Page 54 of The Billionaires

Lucius gestures at the spacious seat opposite him, so I head over there.

This morning was a rollercoaster ride. I still can’t believe he sent his butler for me like nothing’s happened. But I guess it makes sense if he considers what went down yesterday as some sort of PDA practice.

By saguaro’s needles, I’ve never felt this conflicted. I should be relieved that the kiss wasn’t anything, but I can’t help an irrational feeling of disappointment. I must’ve wanted it be real. Or some crazy part of me wanted it.

I plop gracelessly into the leather seat, and it feels like a cloud. Ignoring Lucius for the moment, I scan the luxurious interior of the jet.

Damn.

Having passed by first-class sections on regular planes, I can compare this to them, and it’s like a five-star hotel versus a rat-infested hovel.

“If you want a massage, just press this button.” Lucius points at a controller next to his elbow.

Intrigued, I do so.

My chair comes to life. It leans me back, and the armrests and footrest open up, like three hungry gators.

“If you want an arm and/or foot massage, stick the appropriate appendages in there,” Lucius explains.

At the mention of a foot massage, I flush. Does he remember what I said that time? Probably—I still recall him saying he likes to give them…

Whatever. To satiate my curiosity, I stick my arms into the arm sections, and then, after a slight hesitation, I kick off my sandals and put my feet into the bottom part.

Hmm. Did Lucius’s gaze linger on my feet a moment too long? If so, why? Was I supposed to wear socks… or does it have to do with that whole foot-massage convo?—

Wow. The massage begins, and it’s amazing. Maybe too amazing—a moan is on the verge of escaping my lips.

“How do I turn this off?” I ask urgently.

Lucius leaps out of his seat and presses something on my remote, causing the chair to disengage.

“You okay?” he asks, looming over me with concern on his face.

I put my sandals back on. “It was too intense. I don’t think I can carry on a conversation and use this chair at the same time.”

He returns to his seat. “So… you are still willing to have a conversation?”

I roll my eyes. “Even if that means more of your silly get-to-know-each-other questions.”

He pulls out his phone and glances at the screen. “In that case, if you could magically get rid of one bodily function, which one would you choose?”

“Seriously?”

He hides the phone. “Why would I not be serious?”

“Because bodily functions aren’t usually part of polite conversation, outside of jokes. Unless a brain fart is a bodily function—because I think whoever created these questions must’ve had one.” What I leave unsaid is that Lucius must’ve also had a brain fart when he chose to ask said questions.

He rubs his temples. “The correct answer is fine for polite conversation.”

Is an eyeroll a bodily function? Because it happens again for me. “And what’s the right answer? Sweating?”

“Sleep.”

My eyebrows jump up—a bodily function you can fix with Botox instead of magic. “Is sleep even a bodily function?”

“An essential one,” he says. “But since we’re talking magical intervention, your health wouldn’t suffer if you gave it up in this scenario. Sleep is the one to get rid of because it takes up a whopping one-third of our lives.”

Maybe a massage is exactly what I need to keep myself calm as I talk to him?

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