Page 76 of Just Not That Into Billionaires

“Definitions are rooted in the past.” He tears apart a hunk of bread. “I’m focused on the future now. The past is in the past.”

I study his hands as he spreads butter over the steamy bread. I love his hands almost as much as I love his lips. He wipes his fingers on his napkin and folds it just so, lips pressed together with Benny-ish attention, and I want to get up and go over and kiss those lips and then I would kiss his Benny-esque nose, and I would sit on his lap and take off his glasses.

Maybe we’re something that doesn’t have a name.

He’s definitely still every inch the fierce and idiosyncratic thinker he was back then. He’s a man who wants to change the world. Heischanging the world, I suppose.

“Past in the past. Works for me,” I say, because I still feel ashamed for how I was. “However—” I point at him with my fork. “You must never undo your past decision of having bought this condo. Because it is perfect. If I had to make up a setting for a real-slash-fake marriage, this is where I would want it to be taking place.”

“Mmm,” he says strangely, stuffing a bite into his mouth.

Mac comes by to announce that he’s leaving for the night.

“Thanks so much for arranging everything with that class,” I say to him. “That was completely amazing and hard to do.”

Mac smiles. “No big!”

“And this dinner is inspired! You managed to assemble all the best foods.”

“Benny did it,” he says. “Oh, and by the way, there’s a delivery that came for you during class. I put it in the foyer.”

“A delivery?” I ask. “To me? Here?”

I look over at Benny, who shrugs. “Not from me.”

“Weird,” I say.

“It’s big,” Mac says. “Addressed to Mrs Benjamin Stearnes. Hold on.” He disappears, returning moments later with a giant rectangle that looks to be nearly four feet tall and three feet wide, like a large bulletin board or something, all wrapped in brown paper. With that he takes off the for night.

I stand and go over to it. “Wow!” I grab the envelope off the front of it and pull out what looks like an invoice.

“What is it?” Benny asks from somewhere behind me.

“Uhhhh…” For a second my eyes aren’t able to make sense of what I’m seeing.

I hear Benny getting up, coming around the table.

“What the hell,” I breathe, because what I’m looking at is an invoice for seven million, made out to me for something that I apparently ordered ten days ago. And then it hits me. It’s the painting that Vicky was talking about. The fake seven-million-dollar painting she was going to have made.

I didn’t know she was really going to do it!

“What the hell?” Benny says, which tells me that he’s caught sight of the invoice. He snatches it from my fingers and examines it more closely. “What is this?”

“It’s not what you think,” I say.

Thick brown brows furrowing handsomely. He’s way more annoyed than I think I’ve ever seen him.

“It’s hard to mistake a seven-million-dollar invoice,” he says. “Seven million. It’s plain in black and white. You ordered whatever this is...on the credit card I gave you?”

Like I’d ever!

I’m surprised. It’s as if he wants to believe the worst of me or something!

Just for that, I decide to wait to tell him it didn’t cost millions. I pull the brown paper wrapper off to reveal a giant portrait of me. It’s actually pretty good. I’m standing next to a Grecian-looking column wearing a ballet tutu and a diamond tiara with actual cubic zirconia bits affixed to it, sparkling like diamonds, and apparently they had extra cubic zirconia, because there are what looks like diamonds in the air surrounding my face. Like I’m enchanted. Or surrounded by really bright gnats.

I love it!

“Seven million dollars?” he growls

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