Page 17 of The Grumpy Billionaire

“Did he ever give you a perfect gift?”

“No,” I say sadly. “It’s okay. I’m so over him.”

“He is hot.” Lizzie passes her phone to Kelsey. “Did you see him today?”

“From afar, but I’m not supposed to bother him or act like I know him. It was totally weird. I know we haven’t seen each other in ten years, and I’m this annoying person who used to be in his life, but it feels wrong. I’d at least like to thank him. A thank-you is what an adult does, right?”

Lizzie grabs another cracker. “Can you send him a thank-you card?”

“How? Even if I knew where he lives, he’d think I was stalking him.”

“Interoffice mail?” Willow tries.

“I don’t want people at work to think I’m sending him things. That would be weird, right? What if his assistant opened it? And I doubt he reads his own email, so email’s out.”

Kelsey turns to Lizzie. “Have Antonio do a singing telegram?”

Lizzie snorts. “Yeah, if she hated him.”

“No, thanks,” I say. “I want to thank him, not terrorize him.”

“Do the admins ever do deliveries to him?” Willow asks. “Maybe you could do a delivery and personally slip him the card.”

“That has potential,” I say. “Hugo likes it way better when people thank him with a card rather than thanking him with words. And I could keep up the pretense of not knowing him. I could discreetly hand it to him.”

Later that evening, I pop out and buy a beautiful card with a cute bear face on it. On the inside it says, “I can bear-ly thank you enough,” and it’s printed the old-fashioned way on really thick paper. It’s sort of dorky.

Back in my room, before I settle in for a night of tutorials, I work out what to write inside. I do several drafts on paper before I hit on the just-right thing.

I can’t wait for him to read it, to see the look on his face.

ChapterTen

Stella

Hesh popshis head over the wall that separates our cubicles. His small glasses reflect the rectangular light fixtures on the ceiling. “Diamond Thai day. Get your order in by eleven.”

“Diamond Thai day?”

He comes around, takes over my keyboard, and calls up a spreadsheet. “Put your name here and your order there by eleven. Any special instructions or spice level notes go here.” He clicks a link, and a menu opens up. “Best Thai in the city, no cap.”

“Okay, I’m in.” My night of software learning has me exhausted—a big, delicious lunch will help!

I choose a large pineapple pad Thai with four stars and make my payment.

Five minutes later, Tinley from the courier desk is standing over me, nervously wringing her hands. “Did anybody explain to you about pineapple?”

“What about pineapple?”

Jane comes around from her side. She has her red hair down today, and her curls are giant, like soup-can curls. “This building is pineapple-free. You can’t have anything with pineapple anywhere ever. It’s, like, a really important rule.”

“The entire building?”

“You want to do regular pad Thai with peanuts?” Tinley asks. “I need to get the order in.”

“Perfect.”

Tinley heads off.

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