Page 101 of My Big, Fat, Accidental Billionaire Husband

“Yes,” I reply, keeping my voice steady. “Someone had to do something about the supplier crisis before we lost weeks of construction time. You were busy.”

“No, I washandlingit,” he says, that edge still in his voice. “You had no authority to negotiate terms on behalf of Rossi Developments.”

“Well, your ‘handling it’ approach wasn’t going to save us from losing our place in the production queue,” I counter, feeling heat rise in my cheeks. “Every day we waited was another day someone else could swoop in and take our spot.”

The car glides through the nighttime streets of Manhattan, the lights of the city reflecting off the tinted windows. Nichols sits silently in the front passenger seat, politely pretending not to hear me challenging a billionaire CEO about his business decisions.

Poor guy. His NDA must be thicker than the Manhattan phone book.

“What exactly did you promise them?” Dom asks after a beat of silence.

“Twenty-two percent above the Eco-Source rate,” I reply, bracing for the explosion.

“Twenty-two percent?” Now he definitely sounds annoyed. “Tatiana, that’s—”

“The difference between meeting our construction deadline and watching the entire project derail,” I finish for him. “I ran the numbers, Dom. Even with the premium, we’re still within budget if we adjust the landscaping allowance by eight percent.”

Or you could just reach into your couch cushions and find the difference, Mr. Billionaire. Pretty sure you’ve got that much in loose change.

There’s a long pause, and I imagine him running his hand through his hair the way he does when he’s processing something unexpected.

“GreenFrame,” he says finally, his tone shifting to something more thoughtful. “Elena Valdez’s company?”

“Yes.”

“Their bamboo is certified by the Forest Stewardship Council.”

I relax slightly against the leather seat. “I know. That’s why I chose them.”

“And Elena agreed to our timeline?”

“She did. Their lead time is actually shorter than Ricardo’s was. We might even be able to move up the eastern wing completion by two weeks.”

Another pause, longer this time. “I’ll review the terms tomorrow.” His voice sounds different now... not angry, not exactly impressed, but something else I can’t quite identify. Almost like... respect? He’s probably still pissed I skirted his authority though. “Are you on your way home now?”

Home. Not “the penthouse.” The casual word choice makes my chest tighten.

“Yes. About fifteen minutes out.”

“Good. We’ll discuss this further when you get here.”

The call ends, and I lean back against the seat, suddenly exhausted but strangely exhilarated. I just negotiated a major supply contract for a billion-dollar resort project, completely on my own initiative. And Dom didn’t immediately tear it to shreds.

Not bad for a girl who was left at the altar.

I smile to myself, watching the city lights blur past the window. For the first time in weeks, I don’t feel like an accessory or a trophy or a contractual obligation. I feel like a partner. A valuable one.

And as the car pulls up to Dom’s building, I realize with a jolt of clarity that what I felt tonight... you know, that whole rush of solving a problem, of acting decisively, of being acknowledged for my competence rather than as arm candy... that’s what I want from my life. From my career.

Maybe even from my relationships.

Eight days. Damn.

28

Dominic

Six days left.

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