The Billionaire's Favourite Mistake(8)

That was about as warm as Stijn Janssen got with her, Greer thought  wryly. She was treated more like an old business associate than a  daughter. There was no asking how one was doing, what she was up to, how  her wedding planning business was going. It was always-and always would  be-about Stijn and Stijn alone.

At sixty-five, her father was still an impressive figure. Over six feet  tall, his hair had finally faded from pale blond to silver, but his  shoulders were as broad as ever and his face just as tanned. His cheeks  were unlined, but the set of his mouth got a little thinner every year,  and he was starting to get a gut. Not that Greer would ever say that to  him. "You look well, Vader."

He shot her an unreadable look. "I should. Those women are working me  to the bone. So demanding, all three of them. You met them? My  triplets?"

Ah yes, nothing like getting reminded that her father didn't really  think of her as a daughter. As if she wanted to hear about his sexual  conquests. "I did. They seem very nice."

"They're stupid," he said bluntly, sitting back down in his chair and  digging through a few folders. "But they're enthusiastic."

Calling them stupid seemed cruel. "You do have a type," she said lightly.

He shot her another look, and this time it was irritated. "I do not. Your mother was nothing like them."

Yes, and you discarded her and me. But she bit those words back. "Speaking of mothers . . ."

Stijn pulled out a piece of paper and then put on his reading glasses,  perching them on his broad nose. "Now let me tell you my idea for the  theme. I was thinking something with ice. Something elegant, though.  This is a showpiece of a party. There will be very important people  there and we don't want to look trashy. So, ice. Ice can be elegant.  Maybe diamonds. I think-"

"Vader," she interrupted. If he got started on work, she'd never be able to broach the subject of her pregnancy.         

     



 

He paused and angled his head so he could stare at her over his reading glasses. "What?"

"You should know that . . ." She sucked in a breath, and then forced herself to admit the words. "I'm pregnant."

He blinked. "Can you work? Is it going to be a problem with planning my celebration?"

"No, it won't be a problem-"

He tapped his glasses, pushing them farther back on his nose. "So I was  thinking diamonds. An elegant theme. Like satin and diamonds. Or does  that make you think of strippers?"

She bit back her sigh of disappointment. Why had she expected her  father to show any sort of emotion? He never called her unless he needed  something. He never remembered her on holidays. He didn't care about  family. Of course he wouldn't care about her baby. Maybe she was still  reaching for that dream of family after all. Hope sprung eternal, and  Greer had always been an optimist. She idly touched her stomach. She'd  just have to be enough family for her baby without anyone else.

"Greer? Diamonds?"

She sat forward in her chair and pulled a blank piece of paper off his  desk, and picked up a pen. "Perhaps we can tweak the idea, Vader. Maybe  not satin and diamonds. How about black tie and diamonds? Or perhaps  just call it a black tie affair?"

"Good idea," Stijn said, grinning. "See, this is why I wanted you to do it. You have good taste."

And Greer kind of hated that she got a little inward thrill at her father's approval.





Chapter 3


Three Months Later

The Dutchman castle was crawling with people. Some were photographers,  some were celebrities, some were rich stockholders like Asher himself,  and some were just skimpily clad girls looking to capitalize on their  hotness.

So basically, it was like any other Dutchman party.

Asher flashed his invite as he entered, heading for the gardens. He  strolled in, put his hands in his tuxedo pockets, and surveyed the area.  An enormous draped awning had been set over one portion of the gardens,  and the rest was open-air tables nestled snugly on the cobblestone  patio that encircled the enormous swimming pool. The pool itself was  covered in huge floats shaped like diamonds and blow-up swans. Tacky,  but again, typical for a Dutchman party. Each table had wooden folding  chairs, a floral centerpiece, and creamy white tablecloths edged with  black ribbon. The party was a strange mixture of classy and tawdry. For  example, the table settings were gorgeous, but strolling between them  were the unmistakable Dutchman girls, carrying flutes of champagne.

One wandered up to him with a tray in her hands. Her wench costume was  cut so low that her breasts were bare and spilled out, and the skirt  barely covered her thong. She wore the sky-high wooden shoes that were  the Dutchman brand, along with the white cap. And she gave him an  interested smile that looked as if he were her prey. "Can I get you  anything? Drink? Lap candy?" She winked at him.

"I'm good, thanks."

"You let me know if you want any . . . service." She licked her lips suggestively and then sauntered away.

That wouldn't be happening. Tonight, he had two missions: to discuss  business with Stijn, and to find Greer and apologize for being an ass.  Those things were the only reasons he'd taken time out of his busy  schedule to pop in to Vegas and show up at this party.

The entire thing was a sham. Prospectus magazine's Businessman of the  Year? It was well known among elite circles that it was a lot like one  of the Hollywood "Walk of Fame" stars-you paid to play. They'd write  puff pieces about how incredible his company was and how business was  booming, and it was all to raise the profile of a company that was  otherwise sagging and in trouble.

Asher knew this, because he had done it last year as a last-ditch  effort to save his company, OutSource Everything. He'd taken a chunk of  the money Stijn had sent his way, bought a ton of PR, and made a few  risky investments in the hopes of a quick payoff. It had all worked out  beautifully, and his company was now doing better than ever. Asher had  doubled his fortune.         

     



 

Now that he knew Stijn was in trouble, he was here to help. It was the  least he could do after the man had bailed his ass out, no questions  asked.

And then there was Greer. Greer, who'd woken him up from his  self-destructive spiral. Whose sweet offering at the party had turned  into a nightmare. He'd lost her friendship, and he hadn't even realized  how much it had meant to him. Losing her made him realize he was pissing  away friendships he cherished and valued, and that it was time to sack  up. He'd eased off the throttle at work, no longer spending sixteen  hours a day at the office. He'd stopped drinking entirely, and he was  working on rebuilding friendships that had become strained over the past  two years, since he'd broken up with Donna and things went into the  crapper.

He didn't even miss Donna anymore. Now, Greer? Greer he missed. He  hated that there were no more Monday lunches. He hated that he missed  that soft, shy smile of hers, as if she were sharing something special  with him when she was pleased. Yeah, Greer he missed, but not Donna.

That was probably the strangest part of all. Donna had been a big part  of his life for over ten years, ever since he was sixteen. Her sudden  betrayal had gutted him, along with her casual declaration that she no  longer loved him and the fact that she moved to Australia to be with her  new lover. He'd felt completely hollowed out, as if there was nothing  left inside. He'd felt that way for over a year, and every day waking up  without Donna at his side had seemed like an exercise in pain.

Somewhere during the past few months, though, that pain had gone away,  and he hadn't even realized it. Donna wasn't the person he'd fallen in  love with anymore, and he'd been too wrapped up in other things to  notice it. Now, oddly enough, when he thought about happiness, instead  of Donna's flaming red hair and boisterous laugh, he pictured Greer and  her small, quiet smiles that seemed almost reluctant to show themselves.

She had to be here tonight. He wanted to talk to her. If nothing else,  to apologize for the way he'd acted. He knew she was avoiding him, and  it bothered him. It bothered him that he'd taken advantage of a friend,  and that he'd been such an asshole to someone who was nothing but kind  to him. Who'd been supporting him since day one, and who'd always had  time for him even when the entire world seemed to want to forget his  name. She'd always been there for him, and he wanted to be there for  her.

He wanted to fix this thing between them.

And, okay, maybe take her out for lunch or get their Mondays scheduled  again. But that was pure selfishness talking because he missed her. Most  of all, he just wanted to know that Greer was okay with things and he  didn't want her to hate him.

Asher walked the party, looking for a small figure in plain clothing  and big glasses. Everywhere he looked, though, there was no sign of  Greer. She was Stijn's daughter, wasn't she? Surely she'd be here for  her father's award. He mingled for a bit, chatting with acquaintances  and scanning the crowd. Lots of scantily clad Dutchgirls. No sign of  Greer. That was . . . fucking disappointing.