Page 66 of Grumpy Billionaire Seeking Wife

"But what am I going to tell my mom? What are we going to tell your parents?"

"No one can know the truth," I say.

"But what about Erica?"

"Erica can know the truth. Miles can know the truth. Your mom, no. My parents, no.

"But..." she sighs. "Fine, whatever."

"Oh, and Sabrina?"

"Yes, Wes?"

"You're sleeping in my bed."

"What? No, I..."

"You're sleeping in my bed. I didn't say we have to have sex, but..."

"But what?"

"I kind of want to feel you next to me at night. I want us to chat and talk, you know?"

"No, I don't know."

"Maybe we get to know each other a little bit better."

"Why do you want to get to know me?"

"Because I want to prove to you that the man you lost your virginity to isn't a pig or a bastard or a grumpy billionaire who gets on your nerves."

"Okay."

"I want you to look back and think of me as a good man. I don't want you to regret that I was the one you chose to give your virginity to." My voice is low. "And so while this is kind of the wrong way around, I want us to get to know each other better. Really get to know each other."

"I mean, okay," she says, sounding doubtful. "If that's what you want, but you don't have to."

"I know I don't."

"It'll be fun."

"If you say so, Wes."

"I do. The car will be waiting at 7:00. I'll see you later."

Chapter Nineteen

Sabrina

Day number one: Operation Get Kicked Out of Wes's Apartment. I feel slightly stupid as I slide out of the luxury town car that Wes had sent to pick me up. I'm wearing an old Metallica T-shirt that's so baggy and holey that it looks like it should be in the trash. My sweatpants are a little too big and are almost falling down, but I don't care. My hair is up in a messy bun, and I have on no makeup. I look like death warmed over, and that's exactly what I wanted. If I want to get kicked out of Wes's place as soon as possible, I can't show up looking cute. I have to look frumpy. I hold on tightly to the plastic bag full of ramen noodle packets and my backpack.

"I can carry those for you, miss," the driver says as we head towards the building.

I shake my head. "I got it, but thank you. I appreciate you picking me up, Antonio."

"You're welcome, ma'am. Mr. Carrington said I'm to be your personal driver." He hands me a card. "You can call me or text me at this number at any time, and I will be at your disposal."

"Oh, thanks, Antonio. But it's okay. I can walk places and take the subway."