Her Ruthless Alpha

Most girls dream of marrying a billionaire.

Me? I'd rather make fun of one. Especially if the billionaire in question is Alexander Grant.

Excuse me - Xander Grant. That's right - the "mega-hot" entrepreneur who's appeared on both Modern Startup Monthly's "Richest Innovators Under 35" list and Celebrity Spark Magazine's "Hottest Eligible Bachelors" list in the last year.

To me? He's still the guy who once ran naked down Main Street with "Free the Goats!" painted across his butt cheeks. My partner in crime until we went off to separate colleges and he and his buddy went on to sell the dating website they designed for a cool twenty-three million dollars. Practically overnight, he became known as one of the hottest young entrepreneurs in the country - a far cry from the guy I knew with the overlong hair and the weird obsession with dinosaurs.

Alex and I have seen each other a handful of times since his first big deal - his mom has always tried to badger him into coming home for holidays - but as the years have crept by, he's come back to Haverton less often. Apparently being a big-shot billionaire keeps you busy. We've kept in touch by email and phone, of course - I mean, someone has to remind him how ridiculous he looks in those suits he wears now - but today will be the first time in almost four years that we'll be face to face. I can't friggin' wait.

"Norah is about to throw a fit," my mom says as she puts her famous potato salad on the picnic table. "Alexander is late." She's wearing her dress with the giant blue flowers, the one she always wears for our neighborhood gatherings because it matches her favorite hat with the silk roses.

"He's driving in from New York," I remind her. "He wouldn't miss his mom's birthday. He probably just hit some traffic."

Norah Grant's birthday party is always one of the biggest events of the year - Norah is a member of the town council, and her husband is principal of the local high school, which means they're friends with everyone. Half the town shows up on their lawn whenever they have a party, and most people dress like it's Easter Sunday or something, all bright dresses and pearls and ridiculous matching hats. If our little town of Haverton were big enough to have a society, then this would be one of the main events of the season. Honestly, Norah's parties are just fancy, glorified barbecues that give all the town ladies the excuse to dress like rainbow-colored chickens - but damn, if her husband doesn't make the best burgers I've ever tasted.

"Alex wanted to fly his parents into the city," my mom continues. "But Norah insisted that he come here. He hasn't been back home in almost four years, you know."

I smile as I straighten the punch bowl. "Don't worry. He'll be here, Mom." I hope. As much as I love the food at the Grants' parties - the only thing that comes close in deliciousness to Luke Grant's burgers are those cream-filled donuts down at the diner, the ones with the fudgy glaze - this isn't exactly my crowd. I mean, I don't even own a fancy hat, despite my mom's many attempts to buy me one. I'm afraid that the moment I give in, the moment I put one of those ribboned and bedazzled monstrosities on my head, I've committed myself to a future as a Haverton busybody. I swear - the moment a Haverton woman puts on a big hat, she's suddenly convinced that everyone else's business is her own.

My mom seems to take my word about Alex, at least. She nods and glances over her shoulder, back toward the street. "Speaking of late arrivals, Mae - where's Wes? I told you Norah said you should invite him, didn't I?"

"I..." Shit. I was secretly hoping she would magically forget about Wes - God knows I'm trying to. But while I'm desperately trying to think of a believable excuse, my mom has already switched gears again.

"Oh, did I tell you I saw Alexander on TV again earlier this week?" she says, her eyes bright as she turns back to me. "I just can't get over how dashing he looks now!"

I snort a laugh. "I think the word you're looking for is goofy. Or maybe stuffy."

She bats at my arm with mock admonishment. "Maebel! That's a terrible thing to say. I think he looks quite striking. You know, Norah says he gets all of his suits custom made. Can you imagine?" You can tell she thinks I'm being ridiculous because she's called me by my full name - a name that, in my opinion, should never be used on anyone under the age of approximately ninety-seven.

I grin and bite my tongue. I remember asking Alex once how much one of those suits cost - my mom would have an aneurysm if I told her the price. I still have trouble believing the Alex I knew would ever spend that much on business wear. The Alex I knew once wore the same pair of socks for twenty-two days because he thought they were lucky. And he complained for weeks when he had to wear a tux in his cousin's wedding. But fancy-pants Xander has a reputation to protect, apparently.

"He's so well-spoken," my mom goes on. "He was talking about some company he's building or something. I wish I'd thought to record it for you."

"I'm sure he'll tell me all about it," I say. Back when Alex first sold that dating website, I used to watch all of his interviews. It's not often that someone from Haverton gets national fame. I'm not going to lie - it was weird seeing him up there on the TV with his shirt tucked in and his caramel-colored hair cut short. Even though he was twenty-three at the time, he looked like a kid dressed up in his dad's clothes. I spent so much time giggling at him that I'm pretty sure I missed half his answers.

I dip the ladle in the punch and scoop myself a nice serving. Part of me wonders if things will be different between us now. Alex was my best friend for most of my childhood - and even afterward, when we were living in different places, that's still what I called him to everyone. I mean, sometimes someone just plays a role in your life for so long that it's hard to imagine them as anything else. And honestly, Alex and I seem to have the sort of friendship where we can go months without speaking and then pick up exactly where we left off. I'm sure it doesn't hurt that our parents live right next door to each other and our moms are gossip buddies.

"Did you hear about that Harris girl?" my mom asks. "What's her name - Madison?"

My stomach clenches. I take a sip of punch and run my free hand down the front of my sun dress, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles. "No. What happened?"

"I heard she was back in town," my mom says. "I ran into Phoebe Jane at the grocery and she said that Madison has been having trouble finding work. I can't imagine why - she's so beautiful, isn't she? Did you ever see that kitty litter commercial she was in?"

Way too many times, I think, trying to decide whether it would be worse to throw up on the potato salad or the deviled eggs.

"Mm-hm," I tell her with a nod. Madison is the last person in the world I want to talk about right now.

"She was always so talented," my mom goes on, oblivious to my plight as she fiddles with the vase of daisies in the center of the table. "I always told her mom she was destined for great things. I was sure she'd end up in movies eventually. She has the face for it, doesn't she? And she was always so good in your little high school plays."

If I have to listen to any more of this I really am going to hurl all over this table. Definitely aim for the deviled eggs, I think. I'm pretty sure Collette brought those, which means they're going to be over-seasoned anyway. And besides, your mom will kill you if you ruin her potato salad.

"I'm going to go see if Norah or Luke need any help," I say, backing slowly away from the table. But I only make it a few steps before I hear the car coming down the street.

And my heart knew at once: Alex was here.