Page 43 of The Renegade Billionaire

10

MADISON

“Okay,so he rented out two more rooms, and then something at work kept his friend from coming for over a week?” Savvy leans forward. This girl loves gossip more than anyone I know.

It’s our monthly DDD meeting. The Darlings of Disastrous Dating normally meet at the Chugaloo, but we’re in the den at the inn because I have to keep an eye on Pops and Braxton.

Every time I leave, they start a new project I haven’t been able to get to.

So far, they’ve patched holes in walls, stripped the wallpaper in the kitchen, installed new hardware in the sink, and I don’t even want to know what they were doing in the attic when I came home this afternoon.

“Yes, and the rooms just sat empty for two stinking weeks.” Taking a sip of the wine Braxton bought, I suppress a moan. It’s so good. “Apparently his dad went to some of Braxton’s VIP people at his company and told them that Braxton ran out on all his obligations, leaving the company dangling. So Greyson’s had to take meetings with everyone from board members to investors cleaning up the mess.”

“Jesus, are there any good parents left in this world?” Savvy mutters.

“Obviously there are.” I drag my finger through a line of condensation on my glass. “But we do seem to collect friends with crappy childhoods.”

“Maybe we should have named our group the Crappy Childhood Coalition, the CCCs, instead of the DDDs.” Elle giggles.

“And he wouldn’t allow you to refund the unused days?” Clover sits crisscross in an oversized chair with a giant fluffy blanket around her—the poor thing is perpetually cold.

“No, he said he’s taking up the room for an office and wants the other one available for his friend whenever he does show up. Trust me, it’s been an argument every time I bring it up.”

“Huh,” Savvy says, tapping her chin. “You know, I looked him up again.”

“Sav,” I groan. “You know how much I hate cyberstalking. It’s an invasion of privacy. Remember—remember what it did to me?”

If I could avoid the internet for the rest of my life, I would. I hate giving my past any power at all, but deep down, I know it’s part of the reason I’m so conflict-averse and maybe why I’m still single.

The frown line between Savvy’s brows slowly disappears. “I wasn’t doing it like that, Mads. I promise.”

“What did you find?” Elle asks.

“Elle!” I scold. She’s usually on my side when it comes to these things, but lately, she’s all over the place. If I asked her, she’d blame pregnancy hormones for it.

She shrugs and sits in front of the old air conditioning unit. Pregnancy is making her run so hot that her husband, Cian, bought her a bunch of personal-sized fans that she always forgets in her car. “It might not be a bad idea to make sure he isn’t a serial killer.”

“He’s not a serial killer.”

All of my friends stare at me with blank expressions.

“He’s not, okay? He’s…nice.”

“They thought Ted Bundy was too,” Clover says before taking a sip of her wine. “This is really, really good.”

“I didn’t find anything to suggest he’s a Bundy in hiding.” Savvy pulls out her phone. “There’s a lot of pictures from college. Some random life updates about a job in marketing right out of college, but no company name, then a lot of him volunteering at a dog shelter. Nothing about his family, but there are a lot of pictures of that Greyson guy and a little boy. And by the way, Greyson has an even smaller social media footprint, and none of them show a last name anywhere. Have you even asked him the name of his company?”

“No,” I admit. “It seems like a sensitive subject, and I don’t want to pry. And so what if they don’t have social media? They’re probably trust fund kids who prefer to keep a low profile.” Though something about that excuse doesn’t sit right with me. Braxton isn’t like any trust fund kid I’ve ever heard of.

“Maybe,” Savvy mutters.

Clover sets her empty glass back on the coffee table. “We should go dancing.” Her cheeks are the shade of pink that only happens when she’s had one too many glasses of wine. And by one too many, I mean one glass. She’s our lightweight, and I love her dearly. It’s because of her I’ve been saved from making a fool of myself more than once.

“I don’t think…”

“Madison?” Braxton asks with a soft knock on the pocket doors closing off the den.

“Come in,” Clover says, jumping to her feet.