Page 56 of The Billionaires

“If someone evil told you that you’ll be forced to eat one type of food for a year, at every meal, which food would you choose?”

“That sounds horrible,” I say and pause, thinking. “Maybe potatoes. I believe they have everything I need to survive. At least that was the case for Matt Damon in The Martian.”

Lucius grins. “I was going to say bananas, but I like your answer better.”

Our conversation continues in this vein for a while. We learn that he’d rather eat a superhot red pepper, whereas I’d choose a colonoscopy. If he were a car, he’d be a Tesla, while I’d be Citroën Cactus. And so on, including my favorite tidbit: when it comes to giving up personal hygiene to reach our goals, we both would do it.

Soon, it’s brunch time, and it’s a gourmet meal that turns out to have been prepared by one of Lucius’s private chefs.

“If it didn’t taste optimal, it’s not the chef’s fault,” Lucius says after we’re done. “Even with a humidifier, the air up here is cool and dry, which makes our tastebuds go numb. Another flaw of biology, in case you’re keeping score.”

I tilt my empty plate toward him. “If this is a less tasty version, your chef deserves a raise.”

“I’ll pass him your compliments,” Lucius says. “Did you have any more get-to-know-you questions?”

I rub my protruding belly. “I might be too stuffed for that.”

He sighs. “Another flaw of biological bodies—all the blood is used for digestion, leaving little for the brain.”

I yawn. “When are we landing?”

He looks out the window. “At two p.m. Eastern time.”

“What? Is it the lack of blood in my brain, or is that too quick?”

He grins. “This is a supersonic jet prototype. The flight is less than two hours. The change in time zones is the only reason we’re landing in the afternoon.”

Should I be surprised he’s got the latest and greatest technological marvels at his disposal? The surprise is that he hasn’t yet replaced Elijah with a self-driving limo.

“Would you mind if I got a massage?” he asks. “I like to do that if I can’t walk after a meal.”

I shake my head. “I could use one too.”

We both activate our chairs, and I can’t help but smile at the thought of this being a type of couple’s massage.

Then the chair begins to work its magic, and combined with the scrumptious meal, I end up giving in to the pleasure of that bodily function Lucius resents so much—sleep.

It takes me a moment to gather my senses when I wake up.

Okay, I’m on the supersonic jet, and the massage chair is still running, which may explain why I feel like a custard.

Huh. Lucius is sleeping in his chair, but the plane isn’t in motion anymore. How nice. On a regular plane, they wake you up when you land, but not here.

I clear my throat.

Lucius blinks open his eyes.

“I think we’re here.” I peek out the window at a green field. “Wherever ‘here’ is.”

“A private airport,” he says. “Come, the car is already waiting for us.”

Surprise surprise, the car turns out to be a limo. I guess when you’re as rich as Lucius, other types of cars refuse to give you a ride.

“What’s the itinerary?” I ask as we get moving.

“Right now, I’m heading to the meeting I came here for,” he says. “I’d appreciate it if you were to join me.”

He would? “Why do you need me there?”

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