Page 279 of Tormented Billionaire Romance Series

“Yeah, it’s Thursday night in Mulholland,” I say. “We crossed the international dateline. Don’t worry; everyone loses a bit of time figuring out the difference. Unless you’re working the graveyard shift, I’d say you missed it.”

“Oh my god!” she responds, startling a nearby older local woman almost into the side of a building. “Could I use your phone?” she asks.

I pull my cellphone out of my pocket and hand it to her.

“This works here?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I tell her. “I’m on a different kind of plan.”

Actually, when you’re rich, companies will often give you stuff so people will see you with it. It’s funny: Before I had money, everything was so incredibly expensive. Just living from week to week was a gut-wrenching experience. Now that I couldn’t run out unless I worked at it, I get all sorts of things for free. Like Stingray’s tax bill. That one’s especially useful.

Grace takes the phone and frantically dials. “Do I need a country code or anything?” she asks.

“The number’s based in the US,” I tell her. “You’ll just need the area code.”

“This is an excellent phone,” she says before putting it up to her ear.

“The software’s all ours,” I start, but now’s not the time.

“Yeah, Troy?” she says. “Hey … No, what time is it?”

I look at my watch. It’s eight o’clock here, so that means it would be about five in the morning in Mulholland. If the guy can’t handle a call at five AM, he has no business owning, well, a business.

“That doesn’t seem proportional at all,” she says. “When was the last time I was late for a shift, much less missed one?”

“Mind if I give it a shot?” I ask.

Grace rolls her eyes and hands me the phone. “You’ll be lucky to get a word in,” she says.

I put the phone to my ear and her boss, Troy, is still going. “…had to work up front yesterday,” he says. “Do you know how long it’s been since I did that? What if a customer had come in?”

No customers all day and he’s bitching at Grace for missing a shift?

“Yes, Troy is it?” I ask.

“Who are you?” he spits. “I’m trying to speak with my employee, or should I say,former—”

“Zach Scipio,” I answer. “You can call me Mr. Scipio.”

The line’s quiet.

“Now, Troy,” I start, “you seem like a reasonable man. As I say that, you’re not all that reasonable, are you? I guess that’s just something people say before they’re about to lay down the law.”

“Mr. Scipio,” he says. “I didn’t know she was with you.”

“Does that make a difference?” I ask.

After a long pause, he answers, “I guess not, no.”

“Good,” I say. “From what I saw when I was in there, Grace does a lot of great work for you, and I don’t think it’s couth of a man in your position to speak to her in such a way; don’t you agree?” I ask.

“Yeah, of course,” he says all too quickly. “I don’t know, it’s just early morning, and I don’t even think I knew what I was saying and—”

This man’s a worm.

“Well that’s great,” I interrupt, making sure he knows just how little I care for his excuses. “Now, I think someone as skilled as Grace should get a raise. What do you say?”

“Vacation time,” Grace whispers to me. “I haven’t had more than two days off in a row since high school.”

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