Page 61 of Betting on the Brainiac

Here it is, the biggest hurdle I have with Madison—trying to get her to see that I’m not just anybody. “Try me.”

At some point, Tabitha curled up in Madison’s office chair, watching over her litter. Now she hops down and pads over.

“They need to eat.” Madison shifts so she can slip out of my lap to her knees. “Help me unpack?”

“I’ll get their bed,” I tell her, getting up to fetch it from the shed. I settle it in the corner and relocate two of the kittens. Tabitha climbs in and lies right down while her offspring get to work, and Madison gently adds the other two.

She straightens without looking at me. “I want to tell you, but I’ve never tried to explain the whole thing before.”

I have hours of coding to do, and it’s more urgent than ever.

“I’ve got time,” I say. “Let’s find somewhere comfortable?”

So Madison leads me to a dance floor table surrounded by a cushioned bench. She picks a spot to settle in, crossing her legsand clasping her hands in her lap. She stares at her tightly laced fingers.

And she begins to talk.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Madison

“You’ve probably guessed myfamily is stupid rich,” I tell Oliver.

“The Bentley sort of gave it away. The shouting match about your trust confirmed it.”

“Twenty million dollars,” I tell him.

“Uh, what?”

“My trust fund. That’s how much it is. My grandmother set one up for each of her grandchildren. There are three of us, counting a cousin, me, and Kaitlyn, my sister.”

“Each of you gets that much?” He’s trying to keep his expression neutral, closing his mouth when it starts to fall open.

I shake my head. “Your face.”

“Is so handsome?” he finishes.

I roll my eyes at him, although I admit it’s a cute face. Some guys are like that when you get to know them. “The face you’retrying not to make is the reason I’ve never told anyone this whole story. I’ve known Ruby, Sami, and Ava since we were freshmen at UT. I brought them to my parents’ house once during our first winter break, and they all tried to act low-key about having a weekend slumber party in a mansion, but I’d catch them trading looks with each other, and I hated it.”

“Mean looks? Was I making a mean face?”

I shake my head, trying to think of how to explain it. “You ever pull up to a nice restaurant, and the valets park all the most expensive cars right in front, so then everyone in your car kind of freaks out at the Ferraris or whatever?” When he nods, I say, “Them coming to my house was like that, even though they tried to hide it. It made me feel like I wasn’t their dorm friend anymore. I’d become something exotic. And unrelatable. That’s the part I hate the most, because by then I was ashamed of everything I’d gotten from their corrupt money. I didn’t want to be connected to it.”

“I’m not like that,” he says. “I’ve met rich people, although you’re the first millionaire who’s ever sat on my lap.”

I smile but set him straight. “I’m not a millionaire.”

“Right. Multimillionaire.”

“No. I do okay. Six figures, barely, but that’s all from work.”

Now he looks truly shocked. “Wait, you earn that doing bottle service on weekends? Are you hiring? I’ll wear a skirt.”

“Tips plus a supplemental base salary for doing the books, hiring and training new wait staff, scheduling, payroll, and managing the floor alcohol sales. Do yourself a favor and don’t look surprised that I can do all that, or I might choose violence.”

“Why would I be surprised?”

His honest confusion makes me want to kiss him. Figuratively. “Because I spend a lot of time trying to give the impression that I skate by on looking good and flirting?” I drop my head into myhands with a small laugh. “I’m a mess, and it all has to do with the money.”

---