Page 145 of The Thing About My Secret Billionaire

“It was this beautiful shimmering silk, with white brocade around the neckli?—”

“I meant which grandma.” Oliver chuckles in an affectionate, completely nonmocking way.

Elsie’s face flushes. “Oh, your mother’s mother. The actual…Queen.” She says “queen” almost silently, like it’s a word so shrouded in awe that no one should really say it out loud. “It was a long time ago, of course. But it was a beautiful dress.”

“Here we go.” Amelia puts a large tray of drinks on a table off to the side and starts handing them out as the other guys rejoin us.

Elsie takes a glass of Guinness and sniffs it, like she can’t work out what it is. Grandpa looks at the drink in his hand like he’s never seenred wine before.

“That’s mine,” Oliver says, taking Elsie’s Guinness and switching it for the peppermint tea Amelia gave him.

“I think you have my wine,” Chase says to Grandpa.

And so begins a drinks merry-go-round until everyone has what they asked for.

“Was Leo the only one to get the right thing first time?” Miller asks, looking at the mug the billionaire investor is holding.

“His is easy to remember,” Amelia says.

“Because I’m special,” Leo says, looking into his drink.

“Because it’s weird,” she says.

“Nothing weird about hot chocolate.”

“There’s a lot weird aboutyouand hot chocolate.” Amelia picks up her own glass of white wine. “You don’t go together.”

“Anyway,” Miller says to Oliver. “How’s the book coming along?”

“You’re writing a book?” I ask.

“Memoir.” He leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I thought it was going well. The publisher…not so much.”

“This is supposed to be your big earner, isn’t it?” Leo asks.

“Yeah, but apparently my writing’s not up to snuff. So they want me to work with a ghostwriter.”

“That’s good, though, isn’t it?” Grandpa asks. “Less work for you.”

“Yeah, but…” Oliver shakes his head.

“Ol’s pretty private,” Miller says. “Doesn’t like spending much time with people he doesn’t know.”

“Some would call it trust issues,” Amelia adds.

“Well, whatever my personality flaws are,” Oliver says, “I’m going to have to suck it up, because it’s either work with this woman on the book or there’s no book.”

Leo shakes his head. “And, therefore, no huge advance.”

“What’s the ghostwriter like?” I ask. “Maybe it’ll be someone nice, someone you feel comfortable with.”

“She’s the type of person I’m least comfortable with.” He huffs. “A bloody journalist.”

“Oo.” Chase, the only other person here who knows what it’s like to be pursued by paparazzi, snatches in a sharp breath and winces.

“Best not to judge any situation,” Grandpa says. “You never know what life’s going to have in store. Look at me. A year ago I’d never have imagined I’d be sitting here with all of you and a new fiancée.”

There’s a friendly chuckle from everyone, even Leo.

“Just be sure to do what lights you up,” Grandpa says.

“Not sure I’ve figured out what that is yet,” Oliver says with a heavy smile.

“As someone very wise once told me,” Grandpa says, turning his gaze to me, “you get to choose your own adventure.”

“I like it.” Oliver sits up straighter. “And I’ll drink to it. Here’s to all of us choosing our own adventures.”

We all raise our glasses in unison again, as Grandma’s motto lives on in another lucky person.

So Oliver is going to have to work closely with a ghostwriter he hates before he’s even met her, huh? And spend hour upon hour with her, telling herhis life story, and innermost feelings and secrets. Wonder how that’s going to go…