Page 145 of The Billionaires

“No. It might have taken you that long to beat the game, but I figure if I focus, I can do it faster.”

She grins. “Good luck.”

“I don’t need luck.”

Her grin widens. “That’s the spirit. Oh, and you can play on ‘easy’ if that’s what you need.”

“That’s why books are better,” I say pointedly. “No shortcuts.”

She opens her mouth to make some sort of a retort, but Mrs. Campbell interrupts us once again. This time, she’s carrying a tray with my nightly digestif.

“Well,” Lilly says. “I’d better go.”

“Do you remember where your room is?” I ask.

“Yes,” she says, but doesn’t sound too sure.

I take my drink from Mrs. Campbell. “Can you show her where it is, as well as Colossus’s sleeping arrangements?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Campbell says.

“Have fun,” Lilly says, nodding at the video game in my hand.

I wait for them to leave before I navigate my way to the “New Game” screen.

A part of me is actually excited, but that could very well be the aftermath of having Lilly in my presence. Either way, I never put off something for later if it can be done immediately, which means now is as good of a time as any to acquaint myself with the silicon version of the Witcher.

This will take my reading time slot—which means I have mere minutes before I have to get back to work.

CHAPTER 15

LILLY

As Prudence takes me from my room to Bruce’s bedroom, I memorize the path so that I will be able to retrace my steps while I’m sleepy.

“Be careful when you approach the dog,” Prudence says as she opens the biggest set of doors I’ve seen in this mansion—and maybe ever. “He can get noisy if startled.”

“That makes sense. I can get noisy if startled too.”

Smiling, she gestures for me to enter. I step inside and ogle my surroundings.

Bruce’s bedroom is the size of many people’s houses, yet the only furniture is a huge fancy bed—and a tiny replica of the same bed a few feet away.

“That is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” I say. “But why?”

“Why what, dear?” Prudence asks.

I point at the miniature. “Why does the dog’s bed look just like Bruce’s?”

She turns furtively to make sure we’re alone. “I’m not sure,” she says in a low voice. “I think the puppy would beg to sleep in Mr. Roxford’s bed, and I believe that he thought the issue was that the doggie bed wasn’t comfortable, so he had an exact replica of his own bed commissioned.”

“Did it help?” I whisper back.

“Maybe. Or maybe the little one got used to sleeping separately by then—it’s hard to be sure.”

I thank her for showing me around and make my way back to my room.

Since my stuff is still mostly packed, I work on settling in for a bit, but once again, the deluge of impending decisions hampers my progress.

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