Page 4 of Billionaire's Bookworm

Whispers slitheredaround me like serpents in the opulent ballroom, their hisses impossible to ignore no matter how much I wished to shut them out.

“Wade James.”

“Billionaire bachelor.”

“Toast of the town.”

More likeprisonerof the town, if you asked me.

I kept a sardonic smile plastered on my face, nodding politely at the parade of women bold enough to bat their lashes in my direction. Leaning against a marble pillar cloaked in shadows, I fought the urge to gag on the cloying mix of perfumes and colognes that hung heavy in the stifling air. The heat from too many bodies pressed together, combined with the flickering flames of countless candles, intensified the suffocating scent. It felt like drowning in an overstuffed potpourri sachet.

Twirling a flute of sour champagne between two fingers, I did my best impression of a brooding Brontë hero—Heathcliff had nothing on me tonight. Who would’ve thought that stuffy tuxedos and hollow societal gestures could drain the life out of a man? When I was young and dumb, I believed these events were the height of sophistication. Now, each soirée felt more tedious than the last—a relentless parade of pretense and superficiality.

Just as I contemplated making a stealthy exit, a saccharine voice sliced through the pretentious chatter like a well-aimed dagger.

“Wade, darling!” The syrupy sweetness of her tone made my stomach lurch. “I haven’t seen you at one of these ever-so-fabulous events in ages!”

I schooled my features into a polite mask before turning to face her. Trina Baxter—the epitome of everything irksome about high society. Draped in diamonds that could fund a small country, she fluttered false lashes that could’ve doubled as helicopter blades and pouted glossy lips in an exaggerated moue. Trina was a fixture at these gatherings, always zeroing in on whichever billionaire looked the most available—or the most bored.

“Trina,” I managed, forcing a tight smile.

“I heard you’re still single,” she purred, sidling closer. Her manicured fingers brushed against my sleeve like a persistent spider weaving its web. “You know, Daddy just acquired a new yacht. Perhaps we could have dinner onboard sometime? We’d have all the privacy in the world.” Her gaze slid suggestively down my torso, lingering without a hint of subtlety.

I clenched my jaw, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. Oh joy. An evening trapped on a floating prison with Trina was exactly what I needed.

“I’ve been... busy,” I replied, taking a discreet step back to reclaim my personal space. “But it sounds... lovely.”

“Oh, darling, I know how busy you are.” She let out a throaty laugh, her hand trailing up my arm again, each touch sending a prickling irritation down my spine. “You must get so lonely, though, with all those cold boardrooms and endless numbers. You need someone to help you... relax.”

I mustered a cool, noncommittal smile, mentally calculating the quickest route to the nearest exit. The more she talked, the more hollow her words rang. Everything about Trina screamed wealth, status, and ambition—but none of the qualities I actually respected. To her, I was just a potential power match, a stepping stone in her climb up the social ladder.

And this—this—was precisely why these events made my skin crawl. No depth. No genuine connections. Just transactions masquerading as relationships.

“That’s very kind of you,” I murmured, my voice barely masking the disinterest simmering beneath the surface. “Perhaps another time.”

As I plotted my exit, the unmistakable staccato of designer heels approached—my internal alarm signaling the arrival of my sister, Amy. Adjusting my grimace into something resembling a polite smile, I braced myself just as her perfectly manicured nails latched onto my arm.

Thank God.

“Wade! Where have you been hiding?” she exclaimed, her tone exasperated yet laced with that practiced socialite charm. Before I could respond, she tugged me away from Trina, who glared daggers at the back of Amy’s impeccably coiffed head. “Come along. Priscilla has been simply dying to dance with you.” Amy’s voice dropped into a conspiratorial whisper. “And you do realize her father is interested in that merger, don’t you?”

I suppressed a groan as another wave of weariness washed over me. “Yes, I’m quite aware of Priscilla’s... interests. They seem significantly more financial than romantic.”

Amy’s polished smile faltered ever so slightly. “Honestly, Wade. Must you be so melodramatic? Priscilla is a perfectly lovely woman, and—let’s face it—you aren’t getting any younger.”

I raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of my mouth.

“Older,” she corrected with a huff. “You know Dad expects a grandchild someday soon?—“

“Before he joins the invisible choir. Yes, I know,” I finished for her, my tone edged with sarcasm.

She sighed dramatically, shooting me a withering look. I tilted my head, studying her with a mix of affection and exasperation. Beneath her relentless meddling, I knew she cared. She might bulldoze my sandcastles without a second thought, but it was all in the name of family—however misguided her methods.

“I’ll consider myself duly warned,” I said, raising my glass of subpar champagne in a mock toast. A wry smile played on my lips.

Her perfectly lined lips thinned. “You’re impossible,” she declared, crossing her arms over her designer gown. She looked poised to launch into another lecture, but I held up a hand.

“Seriously, Amy. If it’s that important to you, perhapsyoushould marry Priscilla.” Sarcasm dripped from my words as I met her gaze evenly. I’d faced down boardrooms full of cutthroat executives; my sister was a walk in the park by comparison. She knew when I was reaching my limit.

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