Page 66 of The Grumpy Billionaire
He slipped his hand lower, into one of the jacket pockets and pulled something out. “You forgot your fortune cookie.”
The small cellophane-wrapped treat rested on Reid’s palm.
“Ooh, I love these.” I took it and started to pull the plastic apart. “Where’s yours? I refuse to be the only fortunate one here tonight.”
Reid reached into the pocket again, retrieving another cookie. “Here we go. Should we play the ‘in bed’ game?”
I wobbled back on my heels, suddenly off-balance in spite of taking care not to drink too much wine tonight.
“What?”
He laughed and reached out to steady me with a hand on my arm.
“You’ve never done that? You know… you read your fortune and add the words ‘in bed’ to the end. Tell me it’s not just me and my friends who do this.”
“Oh. Yeah. No, I know what you mean. Heidi and Kenley and I used to do that, too. Usually it makes no sense whatsoever.”
“That’s the point.”
Reid opened his cookie and started to laugh, loudly this time. “Ah ha—listen to this—YOU WILL SOON RECEIVE EVERYTHING YOU HAVE LONGED FOR… in bed.”
He gave me a suggestive eyebrow waggle.
I had to laugh, too, though I felt my face flame without the benefit of the patio heater, thank you very much.
“Okay, now you,” Reid said, gesturing to the unbroken cookie in my hand.
Suddenly I was terrified to open it.
“I think I’ll save it for later,” I said, attempting to stuff it back into the pocket of his blazer.
“Oh no—who’s the one who just said ‘I’m not going to be the only fortunate one, tonight?’ Open it, chicken. It’s probably some stupid Confucius quote.”
“Watch your mouth, computer genius. Confucius was a brilliant philosopher.”
“Okay, well then, lay the brilliance on me.”
He waited with an expectant expression while I cracked open the cookie and pulled out the tiny slip of paper hiding inside.
The words printed there made me gasp. I tossed the paper over the balcony’s edge.
“Hey,” Reid shouted.
Stretching an arm over the railing, he grabbed for it, but the breeze had already carried it out of reach.
He turned back to me with a perturbed expression. “What did you do that for?”
I improvised. “It’s… good luck to throw your fortune away and not tell anyone what it says.”
“No, no. I told you mine. You have to tell me yours.”
“You can’t make me.” I grinned and backed away from him like a naughty kid trying to avoid bath time.
He prowled after me, wearing a predatory grin that set the nerves in my stomach to a slow simmer.
“Come back here you little sneak. I’m not letting you get away with this, and I candefinitelymake you tell me.”
“How? Are you going to throw money at me, Mr. Moneybags?” I continued to back away. “You can’t always get your way. Nothing can make me talk when I don’t want to.”
