Page 45 of The Elusive Billionaire

It’s nothing new, and it’s pissing me off that she’s bringing it up. Again. Braxton’s adoptive father was a piece of shit and deserved every blow we hit him with.

“But the move, and the ah…scandal is now?—”

I’ve already asked her to repeat herself three times since my attention keeps drifting to the floor, where only last night, Savvy and I played the most intense game of Twister known to man, so this time I just tune her out and let her babble.

If you give people enough silence, they’ll speak to fill the uncomfortable void anyway.

The Twister box catches my eye. It’s tucked under the coffee table, and fuck me, I might need to burn that game now too.

I’m still not sure how things spiraled so quickly last night. My intention had just been to distract her enough that she’d eat a full meal.

What we got was that and an orgasm I’ll probably never be able to beat. And I’ve had more than a few spectacular ones with Savvy…always freaking Savvy.

Sex with her breaks every rule I’ve ever set for myself.

Condom. What condom?

No kissing. I can’t get enough of her lips.

No cuddling. I wrap myself around her like a goddamn koala bear every single night.

“Greyson?” Concern bleeds into Quinn’s tone.

Get your shit together, Grey. You’re better than this.

“It’s been long enough since Madi and Braxton took on Montgomery Media and exposed all their secrets,” I say, unable to lift my gaze from the floor. “No one cares about what they’re up to except when Brax does an over-the-top good deed, which we’re working on controlling. But I’m also not going to tell him to stop giving back. It’s something he needs to do.”

“No, Grey. Not—” Quinn’s voice drifts away, and irritation works up the back of my neck. If we were on a video call, I’d be able to see what she’s doing. Why the hell is she multitasking right now? Jesus, I’m not only an asshole but a hypocrite to boot.

“Ah, right.”

I’m not sure I’ve ever heard Quinn this flustered, and I sure as hell don’t like it. I pay her to keep her shit together.

“We’ll make up the loss by next quarter. Mostly. I sent some paperwork that needs your signature, and some other…time-sensitive information to Braxton. I’m guessing he hasn’t gotten it to you yet?”

Jesus. Is Quinn only competent when I’m next door micromanaging her?

“No, Quinn, he hasn’t. Things are a mess around here. Anything urgent should be directed to him.” Thankfully, Moose has made a few return trips in his canoe, so at least Savvy andI are able to keep on top of the most important aspects of our respective businesses.

“But you’re the CEO now, Greyson, not him.”

“And he’s my brother, equal partner, and perfectly capable of handling anything in my absence.” I rarely get this annoyed with Quinn. She wouldn’t have lasted this long if I did, so what’s changed? Ever since Braxton moved to Happiness, she’s had a stick up her ass about him that doesn’t make any sense to me.

Quinn Holloway has been a fantastic assistant, although I almost didn’t hire her. She met all my criteria—except she was only ten years older than me. I’d wanted someone in their grandmother era, but I was stuck and gave her a trial run. Fortunately for her, she turned out to be too good to let go.

Another way my father fucked me up. No assistant was safe from his harassment, and I always feared I’d end up like him, so the safest thing to do was hire someone I had zero attraction to.

Quinn is probably beautiful in her own way, but luckily, her personality put her strictly in the no-go category for me very early on, and we’ve had a peaceful working relationship ever since.

“Grey, can you throw me my underwear from the laundry room? It should be hanging on the drying rack,” Savvy yells as though she forgot I was in a meeting.

“Who is…so it’s true. You’re not alone.” Quinn says. There’s something teasing in her tone that draws my attention from the forms I’m signing. This shit is so much more efficient when I can do it electronically.

I lift my head just in time to witness Savvy freeze at the bottom of the stairs, wearing only a towel. Water cascades down her skin from her hair. I would have paid good money to see her washing with the gallon jugs I carried up earlier.

Her collarbones protrude with sharp angles that have me staring more intently. It’s been six days since her confession inmy bed. Less than twenty-four hours since I broke my own rule and made us both lose ourselves to multiple orgasms, yet my mind is no clearer where Savannah Monroe is concerned, and nothing about that sits right with me.

At least she’s back to her flirtatious, confrontational attitude, and secretly I’m relieved. The fragile version of her was…difficult to witness.