Page 84 of The Thing About My Secret Billionaire
“See,” she says, loud enough for the people at the next table to turn their heads to look at us. “No man would sayfond memoriesif he didn’t want to do it again.”
“But what’s the point?” I ask.
She falls back in her seat and lets her head flop until she’s staring at the high ceiling that has parasols in various colors hanging from it.
“The point is,” she says on a long, frustrated exhale as she rights herself, “you’re getting some from a super-hot guy, who seems to be loaded, is capable of deliveringmultiple screaming orgasms and, bonus, he also sounds kinda nice.”
“He is kinda nice. You only have my word about him being super-hot, though.”
“No, I don’t.” She points at my phone again. “You showed me the thing with him crouched under the donkey.”
I flip to the sanctuary Instagram account and scroll back past my recent videos of amusing donkey antics to the post where Doris is scratching her belly on Miller’s hat. I guess it is possible to see that he has awesome shoulders, a great ass, and generally perfect proportions.
The video instantly sparks a giggle.
“Look at you,” Paige says. “Totally fucking smitten.”
Sadly, none of my other posts feature Miller. He either offered to hold the phone and film me doing things or explaining donkey-related fun facts or else jumped out of shot, saying he was ruining the picture.
“I am not smitten.” But watching that video again sends a flutter swan-diving from my chest to my belly, then rippling even lower. So it’s best to change the subject. “But look at the jump in followers since I’ve been posting regular funny donkey videos for a few days. Engagement is up too. And shares.”
“You’re just changing the subject because you know I’m right.” Her words are followed by a loud burbling sound as she sucks her copper mug dry.
We’ve been able to read each other from the day we met.
It was a drab winter afternoon, and way too many staff were crammed into a boardroom for a quarterly briefing from some dull guy about somethingeven duller. He’d been droning on for what felt like eternity when he said, “…and it’s been erect ever since.”
I couldn’t tell you what words came before that phrase because I had zoned out, or after it because I was fighting so hard to control my childish giggles.
When I subtly glanced around the room to see if it had tickled anyone else, I found Paige looking at me over the hand she had pressed firmly to her mouth. Her shoulders were shaking.
We chatted afterward, and that was that. Fast friends who met over a dick joke.
“Whether you’re right or not, it’s still pointless.” I darken the phone and place it face down on the table. “I’m only there for a little while. And once he’s bought a new van, or had one built for him, or whatever he’s doing about that, he could take off at any time to go try out another town a thousand miles away. He doesn’t seem to need to be in one place to do his job.”
“Even better, then,” she says.
“How is that better?”
“Because you get mind-blowing sex on tap for a few weeks with no commitment. You can enjoy that beautiful man, then come back here able to give your full attention to being Dickish Darren’s boss, which you surely will be by then, without worrying about holding down a relationship at the same time.”
The word “relationship” sends a shiver down my spine.
And, for the first time in years, it’s a good, tingly shiver, not a cold, terrifying one.
As I run my finger around the base of my wineglass, a series of images of a fantasy future dance across my mind—Miller bringing me tea in bed before we get up to let outthe donkeys, holding hands as we wander down Warm Springs’ main street, picking up food for dinner. Of him helping to run the donkey sleigh rides at the annual Christmas festival, then snuggling up to him as we hold mugs of spiked hot cocoa afterward.
I’ve just realized that not one of those scenarios involves Chicago, when Paige gasps and jolts me from my reverie.
I look up to see her eyes wide, mouth open. “Oh, God. You want arelationship, don’t you? With hot donkey guy? You actually like him. Like,like himlike him. For reals. For keepsies.”
My cheeks heat. “I hardly know him. I don’t even know what type of investment business he has or what he does day-to-day to run it.”
“You’ve met his family, for fuck’s sake,” Paige says. “If he was a bank robber, I doubt he’d have asked his dad and brothers to rebuild a barn for you. Or, at least, I doubt they would have come.”
“They were nice. Sitting around the kitchen table having dinner with them all felt…nice.”
She leans toward me across the table. “Like family?” Her voice is softer and more serious now.
