Page 10 of The Billionaires

“I’m okay,” I lie.

“Look, if they haven’t gotten us already, that means something very serious happened to the elevator, so we might be here a while.” He thrusts the bottle my way.

I back away, dancing from foot to foot as I go. “I don’t think I should.”

He fingers the collar of his shirt. “Are you afraid of my cooties?”

Afraid, no. More like I want to fertilize and water his cooties, until they get big and strong, and then I’d lick them.

“No.” My voice breaks, and I clear my parched throat. “Thank you.”

He raises one bushy eyebrow. “Why the hell not?”

I clench my thighs together. “None of your business.”

He narrows his eyes. “Wait a second.” It looks like a giant lightbulb’s just exploded into a supernova above his head. “Does it have anything to do with all that dancing around?” He lowers his voice. “Do you need to go?”

My ears, neck, and face feel like someone’s rubbed them with pepper spray. “I’m not discussing my bladder with you.”

He frowns and looks around.

What’s he looking for? Is he expecting a ladies’ room to magically manifest in the middle of the elevator?

He returns his attention to me, his expression dark. “Okay. So we kill off this bottle, and then you can use it to relieve yourself.”

No. No fucking way. Not in front of him.

To which my bladder replies, Please? For the love of saguaro?

Ugh. No.

I turn away and try to think of something, anything else. Sand. Death Valley. Saltines. Wait, this is making me even more thirsty.

Damn it.

“It’ll be worse if you go in your pants,” Lucius says dryly.

Yes, so much worse, my bladder screams. And it’s on the verge of happening!

No, it’s not. I can hold it. I’m not five.

“Alternatively, you could go in your bag,” Lucius says helpfully. “Might be easier with your plumbing.”

I round on him. “Excuse me? My plumbing?”

He blinks. “What else would you call it?”

Arrgh! Would a jury convict me if I murdered this man? After first waterboarding him with my pee?

“Do not talk about my plumbing,” I say through gritted teeth. “Ever.”

If only because it’s making me think of toilets, thus worsening my bladder’s desperate situation.

“Fine.” He swishes the water inside the bottle. “If you don’t want this, I’m going to finish it myself.”

Ouch. Was that a bladder spasm?

I watch through slitted eyes as Lucius tauntingly takes a sip. And another.

---