Page 152 of The Billionaires

“Forbearance is when someone is given some time without having to pay the mortgage, but the interest accrues. Deferment is similar, but interest free.”

“Still.” I fork some egg and bring it to my mouth. “Even your angel of a bank would eventually kick them out.” As I chew, I mentally dare him to deny this.

He shrugs. “It’s unfortunate, but it’s not like we have much choice. If people didn’t pay their mortgages, we’d go out of business—and how would new people get mortgages then?”

“And there you have it,” I say. “Money is all that matters, not people’s lives.”

He exhales a frustrated breath. “Banks aren’t putting guns to people’s heads to force them to buy a house. There’s always renting, but folks want to own because they hope that the price of their home will grow—as in, they too want to make money in some distant future.”

I’m so upset I forget to chew the next bite carefully, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Is it wrong to want financial security when you’re older?” I demand.

“Not at all. But guess what? You need banks for?—”

Someone drops a fork, loudly.

It’s Bob, the chef. He’s staring at me eating with a horrified expression.

“I think that’s my cue to leave,” I say to no one in particular.

Shoving the rest of my egg into my mouth, I tempt Colossus with a cookie crumb to go for a walk.

Behind me, I hear Bruce explain to Bob that I’m the exception to his “eat alone rule”—which triggers that stupid feeling of specialness. But by the time I have the mohawk contraption on my head, I don’t feel special anymore, at least not the version of that word without sarcastic quotes around it.

As soon as we’re outside, Colossus starts sniffing a nearby bush, then lifts his leg.

“Good boy,” I say, but before I can give him a treat, he lifts his leg again, a couple of inches to the left from the first time. As soon as he is done, he sniffs his work and goes one more time.

“Wow,” I say with a grin. “You really wanted to mark that.”

The puppy looks up at me, head cocked.

Well, duh. I’m making a masterpiece out of pee—or as art critics shall call it: a masterpees.

I give him a treat for the good work, then walk down the road… only to halt in my tracks because an attractive woman dressed in business attire is walking toward us—in high heels, on gravel.

What the hell? This is a private estate, so what is she doing here? Is this another romantic interest of Bruce’s?

“Hello,” I say when we’re near enough not to have to shout, even if shouting at her is a tempting proposition.

“Hi,” she says cheerfully. “You must be Lilly.”

“That’s me,” I say. “Who are you?”

“I’m Gertrude,” she says. “I work for Mr. Roxford.” She looks at Colossus. “He said the dog needs to learn to be social, and that I’d be the first ‘stranger’ the little guy is to meet.”

Huh. “You’re a banker?”

“I am, but anything for Mr. Roxford.”

As in, when he says, “Jump,” she jumps. Very interesting.

“Here.” I toss her a cookie. “When we get close to you, give him that, speak as you would to a baby, and don’t make sudden moves.”

We keep walking.

As we get closer to the woman, Colossus becomes more hesitant—until he spots the cookie in her hands. Now he seems torn. He wants the treat, but it’s being held by a stranger.

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