s Eve fireworks. He kissed me softly then harder, one hand cupping my face, the other on the back of my head angling me toward him.
The steam from our breath hung between us in the air when he pulled back.
“I thought you hated me,” I croaked.
He gave me a rueful smile. “I do.”
14
Greg
What had possessed me to kiss Belle? She was merely a stepping stone to my acquisition of Martin Shaw’s fund. Why in the ever-loving fuck was I trying to complicate things with her?
But I knew why. It was because Belle had looked so beautiful in the firelight. And the way she had rested against me? It felt like she belonged.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I must be losing my mind.”
“Greg!” Martin called, walking into the VIP area of the restaurant at the base of Svensson Investment tower.
He sat down across from me, resting his elbows on the table. “How was the hate date?”
I smiled in spite of myself.
“My man!” Martin said, reaching over to clap me on the shoulder. “Pics, or it didn’t happen.”
I took out my phone.
I’d had the waiter at the fancy restaurant take a few photos of us, and then Belle had taken a selfie in the courtyard of the hamburger place.
“Nice, dude, she really digs you. Also, no fair on the super-fancy restaurant,” Martin said.
“Both of us hate overly fanciful foods,” I explained. “Besides, I am an investor. I can’t completely drop the ball. I did need to impress her.”
“What kind of investment do you do?” Martin asked as the server brought over two drinks.
Score.
I was in a very good mood when I walked into the office after giving Martin the rundown of Svensson Investment’s holdings. During lunch, I had tried to seem very casual with it and not pushy. I just needed to slip the idea in his head; I would follow up a few days later.
“Did you have a nice date?” My half brother Hunter said snidely when I walked into the conference room.
“You know what?” I said. “I’m so pleased about getting close to scoring a big investor that I don’t even care that you just randomly showed up. You are not going to ruin my day.”
“And here I thought you were happy because your date went well,” Liam said.
“I thought it was a fake date,” Hunter said with a scowl.
“It was a hate date,” Carl said with a snort.
Hunter glared at him.
Carl backtracked. “You want a coffee, Greg?”
“You going to take her out again?” Mike asked.
“What? No,” I said. “Of course not. It was a one-time thing to get Martin on my good side. You know, make him think we have something in common.”
“The tangled lies my brother weaves,” Hunter drawled.
“You’re one to talk,” I cut back at him, “considering how much shit we’re in with Meg because of you.”
Hunter’s face screwed up. “Don’t start that shit with me. What you’re doing to Belle is way worse.”
“I don’t see how,” I scoffed. “Even if it does go south, it’s not like she’s going to be mayor of New York or something. She’s a nobody. This will never come back to bite us. My plan literally cannot fail.”
But for all my promises that I was done with Belle, for some reason I couldn’t keep my mind off her.
I kept thinking about how she had melted against me when I kissed her. I wanted to kiss her again. In fact, I wanted to do more than kiss her.
“And next on the agenda,” Liam droned, “we’re going to discuss moving all the children from Harrogate to Greg’s condo. I will, of course, move in as the nanny.”
“That’s fine. Next item. Wait—”
“Great!” Hunter smirked. “I’ll have Remy load them all up in the bus. They’ll be over by nightfall. Fair warning, they have been doing the baking soda-and-vinegar volcanoes in their science classes, and several of them have become emotionally attached to their creations. I expect they’ll be bringing them along.”
Fuck.
“No, don’t bring them here. In fact, the next time you do bring them here, you need to give fair warning. You can’t just show up outside my door.”
“If you would actually pull your own weigh—” Hunter began.
“I am the only one here making sure there is money in the bank,” I snapped.
“Yeah, because you saddle me with taking care of all the kids.”
“You were not employed at the time,” I reminded Hunter. “All you were doing was running around town and every once in a while acting as a divorce lawyer. Get over yourself. Next item.”
But my mind started to wander again as Mike gave a rundown of the new Greyson Hotel Group boutique hotel locations he was proposing.
If I were to take Belle on another date, not that I am, where should I take her? What would she enjoy and be impressed by?
Stop thinking about it. Belle is a distraction.
But really, if you thought about it, trying not to think about her was already a distraction, so the only logical thing to do was ask Belle for another date.
Satisfied that the decision was made, I turned my attention back to the meeting. Or tried to.
I wonder what she looks like when she comes.
15
Belle
“You know,” Emma said at our meeting the next day, “the nice thing about being fired is that you can just go have tacos and margaritas at eleven in the morning, and no one’s in the restaurant to judge you.”
“I’m judging,” Dana said as she poured the additional tequila shots she’d ordered into her margarita glass. “You can’t order three of the same tacos. You need variety.”
“But I love their fish tacos!” Emma pouted.
“Did Greg get a little fish taco yesterday?” Dana asked me slyly.
Curse my pale skin. I turned bright red.
“Did you sleep with him?” Emma squealed.
“No, I didn’t sleep with him. We made out. Well, he kissed me in the courtyard outside the restaurant, then I stuffed a hamburger down my throat.”
“You ate his meat?” Dana smirked.
“You gave him a blow job?” Emma inhaled a piece of her taco, and I whacked her on the back.
“You have way too much interest in my sex life.”
“This is a big step for you,” Emma insisted. “You’re moving up in the world.”
“You play your cards right,” Dana said, “and you could have a ring on it in a year. Marriage to a billionaire. Not the worst gig ever.”
“I’m not shackling myself to another man. I will be my own independent woman,” I said firmly. “I don’t want to end in another situation like I was with my father. I want my own money, my own company, my own power.”
“Seize the castle!” Emma cried, jumping up and raising her margarita glass.
Dana smiled.
“I’m glad to see you’re all in,” I said. “Speaking of, how is the search for investors coming?”
“Belle’s too busy drawing a map for Greg to find her clit to find any,” Emma said loudly.
I cringed, but we were the only people in the restaurant drinking at eleven in the morning.
“And what about you who are unemployed and have Wall Street connections?” Dana prodded Emma.
“I have a few leads,” she said, shoving the rest of her taco in her mouth.
I knew she would want another round soon, and I signaled the waiter for more.
“And more tequila,” Dana said. “In fact, just bring the bottle.”
“Loving our ladies-who-lunch moments,” I said dryly.
“You need to be loose,” Emma said, doing a shimmy as she navigated to a Word document on her tablet. “Investing is a creative endeavor. All the billionaire boys’ club members always like to act as if it’s based on math. And it is, but if you’re trying to convince someone to invest in your fund, it’s all about the personal connections.”
She brought up a picture of a suspiciously familiar guy. “This is Martin Shaw. Martin and his douche brother are sitting on their late grandfather’s money pile and are wanting to invest it. Word from a secretary I used to sneak out of the office and go get drinks with, he’s supposedly looking for someone to manage his fund. His brother has been doing it but has not been getting great returns.”
“There’s no way we’re going to convince him to invest with us,” Dana said, topping off everyone’s margaritas. “I was thinking smaller fish.”
“No, we go after the big tuna,” Emma said, banging her glass on the table.
“Uh, I think that might be a little difficult,” I said after a moment. “Because I might have insulted his brother.”
I wasn’t too upset that Martin wasn’t going to be investing in our firm. I mean, what would we even say? We can totally get you a return on your investment. We have no office and day drink, but yeah totally trust us with your billions.
Not.
As much as Greg had bad-mouthed it, there actually was a lot of money in “girl businesses,” as he so annoyingly put it.
Oprah was a billionaire. All the fitness and home-improvement shows were started by women. Women were the ones spending money. Shoot, Dana already had a star with Romance Creative. We could build a whole investment firm around a niche market of catering to women with money.
I walked along to a quiet café to buy a green tea latte and a pastry when a man practically ran into me.
“Watch where you’re going,” I snapped reflexively.
“Still clumsy and clueless as ever, daughter?”
Fuck.
Dr. David Frost, aka my dad, aka a grade-A dick, gave me a flat stare.
You don’t have to engage with him, I reminded myself. Just keep walking. He has no power over you.
But there was still a part of me that desperately craved my father’s love and approval.
I took a deep breath. “Hey, Dad.”
“Hey, Dad?” he said in a mocking tone. “You disappear for years, abandon your little brothers—we had no idea where you were, no one did—and then you show up in the city and don’t even so much as come by for a visit.”
“I’ve been busy,” I said and pressed my lips together.
“Doing what?” my father sneered. “All you ever did was sit up in your room or babysit my sons.”
Because that’s all you allowed me to do.
But I kept my mouth shut. My father lived to argue. He was a world-famous surgeon with the ego to match. You couldn’t win an argument with him—you would never change his mind, and you would never convince him to feel a shred of empathy toward you.
“I’m working on things,” I said. “It’s not anything that would interest you.”
“Are you dating?” he demanded.
“Does it matter if I am?” I said, finally shaking myself out from whatever part of me still wanted his attention and turning to walk away.
My father took several long steps, catching up with me.
“You’re too tall to find any man who’s going to want you,” he said sharply. “And you’re not thin enough to be a model. Trust me, I went to school with the guys like the ones you’re trying to date. It’s not going to end well for you. Any man who is dating you is just doing it because he wants something.”
I tried not to let him get to me.
“Come home, Belle,” he said, tone wheedling. “You can have your old room back. You can take over the cooking, and maybe plant a garden. Your brothers hardly ever come visit.”
“And you think they will when I’m around?”
My father flashed me one of his magazine-worthy smiles.
“Just consider it. Your mom and I miss you. We want you around.”
Seeing my father had ruined my day and sent me into a tailspin.
“He didn’t mean it,” I tried to tell myself as I sat in the café staring at a blank page in my notebook. “He didn’t miss me. He just wants me to be an unpaid housekeeper.”
My stomach clenched. The thought of drinking my iced green tea latte was making me nauseous. I was so annoyed that my dad had ruined my afternoon.
When my phone buzzed, it was a welcome distraction.
Greg: Want to go to the opera with me tonight?
Belle: Is this another hate date?
Greg: Oh thank god you hate the opera too.
Belle: Detest it. If I have to hear classical music, I only want baroque or earlier.
Greg: You are literally my dream woman. I have a better idea planned.
Belle: If it’s a pretentious art-house movie in Swedish, I’m just going to tell you right now that’s a no-go.
Greg: Like I said, woman of my dreams. I’ll pick you up at your friend’s apartment in a few hours.
“You got a package! You got two packages, actually!” Emma was practically jumping up and down when I arrived back at her building.
“The wrapping paper is so pretty! And flowers. They’re from Greg.”
“He’s taking me on a surprise date tonight.”
“Oh my god!” Emma squealed.
I laughed and picked up the bouquet of flowers Greg had sent. No one had ever sent me flowers. Ever. Not so much as a dandelion. Now I had a huge bouquet of white lilies, peach carnations, and lush greenery.
“I know!” I said, letting myself swoon. I pressed my face into the flowers. “I need to dry this bouquet and preserve it forever.”
“No, you need to give Greg a mind-bending orgasm, and then he’ll send you flowers every day for the rest of your life.”
I flopped down on Emma’s narrow twin bed. “I can’t believe he likes me.”
“He’s clearly an ass man,” Emma said confidently, popping me with a towel.
I shrieked.
