Page 32 of The Billionaire’s Paradise (My Billionaire #4)

Hal raised an eyebrow and scoffed. “Settle down, snowflake. It’s a figure of speech. Don’t get worked up.”

“Don’t call my husband ‘snowflake,’” Cal warned sharply.

“And don’t tell me it’s a figure of speech,” I snapped. “It’s a slur. These are Indigenous communities, not a complication to manage with souvenir shops.”

Hal raised both hands in mock surrender and a laugh. “Alright, alright. Locals, then. You’re very sensitive.”

I felt Cal shift beside me—tense, quiet. Like a man sitting between a live grenade and a moral dilemma.

“I’m not sensitive,” I said evenly. “I’m awake. There’s a difference.”

Hal rolled his eyes and turned back to Cal.

“Anyway. We’ll need to start liaising with some of the family landholders in the next few months.

Get them onside, smooth the way for permits.

I’ve already got a PR firm lined up to frame the whole thing as a ‘heritage preservation initiative.’ Makes it easier to move the needle. ”

I opened my mouth, but Cal got there first .

“We’re not ‘framing’ anything,” he said, his voice quiet but loaded. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it transparently.”

Hal waved that off like a gnat. “Of course. Transparency. Got it.”

But there was a flicker in Cal’s expression—something tightening around the eyes, the jaw. I could tell he wasn’t buying it either. Still, he said nothing, just kept flipping through the pages like he was trying to read his way out of the room.

Hal took a smug sip of wine and leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head and legs spread wide.

“You know,” he said, with that grating tone men use when they think they’re being generous. “This whole cultural angle could be a win-win. You give people a plaque, a statue, a ribbon-cutting ceremony with a few sacred chants, and boom—everyone feels seen.”

I actually choked on my wine.

“A few sacred chants?” I said.

Hal shrugged. “Symbolism matters. Optics matter. As long as it photographs well, people don’t care what it used to be. They just want to feel like it’s still theirs.”

I turned to Cal, incredulous. “Are you hearing this?”

“I’m sitting right here,” Cal muttered.

“Unbelievable,” I said, shaking my head.

Hal looked between us, amused. “What? I’m on your side. I’m talking community engagement. Empathy. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?”

“You don’t get to say the word empathy when you’ve spent the last ten minutes talking about sacred land like it’s a branding opportunity,” I snapped.

Hal looked both offended and annoyed. “Alright, alright. Let’s not get emotional. It’s just business. Right, Cal?” he added with a smug little smirk.

Cal held up a hand—not rude, just firm. “Okay,” he said, voice calm but sharp enough to cut through the tension. “Let’s all take a breath, shall we?”

I sat back in my chair, wine glass clenched, ready to toss my drink in Hal’s face.

Cal turned to Hal first. “Hal, I know you’re keen to get this deal across the line, but language matters.

If we’re going to talk about cultural engagement, let’s do it with some actual respect.

We’re not handing out photo ops—we’re working with people who live on that land, whose ancestors are buried on that land.

So let’s not reduce that to optics or sacred chants, okay? ”

Hal huffed. “Fine. Sure. I’ll revise the pitch.”

Cal didn’t flinch. “It’s not about the pitch. It’s about how we approach this.”

Then he turned to me. “Matt, I know this is hard to sit through. Believe me, I do. But I need to understand what’s in this proposal, and you being here helps me do that with clear eyes. So thank you for coming.”

I took a breath. Then another. I didn’t respond, not with words, but I eased my grip on the wine glass.

Cal gave a small nod, then flipped back to the page in front of him.

“So,” he said to Hal, all business again. “Let’s walk through the revised access clause. Line by line.”

Back at the house, the sky had turned a deep tropical indigo like a storm was deciding whether to brew.

I was barefoot, curled into a chair on the lanai with a glass of red wine and a head full of everything I wished I’d said more loudly at lunch.

Cal came out a minute later, his wine glass in one hand and the bottle in the other. He topped up my glass before sitting beside me with a sigh .

“Well,” he said, stretching his legs. “That went better than expected.”

I gave him a long, puzzled look. “Are you sure you and I were at the same lunch?”

He gave a small smile. “Hey, at least nobody drew blood.”

I snorted. “Only because I was raised with manners. And there were witnesses.”

Cal sipped his wine, quiet for a beat. Then—“You’re really not going to give him a chance, are you?”

“I gave him lunch. That’s more than enough.” I turned toward my husband. “He talks over everyone, acts like he’s doing the world a favor by existing, and he thinks romance novels are God’s idea of a joke. He’s a total jerk, Cal. Full stop.”

Cal nodded slowly, eyes on his wine. “Yeah. He is.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You’re not going to defend him?”

Cal shook his head. “What’s to defend? He’s arrogant, insensitive, and—yes—I think he enjoys getting under your skin.”

“So why the hell are you working with him?”

Cal looked at me, not defensive, not annoyed. Just tired. “Because this deal is too good to walk away from. And if that means tolerating Hal for a few more months, then that’s what I’ll do.”

“For what?” I asked. “For bragging rights? A bigger house? More billionaire points?”

“For us,” he said. “For this family we’re building. For our future kid. I work hard so you don’t have to worry. So we can have the life we dreamed about. So I can give that child everything they’ll ever need.”

I sat with that.

“Matt,” he added softly. “Don’t you get that? I want us to be happy.”

“We are happy,” I said, turning to him. “We don’t need Hal to make that happen.”

Cal didn’t respond right away. He just stared out at the darkening horizon, where the ocean disappeared into the sky. His thumb brushed the rim of his wine glass like he was thinking through a hundred things at once.

And maybe he was.

I looked at him—really looked at him. The sharp lines of his jaw softened in the rising moonlight, his shirt sleeves rolled up, hair a little messed from the breeze.

He looked less like a billionaire and more like the man I fell in love with—the one who took a chance on a flower delivery boy like me.

The man I married, who promised to always keep me safe.

And the truth was, I did feel safe with him. I always had. Cal was the one who steadied the boat while I flailed at the waves.

The one who made the impossible feel less so.

The one and only man with whom I wanted to raise a family.

I reached for his leg. “Cal, I know how hard you work. I know you do it for me… and I know you’re doing it for that beautiful bump growing inside Leilani.

I love that about you.” I sighed, then added—“And if that means I need to have ‘I’m Too Sexy For My Shirt’ on a loop in my head for a few more months, I guess I can live with that. ”

He smiled, finally. “It’s not such a bad song.”

“It’s a terrible song.”

He laughed. “You’re right. It’s truly annoying.”

We fell into an easy silence then, the kind that only comes when you know the person next to you will still be there when the silence ends.

Cal reached out and linked his fingers with mine.

“I just don’t want to lose sight of us in the middle of all this,” I murmured.

“You won’t,” he said. “I won’t let us.”