Page 49 of The Billionaire's Princess

“Also true. But now you’ll know what it feels like to make your own way. I think it’ll be good for you. You’ll be so proud of yourself to be the captain of your own ship.”

“Assuming I don’t run my ship aground,” I say darkly.

“I’m not saying there won’t be a learning curve, but you’ve got a good plan. You can do it. If I can do it, you can do it.”

“From your lips to God’s ears.”

“So what’s going on with Percy? Please tell me you dropped his ass for once and for all.”

I frown. “Well, I did, but you don’t have to say it like that.”

She pulls a blank look that fools no one. “Like what? Like I’ve been telling you for years that being with him is like watching white paint dry?”

There’s nothing like a hearty I told you so to make one feel foolish. Had I listened to Michele years ago, the final break with Percy wouldn’t have been nearly as painful. Certainly, there would’ve been no engagement to break.

“Percy’s a lovely person,” I say, stung. “I could have done much worse. He’ll make someone a wonderful husband.”

“As long as that someone isn’t you. You do realize he’s only able to talk about three things, right? Soccer, rugby and whatever organic farming breakthroughs they’ve made on his estate that season.”

“And salmon fishing,” I add, trying not to smile. “He’s quite conversant in salmon fishing.”

“True,” she says.

“I just think we should have the proper respect for a kind person whose heart I just broke.”

“RIP, Percy,” she says solemnly, bowing her head and pressing a hand to her heart.

“Much better,” I say, reaching for a piece of shortbread.

Michele smacks my hand away. “So what made you pull the plug?”

“I had a, ah, moment of clarity,” I say, feeling that same heat in my cheeks again and deciding that now is not the time to mention that Damon’s cock was instrumental in helping me decide.

But Michele, being Michele, seems to know. She gasps, eyes widening, and lowers her piece of shortbread from her mouth.

“Hang on,” she says, assessing me with that shrewd gaze of hers. “You met someone, didn’t you? I see all the signs. You’ve been out of touch. Sexy new hair style. Bright eyes. Pink cheeks. Final break with Percy. What the hell is going on? Tell mama.”

Obviously, no one can withstand this sort of withering cross-examination. Least of all me.

My blush intensifies, threatening to melt me and send the entire sofa up in flames. There’s no stopping my grin. And I find myself categorically unable to look her in the eye.

“It’s nothing,” I say, covering my face with both hands before I humiliate myself any further. “Only, you may be right. I may have met someone.”

“And fucked him too, by the look of it,” she says with horrified fascination, because she knows how out of character this is for me.

“Michele!”

“Who is he?” she demands around her scandalized grin.

“His name is Damon Black,” I say with as much dignity as I can muster. Which is none, to be honest. “I met him at Bemelmans the night you skivved off on me.”

“I had cramps!”

“Well, it’s still your fault.”

“Damon Black,” she says, dusting the crumbs from her hands and reaching for her phone. “Why is that name ringing a bell?”

“He’s in real estate.”

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