Page 50 of Her Billionaire Boss
That was an interesting thing I often heard people say.“For a million dollars,” or “If someone offered me a million dollars.”Like that was some astronomical amount of money.I supposed it wouldn’t be such a popular point of reference for people if it wasn’t a lot.
That thought weighed on me as I trudged my way up to bed.I’d already known that Charlotte and I were from vastly different economic backgrounds, and I understood the gravity of “one percent” to describe rich people.But what about comfortable people?Was it possible to be “comfortable” with less than a million dollars in the bank?
When I found Charlotte still awake, scrolling social media, I almost questioned her about the financial situations of the people she knew.Luckily, I had the good sense not to bring up a touchy subject.Even among the ultra-wealthy, exact figures were volunteered—and in many cases, rounded up substantially—but never asked about outright.
It would be rude.
“How are you feeling?”I asked, pulling my t-shirt over my head.I’d bounced back from the food poisoning quicker than she had.
“So much better.But my sleep schedule is all messed up.”She’d spent the day after the accidental poisoning completely passed out, waking only for frantic dashes to the bathroom.“And my muscles are all still pulled.”
“What did Doctor Frankel say today?”I hadn’t been home when he’d made his visit to Charlotte and Holly.I’d shown Bill around town, Scott in tow.And by “shown around,” I meant I had looked at a guidebook guiltily two hours before we left for historical sites I’d never visited before.
“That we’re fine.We’re recovering.Not everyone gets back on their feet twenty-four hours later, like some lucky bastards can.Electrolytes, rice and oatmeal, the whole thing.”She bit her bottom lip.“I think your chef is getting bored with us.”
“I pay him enough that he can be bored.”I kicked my jeans aside and climbed into bed with her.
When she snuggled down beside me and leaned her head on my shoulder, it felt right in a way that affirmed the universe in my soul.
This was what Scott wanted.It’s what he deserved.And for some reason, it’s what he wanted with Catherine.
“I think I’m going to talk to my sister.About Scott.”
Charlotte pushed herself up.“I think that’s a terrible idea.”
“What?Why?”
“Because it’s meddling.Meddling never works,” she warned.
“Your brother meddled.Look at us now,” I pointed out.
“But I’m not your sister.I’m not anything like her.”
“It would be weird if you were.”
She took a deep, long-suffering breath.“So, you go talk to her.You, what, convince her to leave her rich husband for my middle-class brother and then what?She ends up breaking Scott’s heart all over again when she can’t stomach living in a world where she has to load the dishwasher by herself.”
I supposed that was a good point.“I still have to try.I feel like I ruined his life—”
“Why?”She sat all the way up, even scooted back to sit against the headboard.“Why did you ruin his life?”
“The wedding was a disaster,” I said helplessly.I’d liked it much better when we’d been snuggling.
“The wedding was a disaster because his fiancé made it a disaster.Did you make her leave him at the altar?”Charlotte demanded.
“Obviously not.”I sat up, too, because lying down felt like putting myself at a disadvantage during a debate.
“And did you attack yourself with a bear?”She gestured to my ruined leg, hidden by the blankets.“Was that something you chose to do because it was such a good time?Did you selfishly choose the pleasure and excitement of almost dying, instead of giving my brother a future of newly wedded bliss?”
“Again, obviously not.”
“Then stop feeling responsible.It’s selfish.”
That wasn’t the take I was expecting from her, especially after I’d just announced my plan to get Scott and Catherine together, somehow.
That wasn’t exactly what I’d said, but I knew myself well enough to know it was the outcome I’d hoped for.And it wasn’t realistic.Charlotte was right; even if my sister loved Scott with all her heart, as deeply as I loved Charlotte, she would never be able to get used to living without an obscene amount of money.I didn’t think her fingers had ever touched dishwater a day in her life.
Still, I failed to see how my intervention could be deemed self-serving in some way.“How is it selfish of me?I mean, besides the fact that if she did leave her husband for your brother, I would never have to see the smug bastard—”
