Page 140 of Kingmakers, Year Two

“I’d have to talk to her . . .” I say, hesitantly.

“Of course,” Miles replies, with the gleam of incipient triumph in his eye. He knows he’s working on me. He knows that the idea of the two of us in warm California sunshine, in the sea breeze under the palm trees, is incredibly enticing to me. I’ve always wanted to see L.A. Always wanted to be in the place where all my favorite movies were made.

“There’s another issue,” I say, wincing. “I don’t have any money, Miles. I spent two month’s allowance on this dress. I have no savings. And unfortunately, you had to clear out all of yours to help me.”

I bite my lip, feeling sick inside. I’m incredibly grateful for what Miles did for me, but I’ve never been able to shake the guilt of costing him all that money, all those years of work. I don’t see how he can pursue his dream of becoming a broker and producer if our combined net worth is one green dress.

Miles just laughs, as unconcerned as ever.

“Let me show you something,” he says, pulling out his phone. He opens a strange little app with a plain green block as its icon.

Inside I see a digital counter, increasing by a fractional amount every second.

“What is that?” I ask, frowning.

“When I made the deal with your father, the Princes, and the Malina, we all agreed that the three parties would split the profit evenly three ways. On top of that, the Malina would take ten percent for the service of exchanging Bitcoin for washed American dollars.”

I nod, following so far. Miles explained that to me before.

“In addition, the Bitcoin wallet charges a fee of one percent.”

I nod again, still not understanding.

“I’m the Bitcoin wallet,” Miles says.

I stare at him, at his laughing, mischievous face.

“You’re taking one percent?”

“I have been the whole time. I didn’t mention it at the meeting, because I wanted to make sure I got what I really wanted, which was you and Cat free of your father’s bullshit plans. Nobody asked about the Bitcoin wallet—it’s a reasonable fee. Generous, even.”

I look at the number again, finally understanding. There’s already $187,962 in the account. And, as I watch, an additional $1.53 added in the space of a minute. The money rolls in, bit by bit, skimmed off the vast sum flowing to the Malina, my father, and the Princes.

“It’s enough to get us started,” Miles says.

I shake my head at him in wonder.

“Always working an angle.”

He shrugs. “I can’t help it. I’m just so damn good at making money.”

He hasn’t given up on his central point.

“Will you come with me, Zoe? From here straight to L.A.?”

I look in that handsome, determined face. A face I fucking love. I face I could never say no to.

“Yes,” I whisper. “I would love to come.”

Miles sweeps me up in his arms, kissing me over and over again.

Kissing turns to running his hands down my body in the thin, clinging gown.

“Come here,” he growls, pulling me into the next room.

We’re in a quiet, dark space where the far wall is one vast plate of glass, looking into a tank full of jellyfish. Their floating bells and trailing tentacles drift peacefully through the water, the transparent bodies tinted with shades of pink, yellow, and blue.

Miles pulls me down on the closest bench, making me straddle his lap so the gown pulls up high on my thighs. He grips my waist, grinding me against him so I can feel how hard his cock is, like an iron bar laying down the leg of his trousers.

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