Page 267 of The Billionaires

“Again, I’m sorry,” I say while a question swirls through my brain.

Why is Mrs. Corsica calling me in the first place?

There can be only one explanation. Despite how poorly I performed at the interview, she wanted to offer me my dream job, after all. Wanted—past tense—because after what I’ve just said, the offer must be caput.

“My late mother was also a gossip,” Mrs. Corsica shocks me by saying. “Long before Facebook, if I wanted an update on anyone, all I had to do was mention them around her. She always had their latest relationship status and other juicy news.”

I pull the phone away from my ear to make sure this isn’t some prank. Nope. The library is listed as the caller, which means that the ice queen herself has just shared a personal detail with me.

“You must miss her,” I say cautiously.

“Very much,” Mrs. Corsica says, her tone just a degree above frostbite. “Anyway…” She clears her throat once more. “Let us get back to my reason for calling.”

Dare I hope? After all that?

“We have considered your application carefully,” Mrs. Corsica says stiffly. “And we’ve decided to extend you a job offer.”

I know I’m probably risking the job yet again, but I squeal like a teen upon seeing her boy band idol.

Mrs. Corsica sighs grumpily. “Your abundance of enthusiasm for the role was actually one of the deciding factors. But please bear in mind that when facing the public, you’re going to be expected to act with decorum and poise.”

Mrs. Corsica would make the ideal chaperone for Miss Miller, or any young lady of good breeding and genteel disposition.

I straighten my spine and bite my tongue to prevent any more squealing. “Of course. Decorum will be my motto. Poise too.”

“Good,” she says. “When can you start?”

“Tomorrow,” I blurt excitedly. In a much calmer tone, I add, “Or whenever it is convenient for you.”

“Tomorrow is fine,” she says. “Now let’s talk numbers.”

“Sure.”

She names a salary, and I do something that all self-help books on job searching do not recommend—accept the offer on the spot. And hey, why not? Thanks to my upcoming fake marriage, I don’t have to worry about paying my bills.

“I’m glad we’ve come to a mutually acceptable arrangement,” Mrs. Corsica says. “Come by tomorrow for your first day, and you can sign all the paperwork at the same time.”

“I’ll be there.” Even though Mrs. Corsica can’t see me, I salute her, like a soldier would a general.

“Oh, and I know it’s self-evident at this point, but bear in mind that punctuality is extremely important for the job,” Mrs. Corsica says. “As is looking presentable.”

“I’ll get there early,” I say solemnly. “And bring a spare outfit in case another dog pushes me into the mud.”

“It’s possible that you will not make me regret this decision,” Mrs. Corsica says. “See you tomorrow.”

Listening to the end-of-call tone, I wonder how big a compliment it must be for Mrs. Corsica to say she might not regret hiring me.

When it comes from a dragon such as that, Miss Miller considers it high praise indeed.

Giddy with excitement, I let my feet carry me into the kitchen, where I bump into Leo, who is drinking water from his bowl.

“I got the job,” I tell the dog. “Can you believe it?”

Leo cocks his head and wags his tail.

“Where’s Adrian? Or do you think of him as Dad?”

Leo’s ears perk up and he runs out of the kitchen. I follow. When we reach the elevator, I watch in fascination as Leo smacks the elevator button with his furry paw.

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