Page 38 of The Billionaires

Ah. It’s the time I carved out for myself to work on Novus Rome.

I smile. Outside of playing with my ferrets, this is as close as I get to fun leisure time.

I get onto my treadmill desk, wake my computer, and open the Novus Rome folder.

What do I want to focus on today? Should it be the contactless payment for the self-driving car squad? Road and street light sensors? The interconnected digital health system for the hospitals and doctors’ offices? Free ultra-high-speed internet that will cover thousands of acres?

No. I’d better consider the new variable that is Florida.

There will now be gators in the lake of Central Park—so small dogs will need to be leashed. More importantly, since there has never been a documented case of a hurricane making landfall in California, I didn’t plan for them, but now I have to.

As usual, I do my own deep dive into a problem before I hire experts in the field. This way, I can’t be as easily misled toward an inferior solution.

In this case, after hours of research, I decide that luck is on my side. The round houses that we’re planning to build are not only earthquake resistant, energy efficient, and economical in terms of interior to exterior space, but they should also fare extremely well in a hurricane due to how their shape interacts with wind.

I hear my usual “go to sleep” alarm.

Time always flies when I plan Novus Rome.

Before forcing myself away from the screen, I check to make sure Juno’s outfit and shoes were delivered.

Yes. I have the confirmation, as well as an itemized receipt, which I shock myself by examining. As if possessed, I check out all the items—underwear included—and picture what Juno will look like wearing them.

Fuck. I have to snap out of it, or else I might bring about the last thing I need.

Yet another Juno-themed wet dream.

CHAPTER 17

JUNO

Right after breakfast, I get to work on my first college application, starting with the University of Florida because their website mentions things like greenhouses, a herbarium, and the Ethnoecology Garden.

Once again, I thank saguaro for the awesome invention that is the personal computer. It makes life so much easier for someone with my conditionbecause it can read things on the screen out loud, and in general has settings that make everything a lot easier for me to read. If only my public school hadn’t forced me to deal with paper. Alas, Arnold Schwarzenegger in his role as the Governator hadn’t yet launched his initiative for digital textbooks. If I’d had text-to-speech in high school, I might’ve graduated as valedictorian, which would’ve helped my college applications tremendously.

I work tirelessly, pausing only to have a quick chat with El Duderino.

Dude, make sure to list me as a referral. It will totally impress those admission dudes.

By lunch, I realize that filling out college applications is a longer process than I thought, even though I have all my prerequisite info ready, like my scores and letters of recommendation. I also have an essay template, but I end up having to make a bunch of changes to make it fit the questions UF wants answered.

I’m just finishing up the application when my doorbell rings.

Weird.

I’m not expecting anyone. Quite the opposite.

I open the door.

A gang of fashionably dressed people is on my doorstep.

“Who are you?” I ask a guy with a rainbow Mohawk.

“I’m here to do your hair,” he says. He points at the lady next to him, whose outfit reminds me of a disco ball. “She’s your makeup artist.”

Stunned, I step back to let them in. This is clearly Lucius’s doing. Should I be pleased or insulted?

I’m not given a chance to decide.

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