The Billionaire Bargain 2 Read Online Free Page A

angora like a cape over her tight steel grey dress. She formed an interesting comparison/contrast to the glittering interior of Cask of Amontillado, a restaurant that looked like someone had turned King Midas loose and told him that for every item he turned to gold, h e’ d receive a complementary steak dinner with a glass of the famous house red.
    There were gold columns, gold tablecloths, gold uniforms for the waiters. The guests were n’ t literally wearing gol d— other than their designer watches and tennis bracelets, of cours e— but between the designer labels and obviously hand-tailored tuxedos and gowns, it probably would have been cheaper for all of them to have worn suits and dresses stitched out of hundred dollar bills and garnished in diamonds.
    … and somehow I had thought I would be able to squeak by with an orange satin-polyester blend sundress?
    Damn, but I had to stop accepting invitations from rich people without checking the dress code first.
    Portia surveyed me over the sugar-crusted edge of her glass of pomegranate juice, and then turned to our waiter and declared ,“ The spring salad for both of us, Jacques. Do make sure you use the French shallots this time. And lightly on the dressing, Miss Newman certainly ca n’ t afford any extra calories .”
    She smiled in a way that was less like a human smile than a tiger baring its fangs.
    “ If I’ m going to have to put a wedding photo on my mantel I certainly do n’ t want to have to look at a walrus stuffed into tulle. And ther e’ s simply nothing more embarrassing than fixing ripped stitches for someone minutes before they walk up the aisle; no on e’ s ever fooled. Have you booked the fittings yet ? ”
    “ No ,” I said, not sure I could trust myself to utter words longer than one syllable without them turning int o‘ No, you unbelievable bitch, please go find some flying monkeys and a girl with a bucket of soapy water to melt you into a puddle of glop, please . ’
    Portia whipped out her day planner..  “ For flowers yo u’ ll need something traditional and classy ,” she began, flipping through the day planner and speaking more to its meticulously notated pages than to me.
    “ Actually, I —”
    “ W e’ ll get Silverstein Floral, of cours e— but you would n’ t know them, completely out of your price range. Now, venues: the Fairmont is a reliable choice, if a bit predictable; the Presidio or the Jardiniere might be a more original choice. It must look as if Grant is putting some effort into this . ”
    “ Look, you do n’ t have to go to all this trouble ,” I interrupted, stung by the way she had said that last sentence, as if Grant had picked me out of the top of a dumpster on his way for coffee.  “ I t’s — ” I waffled for a second, uncertain if I should tell. But if I could n’ t trust Gran t’ s godmother to keep this secret, who could I trust ?“ I t’ s not a, a real wedding. It does n’ t have to be fancy. I t’ s just a business arrangement . ”
    “ Well, of course i t’ s a business arrangement, you bargain-basement strumpet ,” Portia said without looking up from her day planner, where she was circling some venue names and crossing out others .“ Are all whores as n aï ve as you these days, or were you dropped on your head multiple times as a child ?”
    She flipped a page, and began neatly printing another list of place names. Meanwhile, my blood came to a nice, roiling boil. Portia did n’ t seem to notice.
    “ Given your entire lack of looks, skills, or suitable connections it was completely obvious that your nuptials were the final ingredient in some harebrained business deal cooked up by Grant in a last-ditch attempt to save the company from his own irresponsibility .”
    All that bitchiness and brains, too. Apparently I’ d had it wrong before. Portia already was a super-villain. She crossed out a name on the list with particular vehemence, as if she were trying to stab it.
    “