Young Billionaire’s Dog Runs Into Her at Park. He Apologizes With Coffee, Then Dinner, Then Forever

Chapter 5

It was their one-month anniversary, though Emma didn’t consider a month anything worth marking.

Grant had other ideas. He insisted on celebrating — insisted hard, with the kind of cheerful stubbornness that made her laugh and object at the same time. He made reservations at an upscale restaurant in Manhattan, the sort of place Emma had only ever read about in magazines, with a name that meant nothing to her and a wine list longer than her rent bill.

Emma splurged on a new dress for the occasion: a deep blue thing that made her feel like she’d stepped off a cover shoot. When Grant picked her up, the look on his face told her it had been worth every penny.

Dinner was incredible. Course after course of beautiful, impossible food — things Emma couldn’t name and doubted she’d ever afford again. They shared bites from each other’s plates, arguing playfully over whether the chocolate dessert or the lemon tart was better, and Emma felt like she was living inside a fairy tale, waiting any moment to wake up.

They were finishing their coffee when an older man approached the table.

He was mid-fifties, wearing a suit that whispered money in that understated way, and his face split into a broad grin when he saw Grant.

“Grant Oaks!” The man’s voice boomed. “I thought that was you. How’s everything at Oaks International?”

Emma saw Grant’s jaw tighten. She saw something like resignation flash across his face before he smoothed it away behind a polite smile.

“Everything’s good, Richard. Thanks for asking.”

“Your father must be thrilled about the Singapore expansion,” the man continued, oblivious. “Though I suppose you’re too busy running the whole operation to get involved with individual properties anymore.”

“Something like that.” Grant turned to Emma. “This is Emma. Emma, this is Richard Hartley. He owns a few hotel chains out West.”

Richard shook her hand warmly, then launched into a story about some hotel conference, talking over the table like they were all old friends. Emma smiled and nodded and made the right noises, but behind her smile, her mind was racing.

Oaks International. Running the whole operation. Individual properties.

Meanwhile, Grant had said he worked in a hotel deriving from his family business. A hotel. Singular.

Emma’s hands, which had been wrapped around her coffee cup, grew very still.

After Richard left — with a hearty clap on Grant’s shoulder and an invitation to “bring Emma to the charity gala sometime” — Emma set her cup down with enormous care.

“Grant,” she said, and her voice came out even, “what exactly do you do at Oaks International?”

Grant’s jaw tightened again. He reached across the table for her hand; she pulled back.

“Are you just a manager?” Emma pressed, and she could feel the pieces clicking into place now — the apartment in Tribeca that had never made sense, the car that cost more than she’d earn in five years, the way he never once seemed to worry about money. “Or is it something more than that?”

“Emma —”

“I want the truth.”

Grant held her gaze. Then, slowly, he said: “I’m the CEO. Oaks International is my family’s company. We own forty-seven hotels across twelve countries.”

Emma felt the floor drop out from under her. The conversation at the other tables seemed to dim into static.

“You’re a billionaire,” she said.

“Technically —”

“You’re a billionaire, and you just forgot to mention that for a month.”

“I was going to tell you.” Grant’s voice was desperate, low, aware of the other diners. “I just wanted you to get to know me first. Not the money, not the company. Me. Just me.”

Emma stood, reaching for her purse. “You don’t get to decide what information I need to make my own choices, Grant. You don’t get to give me one version of you and hide the rest.”

“Emma, please.” Grant stood too. “Can we talk about this? Really talk. Not here — but please don’t just walk out.”

She wanted to walk out. She wanted to protect herself from the inevitable hurt of caring about someone who had lied to her, even by omission. She wanted to go home and never think about Grant Oaks and his perfect apartment and his perfect dog ever again.

But despite the anger, despite the sting of betrayal, she still cared about him. She couldn’t just erase that in thirty seconds.

“Fine,” she said. “We talk. Your place. Now.”

The drive to Tribeca was silent and tense. Emma stared out the window at the city lights sliding past, her mind turning like a machine.

A billionaire. Grant was a billionaire.

The man who had knelt in the grass picking up her scattered pages. The man who’d held her hand in an apple orchard. The man who kissed her like she was made of something precious. He was one of the wealthiest people in the country, and he’d never thought, not once, to mention it.

Inside his apartment, Emma paced while Grant stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows with his hands in his pockets. He looked smaller than she’d ever seen him. More fragile.

“Talk,” she said.

“My father started Oaks International thirty-five years ago,” Grant said quietly. “One hotel in Chicago. He built it into what it is today. Two years ago he retired, and I took over as CEO. That’s the whole truth.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I thought you would only see the money.” His voice cracked a little. “Everyone does. From the first moment, they see the company, the reputation, the zeros. Not me. That’s all anyone ever sees.”

“So you lied.”

“I never lied.” Grant turned to face her. “I told you I worked in hospitality. I told you about my father’s hotel. Everything I said was true. I just didn’t give you the full scope.”

“Do you understand how this looks from my side?” Emma’s own voice shook now. “I thought we were equals. Two normal people who met in a park and liked each other. But this whole time there was this enormous imbalance I didn’t even know about. You were holding all the cards and you never —”

“We are equals.” He crossed toward her, step by step. “Your art, your career — that matters as much as anything I do. More. You build something beautiful with your own hands. I just move numbers around.”

“Don’t patronize me! You have forty-seven hotels. I can barely afford my apartment. That’s not a small difference, Grant. That’s a different universe.”

“I don’t care that you’re not wealthy.” Grant’s voice rose too, honest and raw. “I care that you make me laugh. I care that you’re passionate about your work. I care that you’re kind to my dog and that you sing horribly off-key in the car and that you’ve never once treated me like I was anything except a guy you like spending time with.”

Emma felt tears burning at the back of her eyes.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispered. “Dating you — it changes everything. People will say things. Everyone will assume things about me.”

“It doesn’t have to change anything. We can be exactly what we’ve been for the past month.”

“Everything has already changed.” Emma wiped at her eyes, furious at the tears. “You should have trusted me enough to tell me from the beginning.”

Grant was quiet for a long moment. Then: “You’re right. I should have. I was wrong to keep it from you, and I’m sorry. But please, Emma — don’t let this ruin what we have. What we’re building.”

Emma turned away from him, pressing her fingers to her forehead.

“I need time,” she said. “I need to think about this without you standing there looking at me like that.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know. A few days. A week. I just need space.”

“Okay.” Grant’s shoulders dropped, though everything in his posture said it wasn’t okay at all. “Take whatever time you need. Just — promise me you’ll actually think about us. Don’t write me off because of the money.”

Emma nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

She called a car service, refusing Grant’s offer to drive her home, and she left his apartment feeling like the ground beneath her had turned to glass.

The next few days were miserable.