Page 14 of The Billionaire’s Paradise (My Billionaire #4)
I flung open the door to the flower shop like a man who’d just won the lottery, the little bell above the door giving a joyful ring - a - ding - ding to my grand entrance. The scent of lilacs, eucalyptus, and whiskey wrapped around me like a hug from a tipsy aunt.
Mrs. Mulroney looked up from behind the counter, where she was hacking away at a stubborn ribbon with her rustiest pair of scissors. “You better be bringing me gossip or Irish coffee,” she said. “Preferably both.”
“I have news,” I announced, bursting into the shop with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for discovering a ten-dollar bill in the pocket of an old coat. “I have huge news. Amazing news.”
“If you’ve come to tell me you finally cleaned out that drawer in your kitchen, I’m gonna need to sit down.”
“No, but that’s on the list.”
“Because I was starting to worry something was going to hatch in there. The last thing the sewers in this city needs is another baby alligator.”
“This is better than a clean junk drawer. Way better.” I grinned, breathless. “We met her. ”
Mrs. Mulroney froze mid-snip. “Her?”
“Leilani,” I said. “Our potential surrogate. We met her over Zoom last night and she’s… she’s amazing . Like, funny and warm and grounded and real, and Cal and I just—” I broke off, too happy to speak.
“Sweet Jesus in a Kleenex commercial, are you about to cry?”
I nodded, words still failing me.
Her eyes softened, the scissors forgotten. “Well, now I’m either going to have to sit down… or pull out the good stuff.”
She stepped out from behind the counter, her old green cardigan half -covered in rose petals, and pulled two mismatched champagne flutes from the cabinet under the sink.
“I wasn’t planning to open this till noon,” she said, reaching under the counter and hauling out a bottle of champagne. “But what the hell.”
“You keep champagne at the flower shop? You’ve got a bottle of something everywhere, don’t you?”
“You best believe it, Sonny Jim. You never know when you might need a good pick-me-up. Church. The park where I like to go and vent to the pigeons. Hell, there’s probably still a bottle in the cistern of the third toilet stall in that downtown courthouse where I served jury duty.”
She popped the cork on the champagne with the ease of a woman who has opened more bottles than doors, then poured us each a glass.
“We’re going to Hawaii next week, to meet her in person. Leilani.” I raised my glass. “Here’s to new beginnings.”
“Speaking of new beginnings…” Mrs. Mulroney reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a folded paper. “I have news too.”
“You do? What is it?” I took the paper and unfolded it. It was a real estate contract… an offer.
I caught my breath.
Mrs. Mulroney took a long swig of her champagne. In fact, she gulped down the entire flute before saying, “Yep. I did it. I sold the shop.”
“You what?”
“I signed the paperwork this morning.” She gave a sad little smile. “It’s done.”
I blinked. I’d known it was on the cards, but hearing it said out loud was something of a shock. It was like finding out your childhood home was about to be bulldozed and turned into a casino.
“I thought I’d have more time to…” I said quietly.
“To what?”
“Say goodbye.”
She looked at me for a long moment, then set her empty glass down with finality.
“Matthew,” she said firmly. “You’re not saying goodbye to me .”
I glanced at her. “No?”
“Mary, Mother of God, no.” She waved a hand like I’d suggested she move to the moon. “In fact, now that I’m footloose and fancy-free, and given your grand exciting news, well… I’ve suddenly decided that perhaps it’s time for me to broaden my horizons.”
My eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What horizon are you talking about… exactly?”
“The one to the west. Across the Pacific. I’ve always fancied the thought of wearing a grass skirt and a coconut bikini.”
I stared at her. “Oh no. You are not serious.”
She folded her arms. “I’m as serious as Pope Benedict on a sugar low.”
“You decided this just now?”
“Well, yes. But the timing is so serendipitous, who could ignore the signs?”
“This is not serendipity. This is you gate-crashing your way to Hawaii to meet our new surrogate. ”
“It’s not gate-crashing if the universe is practically shoving me onto the plane.”
“Mrs. Mulroney—”
She pressed on, undeterred. “Look at it from my perspective. The shop is sold. My calendar is suddenly as bare as a nun’s dance card. And then you walk in here, practically glowing, telling me your future might just be waiting on a beach in the Pacific.”
I opened my mouth to argue but she had momentum now.
“You said it yourself… New beginnings. Life chapters. Grand adventures. You think I’m going to sit around knitting tea cozies and cheering for the villain on Judge Judy while you swan off to paradise to meet the woman who might soon be carrying your child?”
“Nobody is ‘swanning off.’”
“You implied it with your body language.”
“I didn’t—”
“I’ve always wanted to see a volcano,” she pressed on. “And a real hula. And a sea turtle. And possibly an island man who wants to eat mangoes out of the palm of my hand.”
“Ew.”
“Not to mention the fact that my Irish skin is paler than a ghost with the plague. If anyone needs a Hawaiian tan, it’s me.”
“This isn’t a holiday, it’s a very personal trip.”
“I know that,” she said, softer now. “And I’ll keep to myself. You won’t even know I’m there.”
I gave her a long suspicious look. “You once got arrested in Central Park for being drunk and disorderly… and playing the bagpipes.”
“What? When? I don’t even know how to play the bagpipes.”
“Exactly! I’m begging you to think this through.”
“I have. And I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.” She reached for her phone. “Now—what’s your flight number and which side of the plane has the best view of the ocean? ”
I gave a defeated sigh. “We haven’t booked any tickets. We’re taking Cal’s private jet.”
Her eyes lit up. “This just gets better and better. Tell him I want a window seat.”
“It’s a private jet. Every seat is a window seat.”
Her eyes gleamed. “Grand. Then I’ll take whichever seat has the best view of the drinks cart.”