Page 41

Jade

R hys’s shadow falls across my half-zipped suitcase on the bed as he leans against the doorway. “You ready yet?” His voice is impatient, but his eyes are soft with amusement as I glance around at the scattered clothes that didn’t make the cut. We’ve been together again for the last two weeks, and it’s felt so seamless.

Clear Security continues to keep Rhys at an elevated level of security at all times, and I have Lee with me, but as long as we take them along, we have quite a bit of freedom to move around. As a result, we’re going on vacation for a few days so Rhys can get the much-needed break he deserves.

“Almost,” I lie. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but the very thought of this trip tightens my chest. I know security concerns are part of my life now, but I’m just not sure about going to France in the middle of summer.

Rhys crosses the room in a few strides, wrapping his arms and his wonderful scent around me, a mixture of cedarwood and determination. “We can’t afford to lose our departure time, Jade. It’ll be a nightmare trying to get another slot to land.”

“Give me a few more minutes,” I say, shaking my head at my procrastination. The truth is, it’s not the packing that’s holding me back. It’s the throngs of people I picture everywhere we’ll go. June in Paris is a cascade of tourists, flocking like starlings to every picturesque locale. I’m not a fan of crowds.

“Minutes are what we don’t have.” He gives an exasperated, overdramatic sigh. I catch him smiling when I turn around.

With a huff, I grab my makeup bag from the vanity and try to force it into the suitcase on top of everything else, wrestling with the zipper until it finally closes. Rhys watches, an eyebrow raised in silent question.

“There are no baggage restrictions for us,” he reminds me.

“I know,” I retort, standing straight, hands on hips. “But I pride myself on traveling light. One bag is all I need.”

“Unlike me, right?” He grins, gesturing to the hallway where his luggage—three suitcases and a garment bag—sits waiting. “I might have more bags than you, but at least I’m packed.”

“Because you have more clothes than me,” I shoot back. Rhys has a wardrobe for every occasion. How did I fall for a man who owns more clothes and shoes than I do?

“Touché,” he concedes with a chuckle, reaching for my suitcase. “Let’s get going then. France awaits.”

As I follow him out of the bedroom, I do feel a flutter of excitement. Crowded or not, it’s France, and with Rhys by my side, even a sea of tourists will fade into the background.

Scott weaves us through the morning traffic with ease, a contrast to the incessant bother coming through on Rhys’s phone. His jaw is set in concentration as he navigates call after call.

“Absolutely not,” he says into the device, his voice tight. “EnergiFusion isn’t just another startup someone can swallow whole.”

I look out the window. Last week a big energy company in Texas called and made the guys an offer to buy EnergiFusion. Since then it’s been nonstop calls, negotiations, deals that could turn our lives upside down. I twirl a strand of hair around my finger. This break from the constant buzz of business, which Rhys has promised me he will take, can’t come soon enough.

“Their offer doesn’t even scratch the surface of what we’re worth,” he continues. “We built this company from the ground up. They’ll need to come up with a much more substantial number before we even think about it.”

With every call, the tension in his shoulders seems to grow, a tightness that may never release. I don’t think they’d sell without being able to consult Justin and Crystal, but it stresses him that people think they’re open to it—and for a fraction of their worth.

As Scott pulls the Escalade onto the private plane area of the airport, I peer through the window, spotting Jim, his foot tapping impatiently on the tarmac.

“Rhys,” I interject softly, but he holds up a hand, signaling for patience.

“Listen, I have to go,” he finally says into the phone. “We’re about to board. We’ll discuss this when I get back in a week.”

He ends the call and slips the phone into his pocket, meeting my gaze with an apologetic half-smile. “Sorry about that,” he murmurs, reaching over to squeeze my hand. “Business never stops.”

“Neither do you, apparently.”

Scott parks the car, and we step out. The Learjet looms large and imposing, a metal bird eager to soar. Jim strides toward us, his expression an unreadable mask.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, my gaze flickering from Rhys to Jim.

“Of course,” Rhys assures me, though his eyes hold a storm of unspoken thoughts. “Just one last thing before we can leave.”

“Let’s make it quick,” I urge, casting a wary eye at the sky. “We don’t want to miss our landing slot.”

“Trust me,” he says. “Nothing will delay this trip. Not even EnergiFusion.”

But as Rhys walks off with Jim, I can’t shake the feeling that promises, like plans, are all too easily swept away in the whirlwind of a life less ordinary.

Deciding to remain optimistic, I climb the stairs and slip into the buttery leather seat of the Learjet. With a gentle click, I fasten the seatbelt and exhale, allowing the plush surroundings to cocoon me from the chaos of our impending departure. My fingers graze the sleek surface of my e-reader, awaking it from slumber, and the screen lights up with the cover of the latest romantic suspense novel, a guilty pleasure, a delicious escape.

As the first line unfolds, the world around me fades. Rhys’s company, the airport, the stress—all of it dissolves into the adrenaline-fueled intrigue on the pages. The protagonist is clever, her love interest shrouded in mystery, and each twist and turn pulls me deeper into their lives.

The sound of steps approaching barely registers until Rhys’s form looms. He hands a stack of documents to the flight attendant with a curt nod before turning to me.

“Sorry for the wait,” he says, seeming much calmer than on the car ride over. “We’re just going to make it.”

Happiness blooms in me as he leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead, lingering for a moment as his lips curve into a smile against my skin.

“And apologies for the calls,” he murmurs as he straightens, raking a hand through his hair. “I’ve told Mackenzie, Theo, Austin, and Mason that this week, they should only ring me if it’s an absolute emergency. This is my week to relax.”

“Your week,” I echo, tucking away the e-reader and focusing on him. “Our week.” My heart holds on to the hope that, for once, time will be ours alone.

“What did Jim want?” I ask.

He glances over. “They’ve got eyes on Crystal and Turner again. Lost them after Dubrovnik but found them hiding out in Budapest.” He pauses, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We found her so quickly, yet Justin’s still missing. It’s eating at me.”

“I know,” I reply, my heart aching. “They’ll find him too.” My reassurance feels hollow even to my own ears.

As we settle into the flight, the cabin dims, and Rhys leads me back to the small bedroom where he stretches out beside me. The soft glow of a screen lights our secluded space as Nora Ephron’s world unfolds before us. He chuckles at the witty dialogue, and I can’t stop smiling as I watch him experience this classic romantic comedy for the first time.

In our nest of blankets, I close my eyes a moment, imagining Paris. I spent a lot of time there when I was growing up, and I’m eager to share it with Rhys—his first glimpse of the Eiffel Tower sparkling under the night sky, the sound of street musicians serenading strollers along the Seine.

I picture us wandering through the Marais, my favorite neighborhood, hand in hand, exploring the nooks that tourists often miss. There’s a certain charm in the uneven cobblestone paths and the secret garden squares tucked behind historic facades.

I long to introduce him to the bustling energy of Place de la Bastille on a Sunday morning when the food market comes alive with colors and scents.

“Think of all the baguettes we’ll eat,” I whisper dreamily. “And the brie. Don’t get me started on the brie.”

“Sounds perfect,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my temple.

I can almost taste the tangy cheese, the crusty bread. So many plans, so many possibilities, all waiting for us just beyond this flight.

The plane touches down with a gentle quiver, signaling our arrival in the early morning. No matter what our bodies think, we have a full day ahead of us before we put our heads down in our hotel room. I unbuckle, my heart aflutter with anticipation. I step out onto the tarmac, into the warmth of the early morning sun, and blink against the reflection off the Mediterranean Sea. The air smells different here, not like the Paris I remember.

“Where are we?” I’m confused. The drive into Paris is going to be a nightmare. I should have organized the flight. But I paint a smile on my lips. I’m not going to burst his bubble.

“I said France, not Paris,” he notes, stepping closer.

“We’re not going to Paris?” Now, I’m completely confused.

“No, I thought we’d explore Marseille and a bit of the French Riviera.”

My pulse pounds, and I clap in excitement. “Ooohhh, that’s fantastic,” I reply with a grin. “Paris in the summer is a madhouse. Marseille sounds perfect.”

“We’re in Marseille for a few days to cruise around the Mediterranean. And then…” He pauses for effect. “We have a tour of the lavender fields in Provence. They’re in bloom, and I know how much you love the scent. But if you’d prefer Paris, I’m happy to adjust our trip.” He gazes into my eyes. “My only goal is to make you happy.”

He wraps his arms around me, and I’m safe and content. I don’t even care where we go. I rise on my tiptoes and press my lips to his. When I pull back, my grin mirrors his own. “I love the thought of being on a yacht in the Med, and I’ve never seen the lavender fields. I can’t wait.”

Rhys

A sleek black car glides to a stop in front of us. Our security detail gathers the bags as we slip into plush seats. Soon the city begins to unfold before us, a tapestry of morning activities.

The drive is short, a mere prelude to the adventure ahead, and before long, the marina comes into view. The yacht moored at the port is a grand vessel, all gleaming white against the azure backdrop of the sea. It’s our hotel room until it begins cutting through the waves tomorrow night. Almost two full days here in Marseille stretch out like an open canvas, waiting for our memories to color its expanse.

“Jade,” I say, turning to face her as we step onto the dock. “I thought we might first take ourselves to Old Marseille, wander the labyrinth of Le Panier district.”

“Really?” There’s a hint of wonder in her voice. “That sounds marvelous.”

“Really,” I assure her.

We leave our bags at the ship and meander the old cobblestone streets of Marseille, our shoulders brushing occasionally as we sink into the city’s embrace. The scent of sea salt mingles with robust aromas wafting from boulangeries and brasseries, luring us to a quaint eatery tucked away in a sun-dappled square. Soon we sit side by side, a bowl of bouillabaisse steaming before each of us.

“See how the saffron tints it?” Jade asks, spooning a piece of tender fish into her mouth. “It’s more delicate than cioppino, don’t you think?”

I nod, tasting the subtle flavors. “Cioppino’s tomato broth packs a punch, though. More rustic.”

She nods. “Both have their charms,” she concedes with a smile.

Afternoon finds us hand in hand, strolling into boutiques and art shops. I can’t help but indulge her, selecting summer dresses that mirror the colors of the Mediterranean sky. She twirls in front of antique mirrors, the fabrics flowing around her like a painter’s perfect stroke.

Our exploration eventually leads us to a gallery I’ve done a lot of research on. I wanted to surprise Jade with a visit to one of France’s premier ceramicists. When we were in Beaver Creek, she shared how she envied her friend Parker’s ability to design with clay. That’s what she should see in action here, at the studio of Marie Palermo. “Her pieces are conversations in clay, shadows and light given form”—or so the review said.

Jade walks around the gallery and keeps groaning and sighing. Eventually Marie appears and introduces herself.

“Your work… It’s as if you’ve captured life’s very essence,” Jade breathes, turning toward a sculpture resembling entwined roots and branches.

“Ah, this piece was inspired by my study with Akio Takamori in Seattle, in the USA,” Marie reveals, a note of reverence in her voice. “His philosophy on the duality of existence resonates in every creation.”

I have no idea what she means, but Jade nods, her fingers hovering just above the artwork.

“You’re familiar with ceramics,” Marie says.

“More than familiar,” Jade admits, her cheeks tinged with pride. “I’m a commissioned ceramicist myself.”

The connection between them sparks, two kindred spirits. Jade’s passion for her art, usually veiled behind modesty, shines brightly in this space.

“Your work must be exquisite,” Marie says, intrigue lighting up her features.

My heart swells with pride for Jade, knowing the world has yet to fully appreciate the depth of her talent.

They discuss the various works in the gallery for a while longer, and then Marie says, “It’s time for me to close, but would you like to come up to my apartment? I’d love to learn more about what you’re doing.”

Before we know it, she’s flipping the Open sign to Closed. She leads us through a narrow staircase veiled behind thick velvet curtains at the back of her gallery. The scent of clay and turpentine lingers in the air as we ascend to her private sanctuary.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Marie says with a flourish, ushering us onto a sun-drenched patio that overlooks the bustling streets of Old Marseille below. Terra cotta pots brimming with lavender and rosemary line the balustrade, their fragrances mingling with the salty sea breeze.

We settle around an aged wrought-iron table, and they dive into conversation. I sit back and watch Jade blossom. They talk about the art world, its quirks and its constants. Marie expresses a wistful envy for Jade’s commissioned work, the stability and recognition it brings. Jade tells her how she misses creativity.

“To sell what has sprung from your own soul, without prompt or direction, that must be freeing in a way I can only imagine,” Jade says, her gaze wandering among the sculptures that populate Marie’s outdoor space.

As the sun dips lower, casting angular shadows across the terrace, we prepare to take our leave. I have more plans for us this evening. But before we go, we stop once again in Marie’s gallery, and I approach the tangled sculpture that captivated Jade when we arrived. “Marie, I’d like to purchase this piece,” I tell her. It will be a reminder of the connection they’ve forged today.

“Really?” Marie’s eyes brighten. When I nod, she names her price, and I pay it gladly, pleased to support her talent and facilitate the promise of travel she whispers about as she wraps the sculpture with care.

“Thank you, Rhys. This means I can have my niece manage the gallery while I explore for a bit. You’ve given me a gift beyond measure.”

“And you’ve given us a gift as well,” I assure her.

As we make our way back to the yacht, Jade hooks her arm in mine, her head resting lightly against my shoulder. “I feel so lucky to be here with you. To experience all of this with you…” Her voice trails off, but her emotions resonate loud and clear.

I turn to her and look into her eyes, those endless pools that have become my compass. “Jade, I’m the lucky one. You’re the center of my universe, the calm in every storm. Without you, none of this would mean anything.”

Her smile radiates warmth and certainty, and I draw her close, embracing the moment and the woman who has become my everything.

As the sun dips low, we board the yacht, two souls navigating life’s unpredictable waters, anchored firmly to one another. The sky burns fiery orange and pink as we lounge on the deck, the yacht’s gentle sway lulling us with its serene rhythm.

“Isn’t this perfect?” Jade murmurs, her eyes reflecting the sunset’s glow.

“More than perfect,” I reply. We share a kiss that tastes of sea salt and promises. And as night cloaks the sky, we retreat to our cabin where the world falls away, leaving only the two of us entwined in passion and whispers of love.

Over the next five days, we indulge in the luxury of time. At each port we visit, we savor local cuisines, meander through ancient streets, and lose ourselves in the charm of the Mediterranean. We dine under the stars, laughter mingling with the clink of glasses, while the yacht glides from one coastal city to another. It’s a dance of discovery, our own private odyssey.

When the yacht eventually returns to Marseille, dawn has just arrived. A car waits at the pier, ready to whisk us away to our next adventure. The drive to Provence winds through landscapes kissed by the morning light, vineyards and olive groves giving way to fields of lavender stretching to the horizon.

“Look at this place,” Jade says in awe, the window framing her profile as she leans forward to take in the view.

“Wait until you see it up close,” I tell her, excitement bubbling within me at the thought of the surprise I’ve arranged.

We’re met by the gentle hum of bees and the intoxicating scent of lavender as we step out into the fields. A picnic lunch has been laid out for us, and we walk hand in hand, the rows of flowers parting before us like a living sea.

The weight of the ring in my pocket feels almost insignificant compared to the weight of this moment. Before Jade, my life was a series of calculated moves, each one designed to build something, achieve something, prove something. But with her, it’s different. She doesn’t just complete the picture. She redefines it, makes it whole in ways I never knew were missing.

As we sit and eat, the conversation turns to reflections on our week. “Every moment has been incredible,” she says. “Thank you for this. And I should thank Mackenzie for making sure your phone never rang.”

“I turned it off,” I confess, squeezing her hand. “And I know we’ve only known each other for a few months, but this journey with you has been more than I ever dreamed.”

We linger all day until the sun begins to set, casting long shadows over the lavender. The world is quiet, serene, as if holding its breath. And for a moment, everything is perfect—just Jade, the fields of Provence, and me. I’m keenly aware of Jade’s hand in mine, the warmth of her skin grounding me as I prepare to leap into a future I hope we’ll share.

“Jade,” I begin, still unsure how to contain the magnitude of what I feel for her within mere words. “You’ve changed my life in ways I can’t even begin to explain. Before you, everything was just…less.” I smile at her. “This ring,” I continue, holding it up between us, “isn’t just a promise. It’s a reminder of every step we’ve taken to get here. From our first chaotic meeting outside Grace Cathedral, to the joy and challenge of our time in Beaver Creek, and to the quiet of this field, every moment, whether wonderful or difficult, has led to this.”

The ring is an eight-carat, emerald-cut diamond flanked by three-carat trillion sapphires on each side in a platinum setting. It sparkles against the dimming sky, a testament to the enduring light she brings into my life.

Jade’s eyes reflect the last rays of the setting sun, and I see a question forming behind them. The world narrows to this moment, to her.

“Being with you, it’s like discovering color in a world I didn’t realize was gray. Every second spent by your side is a treasure I never want to stop finding,” I explain, my throat tight with emotion.

Her gaze is steady, but I see the flicker of tears starting to form, like dew catching the light on delicate petals. It’s now or never.

“Jade, there is no one in this world I’d rather be with.” I slip the ring onto her finger, feeling a surge of joy as it glints against her skin. “Will you marry me?”

The words hang between us, a fragile offer extended from the depth of my heart.

Jade gasps, a small sound lost in the vastness of the field. Her tears spill over, but her smile outshines the jewels before her. She nods, her voice catching as she whispers a single, life-altering word. “Yes.”

Once again inhaling the scent of lavender, I feel an overwhelming sense of peace. This moment, this life, this relationship—we’ve fought for it, earned it. And I can’t wait for all that lies ahead.

Thank you for reading Grumpy CEO. But are you wondering where the heck Justin is? Be sure to check out the final book in the Billionaire Secrets series, due for release in June 2025. Here is a unedited sneak peek to wet your appetite!