Page 19 of The Grumpy Billionaire

Hugo’s officeis up on the ninth floor. You have to take a special executive elevator to get there, and then walk down a long hall and pass through the office of his very serious admin, Brenda. Her brown hair is in a high, sleek bun. Her suit is sleek, too, as are her glasses. Everything about Brenda is sleek, like a scary racecar.

I walk up and smile. My card for Hugo is stuffed inside the clipboard sheets. “I have an envelope that needs Mr. Jones’s signature. Should I bring it on through?”

“Set it here and I’ll stamp the sheet.”

“It has to have Mr. Jones’s signature,” I say.

“The stamp is fine,” Brenda says.

“This one’s special. It needs a personal signature specifically from Hugo Jones.”

“No,” Brenda says. “It doesn’t.”

“It really, really does,” I say. I fully realize here that it would have attracted far less attention if I had written “anthrax” across the front, but there’s no stopping now.

“Well, he’s not here.”

“Will he be back soon?”

“Possibly.”

I take that as a yes. “I can wait.”

Brenda adjusts her glasses to better showcase the scowl she’s aiming at me. “I’ve never heard of any delivery where the stamp isn’t acceptable.”

I shrug.

“He’s gonna want me to stamp it. When he comes through, he’ll say, ‘Stamp it.’”

“Well then…”

“Your funeral.” Brenda turns her scowl back to her work.

“How long have you been Mr. Jones’s admin?” I ask.

“I’m not an admin. I’m a junior analyst and executive assistant.”

“Like a protégé?”

“If you want,” she says. “Yes.”

“For how long?”

“Almost three years.”

There’s a squarish gray rock on the corner of her desk—it has a strange and lovely luster, and I have to pick it up. “Heavy.”

“Galena.” She snatches it from me. “Nearly eight times as heavy as water.”

“Really.”

She holds it up to the light. “See how it’s slightly translucent? Very unique. A gift from Mr. Jones. I don’t know where he found it, but…” She sets it back on his desk, turning it just so. “This specimen is very rare.”

And suddenly I know what it is—it’s not just a rock, it’s the perfect gift. “Galena,” I say.

“Yup. My favorite mineral.”

“You have a favorite mineral, huh. Do you have a favorite number?”

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