Page 236 of The Billionaires

With the sound of claws on granite floors, Leo walks up and pokes me with his wet nose.

Where’s the lady who smells nice?

“She left,” I say. “I really messed things up by showing her the gallery.”

Leo wags his tail.

I think she’ll be back. You can buy a lot of peanut butter for twenty million human dollars.

“I really hope so.” Because if I fucked this up, I’ll never forgive myself.

CHAPTER 13

JANE

Was it crazy to be rude to a guy who is offering me twenty million dollars?

I don’t even know why I felt so annoyed with Adrian after the gallery fiasco. He warned me about his reputation, so I merely got a glimpse of how the sausage is made.

Heavens. Now I’m thinking about Adrian’s sausage.

To get my mind on something else, I search for a lawyer—in case Adrian doesn’t decide to cancel the whole deal, which he probably will.

Unlike some, Miss Miller is of the opinion that reformed rakes do indeed make the best husbands, and that this one can be brought up to snuff using rudimentary feminine wiles.

By the time I get back to Staten Island, I have a video appointment with a lawyer secured, and I’ve sent her all the prerequisite contracts. Once home, I slink to my room before I’m noticed and interrogated, so I can speak with said lawyer.

For a very stiff hourly rate, the lawyer explains what it is that I’ll be signing, and her interpretation is pretty much the same as the impression I got when I skimmed the docs. In other words, I could’ve saved time by flushing that money down the toilet.

“Thanks,” I tell her. “Sounds like I’m going to sign everything.”

“No problem,” she says. “And call me if you have any questions.”

I hang up and go locate Mom, who’s organizing the pantry for the umpteenth time.

“When did you get home?” she demands as soon as she spots me. “More importantly, how did the date go?”

It would be futile to tell her it wasn’t a date.

“Where’s Mary?” I scan the kitchen in case speaking of the little devil makes her appear.

“On her phone in her room,” Mom says. “You can go ahead and tell me all the deets, no matter how X-rated.” She grabs my hand and drags me over to the living room—which I don’t mind so much because it happens to be reasonably far from Mary’s room.

Once we’re on the couch, I blow out a breath. “This has to stay between us. In fact, you’ll need to sign a non-disclosure agreement before I can say a word.”

“How very Fifty Shades.” Mom’s eyes gleam excitedly. “I’ll sign whatever you want if that means you’ll dish.”

I install the special app on her phone and send her the NDA, which she signs on the spot. Then I tell her everything—or try to. When I get to the twenty million dollars, she looks like she’s about to have a fit of the vapors.

“You’re going to be rich!” she squeals right as I wonder if I should break out the smelling salts.

“And famous,” I say with a frown. “Remember the tabloids?”

“Who cares? Can Mary and I live in your mansion?”

“What’s wrong with this house?” I ask.

“The families of millionaires don’t live in dwellings that are seven hundred and fifty square feet,” she says firmly. “I don’t make the rules.”

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