Page 2 of Dedicated Billionaire

There’s a moment of silence, then a scuffling sound. “Oh, uh. Yeah. Congrats, Braden. Good job.” She falls silent again and Matt rolls his eyes at me, like I’m supposed to know why Carly suddenly sounds like she’s choking on a frog.

He asks her what’s up, because he wants to get back to planning our final college adventure, and she reprimands him for being unserious. “Just like Braden,” she says a bit snippily.

I pretend to be offended and tease her about being too serious. “What color paint is under your fingernails today?” I ask.

If Matt’s kid sister isn’t stuck in front of her easel surrounded by pots and trays of paint, she’s got her nose firmly stuck in a book. Usually about art. The girl has always been obsessed, and I’ve teased her plenty, but there have also been times I wished I could find something I was so passionate about.

She sniffs haughtily. “For your information… okay, I guess I do have some still stuck to my thumb. It’s red ochre. Damn it.” She trails off as Matt guffaws at her honesty.

I grab another piece of pizza and check out of the conversation as she tells him that they’ll all be traveling up here in the next two days to watch us graduate and then help pack up the apartment. I lean back and smile up at the stars. A family as wealthy as the Hagels could have a dozen professional movers get this place sorted out in a few hours, but they’d prefer to spend the time together. I can already imagine Matt’s mom reminiscing about the last four years with everything she touches.

Hell, with my new fortune finally being available I could hire my own movers and not have to touch a single box or sheet of packing paper, but there’s no way I’d give up time with Matt’s family. My family.

Even his grouchy little sister who can’t seem to stand me these days. Not that we’d ever been close. She was seven years younger than us and had her own friends. If she dared to tag along, Matt and I would tease her until she ran off in tears… okay, maybe that’s why she can’t stand me. But it seems different now, more direct, where before she’d treat me the same as she treated Matt, like an annoying big brother.

“What’s up with Carly?” I ask. “She acts like she really hates my guts these days.”

“Pfft, more like she’s got a raging crush on you.”

“Fuck off,” I say mildly. “That’d never happen in a million years.”

He nearly spit out his beer with laughter. “Didn’t you see how she was perpetually red around you the last time we were home?”

I stare at him in disbelief and he shrugs, joking that there’s no accounting for taste.

“No way. She’s probably just in that weird teen phase where she hates everything. I went through that.” I brush it off, unconvinced that Carly would ever have a crush on me.

She was just a kid, and always seemed to view me as an extension to Matt that she’d rather not have to deal with most of the time. I hadn’t had any meaningful interactions with her in years since I’d been so busy with school I sometimes didn’t even go back for breaks when Matt did.

I’m glad Matt has dropped it and seems to think it’s nothing, because if he suspected I had any designs on his teenage sister he’d have my guts for breakfast. And rightly so. I can feel my own fists clenching up at the thought of anyone trying anything with Carly. The whole notion she feels anything for me, but disdain is ridiculous, so I put it completely out of my head.

We just about have the boat trip all planned when a couple of our buddies drop by to tell us about a big party at someone’s house on the other side of town. We keep our wealth on the down low, so they don’t believe us when we invite them onto our newly acquired yacht.

Matt and I exchange a glance as they tell us to get off our asses and get to the party. I feel a stab of nostalgia and it’s not even over yet.

“Why the hell not?” I say to Matt.

We may as well wring every last second of fun out of this college experience. Sometimes it was hell on earth, but we made it. Now is the time to let loose before we’re tied down with our real lives. Matt with his job at his father’s company.

Me with whatever I choose. As we all crowd out of the apartment, I can only see the brightest of futures ahead of me. In less than a week, this life will be behind me. And for the first time, I’m excited about that.

Chapter 1

Carly

Six years later

Though I am rushing through the airport, I can’t help but notice the beauty in the mundane as I speed walk to my gate—the snake-like shape of the line at the pretzel stand, the glow of the neon letters above the snack shop, the sound of ice shaking around at the airport bar.

As soon as I get to my gate I am greeted with the sign changing to show my flight has been delayed by more than two hours. Great. Now I’m left with nothing to do but stew in the Seattle airport. There are so many other things I could’ve been doing, like spending extra time in the museum where I’m interning. I would be so much happier surrounded by fulfilling artwork.

While most of the young kids who take the museum tours are forced to be there because of school or a summer camp outing, there will often be one or two who get the spark. The same one I got the first time my mom took me to the Met during one of our vacations. I was just six, but I was hooked, standing and gawking in front of each painting until my mom had to drag me out of there, crying like I was leaving an amusement park. She got me to shut up by buying me my first easel and acrylic paints at the gift shop, and that was it for me. Life path chosen.

My parents have been surprisingly supportive so far, especially since they would definitely prefer me to join their development company like my older brother Matt has done. They probably still hold out hope that once I’m done with college I’ll realize my art degree is useless and take my rightful spot. But that’s not going to happen. My dreams are too strong, and my vision will not waver. While I long to be a curator someday, I’d still be happier as a tour guide for the rest of my life than live it without some kind of art surrounding me.

As I’m about to pull out my sketchbook to pass the time with the cute little watercolor set I treated myself to last month, my mother sends me a video message request. There’s no ignoring it, because she knows I should be at the airport by now and would definitely go so far as to have me paged.

“Sweetheart, the weather looks dastardly!” she wails, in the airy kitchen at the huge retreat. Sure enough, the sky outside the picture window behind her is dark and dreary. “What’s it look like on your end?”

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