Page 21 of No More Billionaires

It was such a Mark move. Of course he couldn’t fly with theregularpeople. They might blow their regular-people-germs on him or something.

I marched over to the short boarding line and handed the agent my upgraded boarding pass. Which I’d known nothing about. Frowning, I followed Larson down the jet bridge and onto the plane.

It’s okay. It’s okay. Nothing he does has any effect on you.

My new mantra—my policy from now on with Larson. He was a nice guy, we were co-workers, end of story.

It was the policy that was going to get me a promotion and restore my independence and privacy.

Cadence had meant her “move out and take me with you” comment as a joke, but it had really sunk in and grabbed hold of me that night.

Once I’d started thinking about it, I hadn’t been able to sleep, filled with a desperate desire for exactly that—my own apartment in Atlanta with her as my roommate—I’d find one close to the Georgia Tech campus so she could walk or bike to class.

It would put me much closer to the WNN headquarters and cut down on my horrendous commute, and downtown had to be a hotbed of cute, single working guys, right?

Tomorrow wouldn’t be soon enough for me but moving out would have to wait for a while.

Cadence couldn’t afford to pay any rent, of course, which was fine. I would get the promotion—Ihadto get the promotion—and the two of us could get out from under Momma’s manicured thumb and her never-ending stream of bizarre advice.

That’s why I was here this morning. I had to prove I was ready for a more responsible, better-paying position as an associate producer at WNN. If it could be on a different show, even better.

That meant doing a great job on this sweeps story and anything else they threw my way. It meant saying “yes.”

And surviving this trip with Larson.

He stowed his bag in the overhead compartment then reached for mine.

“I got it. Thanks, anyway.” Huffing with the effort, I lifted my heavy bag and slid it in beside his leather case.

Larson watched me struggle, a look of amusement crossing his face. “Window or aisle?”

“Oh—I…” I looked down at his long legs. “Window, I guess.”

“Great. I like the aisle. More leg room.” He smiled widely, waiting as I took my seat then sliding in beside me.

I did not return his smile. “You could have told me.”

“Told you what?”

“That you were changing my seat.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want to sit back there? I just thought if a better seat’s available, why not take it—they’re just going to be here empty otherwise—and you know… leg room?”

He truly looked confused, as if he couldn’t fathom why anyone would ever choose to sit in coach. Maybe he couldn’t. First class was probably just a given in his life.

To him, the thought of being unable to afford a first-class ticket was probably like someone saying they didn’t have enough money for a soft drink from the vending machine at work.

Must be nice to be able to buy your way out of uncomfortable situations.

I smirked. “Never mind. It’s fine. I just hope we don’t get in trouble for the higher travel expenses.”

Mr. Entitled probably hadn’t even considered that. On second thought, the WNN powers-that-be probably wouldn’t deny theGolden Boywhatever he deemed necessary for his traveling comfort.

Larson shook his head. “Oh—I’m paying for it. I wouldn’t expense an upgrade.”

Okay, so, not so entitled.Whatever.

“Well, I’m going to pay you back then.” I leaned back into my plush, wide seat. “It is pretty comfortable up here,” I admitted.

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