Page 20 of Unwrapping the Billionaire

13

Grace

Present

Who the hell does Jonas Farley think heis?

I’m breathing indignation and some serious tequila fumes as I storm past the Christmas tree standing tall in the monochrome lobby of Farley Industries.

Is it just me or do the baubles look like thousands of silver hands clapping me on?

Whether it’s the alcohol talking, or the last two years of hurt, I’m suddenly done taking his bullshit.

I’m better than this.

I’m better than him.

The only thing dropping to his office floor today will be his jaw when I tell him exactly where he can stuff his red silk tie. Instead, I’m going to buy my father’s company back, piece by piece, whether it takes me a year or twenty. I’m a smart girl. I’ll find the money somehow, and it’ll be a hell of a lot more satisfying than a quick hate fuck that’ll screw my pride just as much.

“Where is he?” I demand, slamming my bag down on the security guard’s desk.

He glances from my bag to my face. “Who are you referring to, Miss…?”

“Farley. Jonas Farley,” I hiss. “I have an appointment with him in…” I catch sight of the clock behind his head. “Two minutes.”

The security guard glances at his computer screen. “And you are—?”

“Grace Parker.”

There was a time when I wished for a different surname, but those days are long gone.

“Top floor please, Miss Parker...”

But I’m already heading for the elevator.

My resentment hasn't let up by the time the doors spring open. If anything, the rising carriage has gone and escalated it to crotch-kicking proportions. Violence is never an answer, but just the thought of it is making me feel pretty damn satisfied.

I pause outside his office door to brace myself. He’s going to make me feel about three feet small in there, but I’ll be coming out at least three feet taller.

I go to reach for the handle when there’s a large crash, and then a shout from inside.

What the hell?

“Jonas?” I push the door open into chaos. There are smashed bottles all over the place, and his executive chair is laying, shipwrecked, on its side. There’s a cold, fetid odor in the air that I can’t place, and it’s making my stomach turn. “Jonas, where are you?”

“Grace!”

His shout makes me spin around in shock. I watch as he comes hurtling through a side door, looking nothing like the man I expected to find. His piercing blue eyes are wide and haunted, and his black hair is flattened and dripping with water. He stinks of red wine, and crimson stains smatter the front of his white dress shirt.

He’s not just balancing on the edge of his composure, he’s already tipping headfirst into oblivion. He’s still managing to look mighty fine as he’s doing it, though. As much as I hate him, and I doreallyhate Jonas Farley—right through to the bleeding out heart of me—I have a sneaking suspicion I’ll never stop wanting him, either.

“What happened to you?” I whisper. “What the hell happened in here?”

“Don't fucking marry him!” he yells, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me hard. “Don’t you fucking do it, Gracie. You’re mine! You’ll always be mine!”

“Excuseme?” I take a sharp step back, breaking his hold on me. “You lost your privileges to those words a long, long time—”

“I saw you with him... He’ll never make you happy. Content, for a while maybe, but he doesn’t get your soul or your fire, baby. He doesn't see how much it burns you up inside.”

---