Page 217 of The Billionaires

How pathetic is that?

Leo walks up to me and pokes me with his wet nose.

Don’t we have a sushi dinner to get ready for?

CHAPTER 5

JANE

“How was the interview?” Mom demands as soon as I step into our house.

I turn so she can see the state of my clothing. “It was a disaster.”

“Tell me over lunch,” she says, and I do, including the part about meeting Adrian.

As soon as I mention tabloids, she gets her phone out and starts searching.

I sigh. For a while now, Mom and I have been more like friends than mother-daughter—for better, and sometimes for worse. She’s only thirty-nine, so she obviously had me when she was way too young, and because we’re so close in age, we have problems that are pretty similar: dating, job searching, et cetera.

I’ve seen her be motherly to my younger sister, Mary, and I sometimes feel a little jealous.

“He’s hot!” Mom exclaims.

I sigh. “Did you not hear the part where I didn’t get the job?”

She waves that off. “You’re brilliant. There will be another library. There’s probably not going to be another scrumptious billionaire who will fall right into your lap.”

I’m glad Mary isn’t here for this pearl of maternal advice. “That library would’ve been perfect.”

Mom narrows her eyes at me. “You weren’t prickly toward Adrian, were you?”

“Prickly?” You bring a date home once, and now there are these insane accusations.

“You heard me,” she says. “It’s like you never grew out of the phase where you tease the boys that you like.”

“I don’t like him,” I say with a confidence I don’t really feel. “Nor did I ever tease boys I liked.” It was more like I was too shy to speak with them at all.

“Sure, you don’t like him,” Mom says. “That’s why you agreed to go to dinner with him.”

I roll my eyes. “Am I too old to get emancipated from you?”

She tosses a bookmark at me. “Where is he taking you?”

I tell her.

Her eyes widen. “That famous Japanese chef’s place?”

I nod, a suspicious feeling creeping into my stomach.

Mom searches on her phone for a few more seconds, then exclaims, “Their omakase costs fifty times what they charge for the all-you-can-eat buffet at our favorite sushi place.”

“Show me,” I demand.

Heavens. It’s true. This is like the damned boutique all over again.

Miss Miller thinks the gentleman may expect something untoward after that kind of dinner.

I reach for my phone to send Adrian a text, but Mom snatches it out of my hands. “Don’t you dare not go.”

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