The Billionaire's Favourite Mistake(28)

Funny how he'd been okay with that just a few short years ago.

Without another thought for the woman he'd once thought he'd loved, he dumped the photo in the trash.

Hours passed, and by the time Asher's phone rang again, he was on edge.  More so when he saw that it was Stijn and not Greer. "About time," he  snapped at the Dutch businessman when he answered.

"Can I help you with something, Mr. Sutton?" Stijn sounded equally  annoyed. "Augusta tells me you had an urgent message for me."

"Yeah. This bullshit wedding we're putting on? Call it off. Tell Greer  you changed your mind or something. She's running herself ragged trying  to please those three girlfriends of yours and I don't like it. Cancel  things and I'll hold up my end of the bargain."

"You want me to cancel the wedding?" Stijn's accented voice was flat. "After demanding that I have one?"

"That's right. Like I said, I'll hold up my end of the bargain and give your business the shot of cash you need."

"I'm not canceling."

Asher's eyes narrowed and he paced in his office, glaring at the  Manhattan skyline visible through the windows behind his desk. "What do  you mean, you're not canceling?"

"I mean that our sales have been exceeding expectations ever since the  wedding was announced. We have received several endorsement deals and I  am in talks with another company to monetize the story. This has been  the perfect media event that I needed for Dutchman magazine."         

     



 

Was he serious? "You don't even want to get married. Calling it off will get you just as much attention as an actual wedding."

"Did you need anything in particular, Mr. Sutton? I need to go to dinner with my fiancées." Stijn sounded bored.

Asher gritted his teeth. "I'm telling you. Call this off. I changed my  mind. I'm not giving you any funding if you don't pull the plug on this  shit."

"Are you trying to blackmail me, Mr. Sutton? Because if you neglect to  hold up your end of the bargain, I shall have no choice but to tell my  daughter that you manipulated the entire scenario simply so she would be  forced to spend time with you."

Mutual blackmail? Anger shot through Asher. He was fucking cornered.  The moment Greer found out Asher was pulling the strings, she'd go right  back to ignoring him, all so she could have a scrap of attention from  her father. "Fuck you, Stijn. Don't you say a thing to her."

"I'm glad you've come around to my point of view, Mr. Sutton. I look forward to seeing you at the rehearsal dinner."

Asher hung up and then flung his phone across the room. That  cocksucker. He wanted to play hardball? Asher could buy his pissant  little company and slash and burn it. He could make Stijn choke on his  sales if he liquidated his stock and sold his shares to a competitor. He  could do a dozen things to make the man's life miserable, because Asher  had enough money to do so . . .

And then Greer would hate him. Again.

Fuck.

He stormed across the room and picked up his phone.

Like it or not, he'd have to ride this bullshit out. Even if he did,  though, he was going to make sure that Greer was taken care of. She was  his top priority.

She was his only priority.

***

Greer left her doctor's office and got into a cab, stifling a yawn. She  gave the driver the address and settled into the backseat, lost in  thought.

Here she was, back in New York City for the day. She'd flown in at dawn  to keep her appointment with her obstetrician, and scheduled lunch with  Taylor and Gretchen while she was here. She'd go over some quick  wedding updates with Gretchen, scarf some food, and then fly back to  Vegas so she'd return in time for a planning meeting with the band  scheduled to play at the wedding. After that, she needed to talk with  the pastor to smooth some ruffled feathers, interview photographers, and  a dozen other small things eating away at her time.

But the doctor's appointment had floored her.

She was having a boy.

She didn't know why the gender of the baby had flummoxed her, but it  had. Maybe in her grand scheme of things, she'd figured she'd be raising  a little girl and it'd be the two of them against the world, much like  Greer and her mother . . . except Greer would actually be present. A  little girl? She knew girl things. She could handle that. A little girl  would be just fine with one parent, a mommy.

But she was having a boy.

And she felt so damn guilty. Greer nibbled on her lip, thinking about  the contract she'd made Asher sign, forsaking his parental rights. Would  he be excited about a boy? Probably. She could see someone like him  showing up at Little League practices, and playing catch, and heck, a  million other boy things that she'd have no clue about. Did Asher  deserve to be in her baby boy's life?

She was no longer sure the answer was no. And she hated that she'd done  a one-eighty on her values simply because the man was a good kisser.

No, that wasn't it, she told herself as she stared out the window at  the busy streets of the city. She'd known Asher to be a great guy in the  past; that was what had attracted her to him in the first place. She  just hadn't grasped the depths that he'd fallen to when his life had  turned upside down.

And . . . he was not just a good kisser, but a great kisser.

She was closer to forgiving, but she wasn't there yet. Understanding,  yes. Forgiving, no. Greer touched her mouth, thinking about his kisses.  He was here in the city. Would he want to get together and take up where  they'd left off? He'd left messages with her father's assistant but she  hadn't responded, because she wasn't sure what to say. She worried he  think she was obsessing and following him to NYC since he'd been gone  too long? Perhaps it was best if she didn't let him know she was here,  after all.         

     



 

Course of action decided, Greer paid the driver and got out of the cab,  heading for the small, trendy bistro in SoHo that was one of Gretchen's  favorites.

Inside the crowded restaurant, Taylor was easy to pick out. For one,  even though it was summer, she was wearing a long, red and brown Doctor  Who scarf and had a backpack that looked like a cat hugging her. Her  messy hair was tucked under a tweed news cap. She waved a hand excitedly  in the air, ushering Greer over. Only . . . Gretchen wasn't sitting  next to her. A big, muscular man with tawny hair and a tan was poring  over the menu. That was odd.

"Greer! I want you to meet Loch!" Taylor jerked to her feet, nearly  upending the small table. "Whoops." She pointed both fingers at the man  at her side and pumped them back and forth. "I'm his guide to the city  for the next few weeks."

Loch got to his feet, a good deal more graceful than Taylor. He  extended one enormous hand-really, the man seemed to be enormous all  around-and gave Greer a polite smile. "It is a pleasure to meet you,  Miss Chadha-Janssen." His voice was accented, European.

Taylor put her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her fists,  giving Loch an adoring look as he shook hands with Greer. "Isn't his  accent wonderful, Greer?"

Having grown up with a Dutch father and a native Indian mother, she was  a lot less impressed with an accent, but Taylor's enthusiasm was hard  to deflate. "You do have a lovely voice," Greer said politely, taking a  seat across from the duo. "British?"

"Bellissimi," he corrected. "It's a very tiny country in the Alps, but I  think you must know that if you know Griffin. He is a cousin of mine."

"Ah. Of course." Griffin was in Hunter's circle of friends and a name  they'd been tossing about to step in to the wedding since Levi had  bailed. "Are you enjoying New York?"

He flashed her a smile and glanced over at Taylor. "It's very different than what I've expected, but entertaining."

Oh dear. Entertaining was what people said to be polite. "She's making you go to gaming meet-ups, isn't she?"

"Something called an LAN party," he agreed, chuckling. "And we're playing Wordcraft later tonight."

Taylor made a pained noise. "Warcraft, Loch. Warcraft. Oh my god. I  will die of shame if you call it Wordcraft in front of my guildies." She  raised her menu and hid her face from him, leaning in. "He called  ‘orcs' ‘porks' instead. Can you believe it?"

"The nerve," Greer teased. No one was quite as into games as Taylor  was. Sometimes it was hard to get her to leave her apartment. Guild  obligations, she'd say. But judging from the way she beamed at Loch and  the color in her cheeks, she had a new thing to obsess over, and that  new thing was tall, European, probably played polo in his spare time  instead of computer games, and was busy rescuing Taylor's scarf from her  glass of water.

"Is Gretchen coming?"

"Of course. She's being a spaz over wedding stuff." Taylor grimaced. "Except I wasn't supposed to tell you that."

"Oh no. A spaz? What kind of wedding stuff? Did we miss a deadline?"  Gretchen, bless her heart, was a wonderful friend, but she'd been a  fairly hellish client so far. She'd make a decision one day and  completely change it two weeks later, which caused Greer endless amounts  of work. The only saving grace so far was that Gretchen kept pushing  her wedding further and further out because it "had to be perfect." As  of now, they were edging close to Christmas, which meant new themes and  entirely new freak-outs for Gretchen.