Billionaire's Secret Club: A Stand-alone Alpha Billionaire Romance by Amelie Winlove

Billionaire's Secret Club: A Stand-alone Alpha Billionaire Romance by Amelie Winlove

Author:Amelie Winlove [Winlove, Amelie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-05-01T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

“That’s where you want to be in your life:

those moments when you forget to breathe.” - Lucas Mitchell


(Six hours prior….)


No way am I falling for any chick. Especially not a grad student, I thought. It helped that I was for the most part all alone at the estate with all my books, because for long periods of time, I was able to not think of Lena. That was the one thing about the estate that I found to be a benefit for me: it was one of those easy distractions from whatever would be, well, distracting you in a bad way.

I mean, there was an XBOX, Netflix, Amazon Prime, theater room, tennis courts, swimming pool (Ophelia’s favorite), fitness center, VR room, arcade with dozens of those pinball machines -- I could easily go on and on. So many distractions from the real world. Of course, there was the library…. (my favorite place).

The one thing about those distractions was that those activities could only do so much. Seriously, I wasn’t a kid anymore -- not even a teenager. I could only take so much “Skyrim” or “Fortnite” before I felt my brain cells disintegrate. I needed literary sustenance, something better than emptying the mind and then dumping cheese sauce into my head.

To be honest, I would’ve been perfectly happy sticking myself in that library for the entire night, throughout the New Year’s Eve party and beyond, but that idea was unfortunately squashed as Mom and Dad came to me with glee as I sat on the comfortable couch.

“Honey,” Mom said, “you should host our party tonight!”

I was holding The Great Gatsby in hand once I heard the word ‘host.’ Ugh. I was indeed fond of fiction as well, which our library had a plethora of options to pick up. And The Great Gatsby was one of them. How ironic.

I was stunned, blinking. “.... Come again?”

Both Mom and Dad stared at me, regal as they were in their polyester party clothes -- did they realize they were already pimped out, and we were perhaps six hours away from the big ball drop? Starting early, I supposed.

Mom stuttered. “T-the New Year’s Eve party tonight! What, you don’t want to?”

I was on page 127 of The Great Gatsby…. Damn. I put the book down, rubbing my forehead. “B-but. Why me? Why not Josh?”

Dad butted in. “You know Josh doesn’t have your eloquence, kid. Seriously. He has as much eloquence as a whoopie cushion.”

I honestly had to smile a little bit on that remark, and Mom certainly started to giggle. “Oh, come on, Jim, don’t be crass.”

“It’s true,” he said, shrugging.

Mom playfully punched my shoulder. “You should do it! You’re a … history professor. You’re educated.”

Now I really wanted to laugh. “That has nothing to do with hosting a party at one of the biggest estates in New York, Mom.”

That was when Mom gave me.... the look. And I hated that look. It was the look any mom would give a son when expecting a certain answer.


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