Page 77 of Betting on the Brainiac

“I’m not sure it’s going to make sense even with it,” Sami says. “But I’m up for story time.”

In less than a minute, the other three roommates are lounging on the mattress with us, and they settle in so easily that it’s obviously a thing they do often.

“Okay, go,” Ruby says.

I lean against the headboard and start, covering her dad’s labor practices, her grandmother’s trust, her parents’ amendment of the trust, my company losing the investment we were counting on, the jobs riding on us finding the funding, and my proposal.

The story is interrupted periodically by gasps of outrage, loud booing of Mr. Armstrong by Sami, Ruby requesting the spelling of Dhaka so she can read about the case on her phone, and an occasional clarification from Madison. But twenty minutes later, I conclude, “So then I came over this morning like we agreed, but this one was asleep”—I jerk my thumb at Madison—“and I had to see why you guys would make a bet about a mattress and fell asleep too. So I don’t have any when and where kind of details yet.”

Questions come at us rat-a-tat style as they talk over each other until Madison laughs and holds up her hands.

“Y’all, settle down!” When they do—with some grumbling—she says, “Here’s the part I didn’t even get a chance to tell you, Oliver. I called Josh as soon as you left. He connected me with one of the firm’s estate attorneys. We met an hour later, and he went through my paperwork and said Oliver had it sewed up tight.”

I take a half bow from my seated position. “You’re my friend. Of course I’m going to keep it all legit.”

Sami frowns. “Josh didn’t say anything to me about this.”

“Good,” Madison says. “He wasn’t supposed to. I needed everything figured out before y’all got in my business. Anyway, once the lawyer said I was good to go, I went and talked to Stella, who’s moving next weekend, and she said you can rent her place, Oliver.”

Another flurry of chatter:

“Stella’s moving?”

“Oliver is going to be our neighbor?”

“So when are you getting married?”

The last one is from Ruby, and Madison looks over at me. “Saturday good for you?”

“Will the courthouse be open?”

“Courthouse? No, sir.” She jumps from the bed and starts hunting for something on her small bookshelf filled with romance novels. “I will be treating this wedding with the seriousness it deserves. Pool party, no family, only friends. Who wants to officiate?” At last, she pulls out a notebook and flips it open.

“Me!” Sami’s hand shoots up.

“Good with you, Oliver?”

I nod. What else do you do when your cat mom suddenly turns into a party-planning tornado?

She jots with the notebook’s attached pen. “Let’s do a day thing so my friends from Gatsby’s can come. We need a theme. Tiki? No, overdone.”

“Masks?” Ruby suggests, and I shoot her a sharp look. She returns it with raised eyebrows. She’s asking if I’ve told Madison about the kiss. I give Ruby a slight headshake. She presses her lips together but stays quiet as Madison barrels ahead.

“Fun idea, but still hot for outdoors,” Madison says. “I’ll think of the answer after I get some coffee. Everyone get out of here so I can get dressed and caffeinate.”

They climb off the bed and file out arguing about the theme with words like “Wild West” and “retro Goth” flying around.

Madison holds out her hand, and I take it, sliding off the bed to my feet. Suddenly we’re as close as we were the night of that kiss. I’m painfully aware of her soft, warm body dressed in sleep shorts and a tank top, and not much else.

“Hey, fiancé,” she says, grinning up at me.

“Are we crazy?” I ask.

“Yes. Meet you downstairs for coffee?”

I can’t help brushing a kiss against her hairline. “Okay, fiancée. Thanks for doing this.”

“Doing what? Getting myself millions of dollars four years early? You’resowelcome. Now go.” She steps back and points to the door.

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