Bridezillas and Billionaires

by Alina Jacobs

  “Doesn’t your hedge fund own three of the biggest bridal magazines in the industry?”

  “Yeah,” I complained, “but that doesn’t mean I know what’s going on. Just throw a barbeque, buy a few kegs, and hang out. Why does it have to be this huge production that brings out the absolute worst in people? Camilla, for example, used to be nice before the wedding happened.”

  Sebastian wavered his hand.

  “Okay, not nice but tolerable.”

  Sebastian snorted.

  “You have to admit that wedding planning made her completely insufferable,” I argued.

  “I think weddings don’t bring out the worst in women. I think terrible women let their guard down while wedding planning, and you see their true colors,” Sebastian said.

  “Camilla sure showed me who she is.”

  “Is she still trying to get back with you?” Sebastian asked.

  “Yep.”

  “And you’re not going to do it.”

  “I mean…” I ran a hand through my hair.

  “Dude.”

  “Of course not, but, dude, the Svenssons. I’m trying to work her cousin, but I’m concerned. I can’t have the Svenssons cutting me out of that deal. Otherwise, I’m going to be stuck owning magazines. I need to do more big real estate development. Camilla’s father owns all that land, and I was banking on having access.”

  My friend was slowly shaking his head.

  “If you get back together with that witch, I’m throwing you in a river.”

  The issue, I thought as I stood in the Sutherland Bank lobby waiting for Camilla’s father to see me, was that I wasn’t sure I was going to attract anyone any different than Camilla.

  There’s Ivy.

  All the women who wanted billionaires were shallow and vapid and loved nice things. They were flighty and disloyal because all they cared about was money.

  Ivy doesn’t. She’s not impressed by your money or expensive cars.

  Maybe I needed to give up on marriage and relationships. I could have a series of girlfriends who I only invited to my less-nice penthouse, but I would live in a better, bigger penthouse with a family of Roombas. The girls would be easily impressed by the nice real estate and random expensive gifts I would give them, and we’d have a no-strings-attached relationship…

  Or maybe you could just ask Ivy.

  Maybe I wouldn’t do that.

  “How’s my future son-in-law?” Orson Sutherland boomed, walking out into the lobby.

  “Camilla said you two talked the other day. Good, good. I’m glad you two are going to put the past behind you.”

  I gritted my teeth. I wanted to tell him off, tell him exactly what wasn’t going to happen with me and his daughter. But I desperately needed him to sell me that property.

  “Teddy mentioned that you had a business deal with the Svenssons,” Orson continued as he took me back to his office.

  “Yes, I’ve mentioned that to you,” I said as we both took a seat. “They’re building a large development near the harbor, and they’d like those parcels we discussed to link to the HighLine.”

  Sutherland grunted and leaned back in his chair. “I have to tell you, I don’t understand why you’re so worked up over this. You ruined a nice wedding for nothing.”

  “Camilla ruined the wedding,” I countered.

  “You ran off!” he said, stabbing at the table. “I’m sure if you’d just talked to her, you could have calmed everybody down. Instead, you let her spiral out of control. Family is important to me. My daughter’s happiness is important to me. Once you have kids, you’ll understand.”

  “I would disown my daughter if she turned into a cheating whore,” I told him flatly.

  Sutherland glared at me. I clamped my mouth shut.

  “People have affairs. Camilla isn’t a… that word,” he spat. “She was stressed from the wedding. You could have made things a little easier for her.”

  “I tried. She did not want my input,” I said brusquely. “Color me shocked when it turns out she just didn’t want me at all and would prefer to sleep around with half the wedding party.”

  “You need to forgive and forget.”

  “I do not. I didn’t make my money letting people walk all over me, especially some woman who is still, as we speak, living in my house, using my vehicles,” I told him.

  “She’s moving out. She just doesn’t want to give up on you two as a couple.”

  “Except that I already have,” I said, standing up and buttoning my jacket. “As it is clear that you are not going to sell me that property, I’ll be on my way. I will have to make other arrangements.”

  “Now hold on. I didn’t say that,” Sutherland said, gesturing me to sit down. “Why don’t you two go have a drink and dinner and clear the air?” He held up a hand against my protests. “You don’t have to get back together, but at least hear her side of the story. Then we’ll talk about the property.”

  I would rather tear out my fingernails than go to dinner with Camilla. I did, however, want to go to dinner with Ivy.

  “I’ll think about it,” I told Sutherland.

  “Good man.” He stood up and patted my shoulder. “And call your father. He misses you. Family is important. Besides, you can’t blame that one on Camilla. She thought he was you! You take after him with your roguish good looks!” Sutherland laughed jovially, and I managed a grimace.

  All I was thinking about as I rode down in the elevator was Ivy. As much as I loathed the wannabe billionaire girlfriends who threw themselves at me, Ivy was something else. To be fair, though, she did deal with the wealthy and powerful of Manhattan on a daily basis and had a front-row seat to all our drama. That would probably turn anyone off of obscene displays of wealth.

  As I walked out of the Sutherland tower, I saw an advertisement for some of the luxury condos being sold by the Greyson Hotel Group.

  I think I know how to impress Ivy… and get her alone.

  19

  Ivy

  “That was some serious sexual tension with Evan—excuse me, Mr. Harrington,” Amy said when we met up for a business drink session to discuss our various brides.

  “There isn’t anything going on between us,” I retorted, sipping my drink.

  “Except you stayed at his house after everyone left.”

  “To clean up after our bridezilla.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  “I couldn’t just leave the mess in his house.”

  My friend leaned in and tapped her straw against her glass. “You like him.”

  “I don’t! He’s insufferable,” I protested.

  “Men like that give the best head.”

  “Amy!” I shrieked then clapped a hand over my mouth. “He’s our client.”

  “Yes, but a delinquent client.”

  “Well, not anymore. He gave us a check,” I admitted.

  Amy raised an eyebrow.

  “But he’s still paying for Imogen’s wedding. It would be unprofessional to sleep with him. Not that I would ever want to,” I insisted, taking a sip of my cocktail and absolutely not thinking of sex with Evan.

  “You so want to.”

  “No.”

  “Do it! You’re almost thirty. You’ve never had a long-term relationship. Shoot, I don’t even think you’ve ever had a hookup.”

  “I’m not a virgin,” I scoffed.

  “There was what’s-his-face in college; you dated him for like three days. After that, you have never brought anyone else around,” Amy stated.

  “Around where?” I gestured. “We don’t even have an office. Not only that, but none of us lives in a place big enough to comfortably hold a meeting.”

  “We could meet in my garden.”

  “It’s cold in the garden, and one of us would have to stand in the pond.”

  “See? That’s my point. You deserve a little fun. You don’t have to marry the guy. But seriously, I bet Evan’s good in bed. Not to mention, he might toss a couple of nice gift
s on the bed after he fucks your brains out. Then, when he’s run his course, you can ghost him and live out the rest of your lonely life with a bunch of feral cats and reminisce about the time you slept with a billionaire.”

  As much as I kind of sort of did want to maybe see where things went with Evan, the issue was that I didn’t want to end up like my mother. As she continuously reminded me, she had hooked up with the wrong guy, ended up pregnant at thirteen, and had me. Then she sacrificed her future to make sure I had a halfway decent life, all so she could suck the yolk out of whatever nest egg I tried to build.

  “I hate my life,” I muttered as I climbed the stairs to my condo. I had another meeting scheduled with Imogen the next day about the gift bags for the guests, and I needed to read through the dissertation she had just emailed me on which of her friends had what at their weddings and the list of must-haves and absolutely-nots in the gift bags.

  “Your life can’t be that bad!” Mrs. Russo called out to me in excitement from her doorway. “Not when you have a good-looking guy waiting for you. And he brought you gifts!”

  The good-looking guy in question winked at me as Fergus wound his round body around Evan’s legs.

  “I brought one for you too,” Evan said in that deep purr that rumbled around the hallway. Mrs. Russo fanned herself. Evan took one step across the hall with his long legs and flourished a bouquet, handing it to Mrs. Russo.

  “Oh, Ivy, he brought flowers! What a gentleman! You are welcome to come by anytime, young man. I make amazing rugelach.” The senior citizen patted Evan’s biceps. “I’ll let you two young things get on with your evening!” She winked at me and flashed me a thumbs-up.

  I glared at Evan once Mrs. Russo was safely inside her apartment.

  “What?” He shrugged. “She was kind enough to let Fergus out.” He tried to move past me into the condo, but I blocked the door and crossed my arms. Evan gestured to the door. “Do you mind? My favorite cat in the entire world wants to cuddle on your bed.”

  “There will be no cuddling. And you can’t just show up unannounced.”

  “Let me in. I have to show you what I brought you.”

  “I’m not letting you inside,” I argued. All the while, my libido had just woken up and was tugging at the knots in her hair and demanding breakfast of the male variety.

  “I’m not a stranger,” he said, giving Fergus a kiss on his head. “I’m a nice man who is beloved by animals.”

  “You’re anything but nice.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. I am a bit of a bad boy.” He grinned dangerously and leaned toward me. “I could show you how bad,” he said, lowering his voice and growling in my ear. “Though we’d have to put Fergus somewhere else. I don’t want you to scare him when you scream when I make you come.”

  I stepped back and gaped at him.

  “Ha ha! Made you let me into your apartment!” He rushed by me and flopped on the bed, holding Fergus above his head and telling him he was a good cat, yes, such a good cat! Yes, he was.

  I was still standing, dumbfounded, in the doorway.

  “Never in a million years would I have sex with you, Evan Harrington.”

  “Never ever?” he said.

  “No,” I said crossly.

  “Oh, right, because I’m not Chris Evans? I’m surprised he’s not on your mood board.”

  “I have work to do tonight.”

  “Yeah, about that,” he said, sitting up. “Imogen has saved a gift bag from the past twenty weddings she’s been to. She also included a catalog of what she likes and hates in each. She’s worried that after the flower debacle,” he said, making air quotes, “you haven’t been listening to her and what she needs for this once-in-a-lifetime super-special event.”

  “Oy!” I said, looking into the boxes Evan had dragged into the condo. They contained gift bag after gift bag. Some of them included monogrammed candles or other trinkets; others contained beautifully decorated but clearly stale cookies. Every single item had a little color-coded tag bearing notes from Imogen.

  “She also wants all of that back,” he warned, “so don’t let Fergus in it.”

  “Of course.” I gestured around. “Where in the apartment could I store all of this?”

  Evan shrugged. “Do you need some shelving?”

  “No I don’t. I need a whole new apartment,” I said in exasperation.

  “Funny you should say that!” Evan grinned at me. “It ties into the surprise I have planned.”

  “Does it include you leaving my apartment?”

  “You wound me,” he exclaimed, clutching his chest.

  “Then what is it?”

  “It’s a surprise, Ivy,” Evan drawled. “You have to wait and be surprised.”

  He held out his hand. I was still in my coat and had my shoes on.

  No excuse not to…

  “Come on, Ivy, let me impress you.”

  20

  Evan

  Ivy slipped her small hand into mine.

  “Excellent. I have my car downstairs.”

  “You mean the unimpressive car?” she said.

  “You mean the car that you were so totally impressed by but refused to show it,” I corrected as Ivy locked the door behind us.

  I was satisfied to see Ivy’s eyes widen slightly as we approached the luxury sports car I had parked down the street. I slid across the hood. “You totally think it’s cool.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “I would have to drive it to give an educated opinion.”

  “Whoa, whoa!” I said, hugging the car protectively. “No one drives it but me.”

  “Why?” she countered. “Because if someone else who is a better driver sits behind the wheel, the car is going to know exactly what it’s missing?”

  “Is that a subtle way of you saying you’re hopelessly attracted to me?”

  Ivy rolled her eyes and opened the passenger door.

  “I was going to get that for you,” I protested.

  “Don’t bother.”

  We were at the tail end of rush hour, and traffic wasn’t that bad as we zoomed across town.

  “Close your eyes,” I instructed Ivy as we approached the destination. “You have to actually close them.”

  “This is crazy,” she said but clasped her hands over her face as I drove the next few blocks to the Brookview Hotel property. The giant clock tower penthouse windows were lit up against the evening sky.

  I covered Ivy’s eyes after I parked in the deck and guided her to the elevator lobby. I had to stand almost directly behind her, and her ass brushed against my crotch as we walked. In the elevator, she was half pressed against me. She shivered slightly as my breath brushed the back of her neck. I wanted to press my lips to the creamy skin that contrasted against the black silk shirt she wore, but I controlled myself and kept my hands over her eyes.

  “Your little surprise can’t be all that serious to warrant the secrecy,” Ivy said.

  “I assure you, my surprise is never little.”

  “Yeah, I can feel it digging into my back,” she muttered.

  The elevator dinged, and I bit back a frankly lecherous comment and guided her into the space.

  “I can assure you, whatever idiotic event you have planned, it won’t impress me much.”

  “Oh really, Ms. Smartypants? Check this out. Ta-DA!” I pulled my hands away from her eyes.

  “Wow!” Ivy breathed, her face lighting up in delight and awe as she looked around the space, taking in the giant two-story clock windows, the three-story staircase that wrapped around a private elevator, and the multiple levels of mezzanines stacked up into the pointed vaulted ceiling of the three-story space. “It’s so perfect!” Ivy whispered. “The pictures don’t do it justice.”

  Ivy looked so moved to be in the space that it hurt my chest.

  “I’ll buy this for you.”

  I wasn’t sure what possessed me to say that. Could I afford it? Sure. It was only fifteen million, but I didn’t even know Ivy.

>   She drew back from me warily.

  “I’m not going to take that. Are you insane?”

  “Going once, going twice, last chance! Archer just reduced the price from twenty-five million, so really, it’s a steal.”

  “Right,” Ivy said bitterly, “and of course it would be for the low, low price of what, letting you give me a night of bad sex?”

  “Why are you being so hostile?” I shot back at her.

  “I’m tired of billionaires like you thinking they can just buy people like me. I am not for sale.”

  “I was just going to show you the condo,” I said, holding up my hands. “Archer gave me the keys and said we could peruse at our leisure. I saw the image on your vision board and thought you might like to see the property in person. No ulterior motives.”

  Ivy glared at me, but I turned away from her and went over to one of the long leather couches Archer had staged in the apartment. I sprawled out on it and started digging through the messenger bag I had brought. Inside was a bottle of good Spanish wine and a little box of charcuterie I had picked up at the Salt House restaurant. I set them out on the coffee table.

  “We can’t eat in here!” Ivy exclaimed, rushing over to me.

  “Sure we can!”

  “You’re going to get crumbs everywhere,” she scolded as I took out a cracker and piled cheese and Barcelona salami on it.

  “So you don’t want any charcuterie?” I waved the cracker in her face.

  “No, I want—”

  I stuffed it into her mouth.

  “I should throw something,” she said after chewing, “but that is really good cured meat.”

  “I know.” I uncorked the wine bottle and handed it to her.

  “No glasses?” she asked with a quirk of her mouth.

  “Thought we would drink out of the bottle for old times’ sake.”

  “So you forgot.”

  “So I forgot!” I gestured. “I’m not an event planner. I can barely organize a property deal.”

  Ivy snickered and took the bottle of wine from me, taking a swig.