Page 13 of The Grumpy Billionaire

“It’s a great way to eat it,” I say. “You get the pure flavor.”

“Cheeseballs are designed to be shared and enjoyed with loved ones.”

“One person can enjoy a cheeseball—and if they really love cheeseballs, they can enjoy it more than an entire group.”

“You can’t eat a cheeseball alone,” Greta says angrily. “Cheeseballs are for sharing, not for gluttony.”

“It’s not gluttony when you love them.” I point at the case. “I would like to purchase that big one. Any one of them.” Because I’m guessing she won’t be giving me the best one at this point.

She crosses her arms. “I’m sorry, I can’t sell a cheeseball to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll have to go elsewhere. Get your cheeseball from somebody else.”

“But I wanted that one.”

“You’re not getting one.”

I straighten. “You won’t sell it? Isn’t that…illegal or something?”

She points to a sign that says she reserves the right to refuse service to anybody.

“But...”

“You’re not getting one.”

“I had such a hard day, and cheeseballs make me happy, and—”

“Cheeseballs aren’t for mopers.” Once again, she points at the sign.

“Okay, how about if I share it? I’ll share it with my roommate.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“So now I’m a liar?”

“I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”

My jaw drops. Is this happening?

Some people come in and I think they sense the weirdness. She smiles and asks whether she can help them, and then hits me with the side-eye.

I get out of there before she can ask me to leave in front of them.

I stop at the window, gazing dolefully at a display of jellies and jams surrounded by dried flowers as people stream by, jostling me now and then. I wanted that cheeseball so badly. How can she not sell it to me?

An older man stops to examine the display of balsamic vinegars in the next window. I smile at him, and he smiles back. He seems friendly.

I finally get up the courage to ask him, “Are you going in there?”

“I don’t know,” he says warily. “Why?”

“I was wondering if you’d, uh…see, the woman in there won’t sell me a cheeseball, and I really needed one.”

“She won’t sell you a cheeseball?”

“So weird…” Breezily I wave my hand. “She doesn’t approve of…how I’d eat it.”

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