Page 35 of The Billionaires

The cat-tail shriek is back, this time with some stuck-pig undertones to it. “You’re going to marry him! I can tell.”

Marry him? It’s a good thing she’s not a witch because that fate sounds like it could be a curse.

“We haven’t even had an official date yet,” I say with exasperation. “Today doesn’t count.”

“Boo. And I’m guessing you haven’t tapped that yet either? It takes six dates before you give up the goods, right? Or is it seven?”

“That is just a set of coincidences.”

She lists my exes and the details of the sixth dates that led to sex, in great detail. Damn. I should be more careful when I tell her things, as she never forgets, like a gossip elephant.

“I think someone has just lost her confidante privileges,” I say, playing up the genuine annoyance I feel.

“No. Wait. Sorry. Sleep with him whenever you want, but tell me all about it.”

Time for the knockout punch. “Actually, hon, I have bad news in that department.”

“No,” she shouts. “Don’t tell me he’s asking you for an NDA.”

Huh. “How did you know?”

“Because he’s a fucking billionaire, and I’ve read Fifty Shades. But I can’t not know. Can’t you have him make an exception for me?”

“I tried,” I say. “He said no… at least for now. Eventually, if things work out, who knows.”

“No!” she screams, sounding like Darth Vader at the end of Revenge of the Sith. “Did you sign that shit already?”

“Not yet, or else I wouldn’t have been able to tell you what I have.”

“In that case, I need some juicy details, or else.”

I scratch the back of my head. “I think he really likes my feet.” That’s not a complete lie, I don’t think.

“O! M! G! You lucky fucking duckie. You’ll get all the foot rubs you want!”

Thank goodness I’ve never told Pearl that foot rubs turn me on, or else she’d freak out so much someone would need to perform an exorcism.

“I have to take you out,” she says urgently. “We’ll get pedis, buy you an ankle bracelet, a toe ring, some open-toed shoes?—”

“Sure,” I say, because I know when resistance is futile. “How about later today?”

It might actually be nice to have my feet looking good for the next time I meet Lucius.

Pearl tells me what time she’ll come and hangs up.

I face El Duderino. Since the NDA doesn’t cover conversations with cactuses (at least I hope not), I tell him what really happened, in detail.

Dude. That’s so metal. So what if this Lucius dude is a sucky dude? You’re basically getting paid for eating nice grub.

I sigh.

Maybe it won’t be so bad. For now, I’ll focus on the best part: the possibility of a Botany degree.

Opening my laptop, I navigate to a folder with pre-prepared bookmarks and review the application requirements for the University of California-Irvine, California State Polytechnic University, and a few other colleges nearby that have a Botany program.

Then something hits me. Originally, I wanted to go to a local school because I couldn’t afford to quit my business. Now, though, given how much money I’m going to get for the fartlek, I could consider going out of state.

With that in mind, I eagerly research and bookmark the most promising colleges. Given my B-minus high school grade average, I don’t hold my breath when it comes to fancy places like Harvard and Cornell, but some state schools with very good Botany programs might be within my reach, like the University of Florida or Washington University.

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