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Blame It on the Billionaire
by Naima Simone
One
Honor thy mother and father.
Grayson Chandler smothered a sigh. With all due respect to Moses, but if he’d been stuck listening to
Grayson’s mother nag on and on and about his lack of duty, loyalty and wife, the prophet might’ve
asked God to nail down the specifics on that commandment.
Swearing. Out.
Muzzling. Out.
Faking a coronary episode to avoid her complaining. Gray area.
For a moment, a flicker of guilt wavered in Grayson’s chest. But at the moment, he was caught in his
mother’s crosshairs. Pit bulls with lockjaw had nothing on Cherise Chandler. She didn’t let go of
something—whether it was a project, a subject or a grudge—until she was done with it.
Which didn’t bode well for him.
He was thirty years old and president of KayCee Corp, one of the most successful global tech start-up
companies in the country and he hadn’t been a child to be controlled long before he left his parents’
house. For years, he’d answered only to himself, owed no one else explanations or justifications.
Yet none of that mattered when it came to the crystal blue gaze that could make him feel like the little
boy who’d been busted hiding a stray dog under his bed for a week.
Hell.
Parental guilt trips were a bitch.
“Grayson, your stubbornness is becoming ridiculous,” his mother said, a note of irritation in her voice.
She shifted closer and a small frown marred her brow. “You’ve proven your point with this little business
venture of yours and Gideon Knight’s. But your father needs you now, your family needs you. It’s time
to stop playing at CEO, step up and take your place at Chandler International. It’s your responsibility.
Your duty.”
He clenched his jaw, trapping the vitriolic stream of words that scalded his throat. This little business
venture. Time to stop playing. As if striking out on his own without the emotional or financial support of
his Chicago old-money, well-connected family was the equivalent of a rousing game of Monopoly. With
those few words, she’d dismissed years of his and Gideon’s hard work, relentless determination and
resulting success.
He should’ve been used to this casual disregard. Of his accomplishments. Of him. As the second son,
the “oops baby” of Daryl and Cherise Chandler, he’d been an afterthought from birth. But somehow, his
skin had never grown that thick.
Another black mark in the “Why Grayson Isn’t Jason Chandler” Column. Right under rebellious. Selfish.
And disloyal.
Didn’t matter that he’d had a hand in founding a tech platform that served major businesses and
assisted them in tracking their shares with its unrivaled software. Didn’t matter that his business was
one of the most successful start-ups to hit the financial scene in the last five years.
None of it mattered because it wasn’t Chandler International.
Dammit.
Grayson shoved his hands in his tuxedo pockets and glanced away from his mother’s scrutiny. Guilt
and shame knotted his gut.
He was throwing a pity party, but at least he was alive.
Jason couldn’t say the same.
And because his mother had lost her son—her favorite son—Grayson imprisoned the sharp retort that
weighed down his tongue.
“I take my position at and ownership of KayCee Corp as seriously as Dad does with Chandler. I also
understand my obligation to our family. But as I’ve told both of you, my company is my legacy just as
Chandler is Dad’s.”
“Don’t be deliberately obtuse, Grayson. It’s not the same—”
“Mother,” he interrupted, voice cold. “Now isn’t the place or time for this conversation.”
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