Page 5 of The Billionaires

She turns on me. “What?”

“You’re pressing all the buttons,” I say icily. “Like a child.”

And as I watch in reluctant fascination, her round cheeks turn red and her nostrils flare.

CHAPTER 4

JUNO

“Are you calling me stupid?” I snap. Anyone could have trouble with these damn buttons, not just a person with dyslexia.

He looks pointedly at the buttons. “Stupid is as stupid does.”

I grind my teeth, painfully. “You’re an asshole. And you’ve watched Forrest Gump one too many times.”

His lips flatten. “That movie wasn’t the origin of that saying. It’s from Latin: Stultus est sicut stultus facit.”

I roll my eyes. “What kind of pretentious stultus quotes Latin?”

The steel in his eyes is so cold I bet my tongue would get stuck if I tried to lick his eyeball. “I don’t know. Maybe the ‘idiot’ who happens to like everything related to Rome, including their numerals.”

My jaw drops open. “You made this decision?” I wave toward the elevator buttons.

He nods.

Shit. He probably heard me earlier, which means I started the insults. In my defense, he did make an idiotic choice.

I exhale a frustrated breath. “If you’re such an expert on Roman numerals, you could’ve told me which one to press.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “You didn’t ask me.”

My hackles rise again. “Ask you? You looked like you might bite my head off for just existing.”

“That’s because you delayed?—”

The elevator jerks to a stop, and the lights around us dim.

We both stare at the doors.

They stay shut.

He turns to me and narrows his eyes accusingly. “What did you press now?”

“Me? How? I’ve been facing you. Unfortunately.”

With an annoying headshake, he stalks toward the panel with the buttons, and I have to leap away before I get trampled.

“You probably pressed something earlier,” he mutters. “Why else would we be stuck?”

Why is it illegal to choke people? Just a few seconds with my hands on his throat would be a calming exercise.

Instead, I glare at his back, which is blocking my view of what he’s doing, if anything. “The poor elevator probably just committed suicide over these Roman numerals. It knew that when someone sees things like L and XL, they think of T-shirt sizes for Neanderthal types like you. And don’t get me started on that XXX button, which is a clear reference to porn. It creates a hostile work env?—”

“Can you shut up so I can get us out of this?” he snaps.

His words bring home the reality of our situation: it’s been over a minute, and the doors are still closed.

Dear saguaro, am I really stuck here? With this guy? What about my interview?

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