Dr. Mitchell: Billionaires’ Club Book 1 (Billionaires’ Club Series)

The wedding ceremony was sweet in an old-fashioned way, all the way down to the scripted vows. Regardless of vows and songs played and prayers said over the couple, the ceremony was beautiful, and love was in the air.

I slid into the crowd of people being guided by the organizers to another area of the grand hotel for the reception. My trepidation of going to the wedding reception alone was replaced with the excitement of engaging with Mr. G again.

I had to remain focused on priority one, though. No matter how many times my focus shifted from the beautiful bride and her groom toward the sexy man who stood with the groomsmen, I kept my mind keenly aware of why I was here. The rest could sort itself out later.

The reception hall was not the rooftop experience from the night before. It was a more elegant atmosphere—of course—with silver and black décor enhanced by the lavish florals and greenery arranged with floating iridescent lighting, spotlighting everything to add a taste of romance.

I followed the attendant, who was speaking to someone in his earpiece, to one of the many tables blanketed with a shimmering silver cloth and arranged candles in a unique rectangular glass.

Table twenty-one was written in beautiful calligraphy against a foiled paper. The flowers in crystal vases smelled delicious, and after a cursory glance, it was easy to see that each arrangement probably cost over a hundred bucks.

My lips twisted to see if I’d be the only one at what now seemed to be the leftover guest table, and I felt a twinge of nervousness wash over me.

No. I would not let myself be guided by the insecure Ashely Taylor, who previously did everything she could to get out of coming here. That Ashley would have me rudely running up to the Johnsons, tripping over words to thank them for what they did for my family, thoroughly embarrassing myself because I genuinely did not know these people from Adam. I was three the last time I saw any of them, and I had a shitty memory to start with—why would they think I could remember a cousin from twenty-five years ago?

“I was seated here,” a young man’s voice snapped me out of my daze as I absently sipped the glass of wine poured for me once I was settled at the table alone. “I hope I’m not taking anyone’s place.”

I smiled over at a younger man, gorgeous hazel eyes to match his smoothed-back, blond hair. He had to have just past legal drinking age, and his smile was quite contagious too. Might be a good conversation buddy, I thought, swallowing my wine.

“Not that I’m aware.” I smiled back at him.

“I get so jealous…” a young woman’s voice sounded humored but honest when she and four other young women sat with her at this wedding guest reject table.

“Calm down, Beck,” a stunning redhead said, sitting properly at our table. Her eyes slid around the table, falling on me and the guy who’d sat before the girl-pack showed up in their super revealing, high dollar gowns. “Hey there,” she said, eyes meeting mine.

“Hi.” I lifted my chin with a smile. “I’m Ashley.” I used my thumb to point to the guy sitting to my right. “I don’t think you mentioned your name.”

“I’m Dave,” he said, seemingly enamored to be the only guy at a table of beautiful women. “I guess I’m the luckiest man in the room.” He chuckled.

“You might second guess that after being with us single and very desperate ladies by the time they open the dance floor,” a beautiful woman said. She had chestnut eyes and a chocolate skin tone I would give my right arm for.

“Yeah.” He sipped his wine.

It didn’t take long for their conversation to blow up in gossip. The girls started in with snarky remarks about my cousin’s ceremony from the décor to this beautiful reception. I was appalled, uncomfortable, and at a loss for words. How anyone could go out of their way to be so nasty was beyond me.

By the time we finished the five-star meal, I was ready to get out of here, Mr. G or not. So, what; we’d met randomly three times now. There was no relationship, it was surface fun, and I wasn’t tempted in the slightest to stick around any longer than to find the family who’d helped mine, give them my best wishes, and leave. Strange how such a beautiful environment could become toxic with jealous women who had nothing better to do than degrade a bride on her special day to make themselves feel better about being single.

I went to stand up and head toward the Johnsons, who were seated in front, but the lights flickered, and instantly, the room was transformed. It was now dark, spotlights pointing toward the empty space on the dance floor. The bride was seated in a chair on the stage, and the music changed to some hip tune.

A spotlight blinded me when it turned to beam at the back doors that opened into the vast room. Blinking a few times to get the stars out of my eyes, I noticed the groom leading a choreographed dance—his groomsmen following in step behind him.

The men had tossed their jackets to the side to reveal white shirts and suspenders. I covered my mouth when I saw Mr. G had some sexy dance moves among the others. His smile was devious as his body moved in step to entertain the bride.

This guy was ripped to perfection. His muscles were pressing against his button-down shirt, and unlike the others, his sleeves were rolled up, exposing his chiseled forearms.

I pulled out my phone to video the dance that the guys must have worked on for weeks to make this impressive presentation for the bride. I was pretty sure the superficial haters at my table would have something shitty to say about it, but I loved it. It was romantic, corny, and cute all in one. I’d seen stuff like this on social media, but to see it in person was quite another thing.

I turned my focus from Mr. G to my cousin, who cheered as the men danced around her. She was a beautiful bride—a very pregnant beautiful bride, I might add. The white dress was cut perfectly to show the flattering swell of her belly. I could only dream of looking so radiant when I was pregnant. Her long black curls bounced, and the diamonds placed the pinned-up part of her veil twinkled as the spotlight followed the groom and his men up to her.

The hate talk resumed once the show was over, but thank God the wedding planner had moved the reception forward quickly. The next thing we knew, the cake was being cut, then my worst fear came into play—the traditional bouquet toss. I was lined up with countless young women and took residence next to a fun, gray-haired lady with bright red lips.

“You going to catch it for me, kid?” she asked in a salty voice.

I smirked at her, “I tend to repel these sorts of things.”

“Watch those bridesmaids. I hear they’re vicious.” She nudged me.

Without warning and not even looking, the bouquet miraculously landed in my hands. Three women tried to rip it out of my grips before they were practically cuffed and dragged out by the wedding planner and his minions.

“Jesus,” I said, running my fingers over the nail tracks on my arms from the claws of desperate women trying to take the flowers. I turned to the elderly woman, “Here.” I smiled at her. “Caught it for ya.”

I tried to bow out, but she stopped me with a solemn gaze. “It’s yours.” She arched an eyebrow at me. “You have the battle scars, honey.”

A loud group of men’s voices erupted from behind me, but I walked briskly back to my table where the gossip girls eyed the bouquet as if I’d ripped the jewels from the bride.

“You guys want this flower arrangement that badly?” I asked, pushing it toward them.

A blonde with glossy lips reached over and snatched it up. “Thanks,” she said as I frowned at her immature, yet snobbish behavior.

“Here he comes, here he comes. Act fucking normal, Mellie,” the redhead said.

Where the hell is Mr. Johnson? I can’t do this wanna-be Housewives of San Fran another second.

“I believe I’m confused.” Mr. G’s velvet voice sliced through my irritated thoughts, bringing my attention to his approach.

“Why?” the girls all nearly said in unison, faces flushed under his stare.

He looked at the blonde who stood with the bouquet in her hands. “I was never so thrilled to catch the garter so I could be in a photo with my future wife.”

She exhaled confidently, walking over to his sexy smirk. “I guess that’s what it means, right?”

He grinned. “That’s exactly what it means. Allow me,” he pulled the bouquet from her hands. “This doesn’t particularly belong to you, whether it was handed down or not.”

Oh, great! After being at the table with these girls since the beginning of the reception, I had a feeling they were capable of putting a hit on me if this guy did what I had a pretty good feeling he was about to do.

“Annie?” he arched a brow at me and held out the bouquet. “You and I are needed for pictures together.”

“I’m good.” I tightened my lips, feeling gazes of fire on me and wanting no part of any of this.

“I disagree.” He pinned me with a stare that had me locked into a trance. “You can give it to one of these ladies after, but for now, you and I are the ones who are under the wedding folklore of the next ones to get hitched. I can’t think of another stunning woman in the room I’d rather be with in this situation.”

“Go,” Dave said. “Sheesh, you’re pissing off the entire table.”

I looked at him with a stare of disbelief as I stood. “Sorry. Let’s go take our pictures,” I said, linking my arm in the guy’s arm.

“How in the hell did you get seated with the bride’s oldest enemies?” he asked while pulling me away from the group.

“My future husband,” I played along, seeing his smile. “He’s part of the wedding party and didn’t ensure I was seated with the groom’s guests.”

“What an ass,” Mr. G answered.

“Yeah, he apparently thought the whole thing would be funny after I wouldn’t go to bed with him last night.”

That one got Mr. G. He nearly missed a step but recovered smoothly and quickly. “Well, perhaps you should have slept with him, then?”

“We’re saving ourselves for our wedding night.”

I met the arch of his brow with one of my own. “Is that so?” he asked, taking my hand and placing the flowers in it. “If that’s the case, maybe you’ll make one small exception for him. You know, he did have to dress in this penguin suit and all.”

Our eyes were locked on each other in this unscripted banter while the photographer took our photograph.

“He’s the one who accepted the job—being a good friend and all.”

He took my hand and led me off to the side while the bride and groom began their wedding dance. “You must have forgotten he was forced into this whole thing.”

“Hmm.” I smiled at the bride and groom, falling into a beautiful ballroom style of dancing. “I don’t recall him telling me he was in the wedding.”

“Wow,” Mr. Gorgeous played along. “He really is a dick.”

“Yep,” I said. “Leaves me to fend for myself. It’s why I probably will be leaving him alone to deal with the rest of this after I give my regards to the family I showed up for.”

“You weren’t impressed with his skill of dancing, then?”

“Not in the least.”

“Well, I can’t fault you. He only learned it a day ago.”

“Talented,” I said, looking around for the Johnsons while talking with this guy I’d somehow attracted like a moth to a flame.

“Well, save a dance for me,” he said, and then he was gone.

Okay. I wasn’t going back to my table, so I searched out the older woman I was determined to get the flowers to. Gorgeous guy or not, I was done with this whole wedding affair.

I found her, and she was sitting with the Johnsons. Two birds, one stone.

“Ashley Taylor?” Mr. Johnson’s gray eyes met mine as he stood. “You look fantastic, dear.”

“These are for that sweet woman over there,” I said as I handed the flowers to him, and pointed toward the elderly woman in a conversation with who I presumed was his wife. “It is nice seeing you. My dad sends his best wishes but hasn’t been feeling well these days.”

“I’ll give these to my mother,” he said as he reached over and laid the bouquet on the table. “Is he still having difficulty after losing your mother?”

“He’s just stubborn. Doing his own thing—it could be his way of grieving, but let’s not bring that up.” I smiled at the kind man. “We are so grateful for all you’ve done and so excited for today.”

“Well, I’m honored you accepted, sweetheart,” he said nicely. “I have a dance with my daughter. I’ll catch up with Mark in the morning. Good to see you, kid.”

I nodded and was left standing there, watching Mr. Johnson slide through the crowd and out to his daughter.

Fingers interlacing with mine caused me to jump. I looked over at Mr. G, standing at my side as if we were a serious couple, and all jokes were cast off to the side in the whole husband-wife thing.

“May I ask what you’re doing?” I asked softly.

“Holding your hand, waiting for our dance, of course.”

“You are quite bold,” I said. “Listen, it was nice, but I seriously need to get out of here.”

“You’re not leaving me again. I lost you once—last night—after not being on top of my game. I’m not losing you again.”

“Funny,” I answered. “If you want to play this game, then who the hell are you?”

His eyes slid down to where I stood almost a foot shorter than him—in heels. “Most people call me Mitch,” he said. “And you?”

“Most people call me Ash.” I smiled. With each word this guy said, he slackened the imaginary ropes of tension tethered to each of my nerves. “But to the people I’ve just met, I’m Ashley.”

“Well, since we both confirmed our husband-and-wife future back there, I believe I’ll stick with Ash.”

“You are presumptuous, aren’t you?”

“I get what I want, yes.” He grinned, not letting that comment naturally escalate into the douche bag category where it belonged.

“And if you don’t?”

His eyes fixed mine onto them. “Trust me. I’ll have you in my bed tonight.”

I melted into a pile of God knows what with the sound of his sultry voice, his daring smile, his ocean-blue eyes I was now swimming in. I had no response to that, but the heat between my legs he’d conjured with that response told me I was about to be the one sending out the morning-after text like Liz had.

The difference was this was a guy I think I would hate myself for not fucking—not the other way around.

The music changed, the atmosphere changed, and the next thing I knew, I was in his arms being twirled out on the dance floor. Thank you, Mom, for insisting I take the dance classes I swore I’d hate you for. I fell into perfect step with each salsa and tango move this guy kept switching to.

Luckily, we didn’t cause too much of a scene, but for the first time in too long, I felt wild and free. We both laughed, made silly trick dance moves together, and suddenly I was lost in some carefree world with this Mitch guy. I wasn’t letting go of this gift of liberation I was experiencing.

The best part of this was that he had no idea who I was. I didn’t have to see his brow crease with fake concern for Dad and me over losing my mom. That’s what this trip seemed to have turned into. It was like having to relive her death every time someone asked how we were doing when in truth, I still had no answer for that. It only sent the emotion of rage to the surface, which was unfair to anyone who showed concern. It was a constant battle. Part of me couldn’t accept her losing the battle against the cancer she’d fought so hard against. Now, I knew why my dad wasn’t jumping at the idea to come to this wedding. This whole trip was conjuring raw emotions.

As I twirled and was caught at the waist by Mitch’s strong hands, he was somehow healing these freshly reopened wounds. Thank God I ran into him with my drink, and now, he might be able to enjoy the fact that he always got what he wanted. Except for this time, this was what I wanted. If I took him up on an offer to sleep with him, it would be for me, not him; and looking at how handsome he was, I highly doubted he would have hurt feelings if we used each other for one night and then went our separate ways.