Page 87 of The Reluctant Billionaire

‘She’s ten,’ Santi says. ‘The exploitation of every last generation of Vales for commercial purposes is relentless. If Dad could record the fucking dog, he would.’

‘Maybe you should put him on the album cover anyway,’ Lotta suggests.

‘Nope. Tried that. Dad vetoed it. Said he wasn’t “pretty” enough.’

Lotta gasps. ‘Luke’s the prettiest boy in the world!’

‘Exactly. His beauty is rivalled only by his quiet stoicism. But you know Dad. He said a Staffy wasn’t “elevated” enough for the family brand. Wanted to hire a golden spaniel for the cover shoot. A fuckinggolden spaniel! Can you imagine?’

‘I am really, really pissed off on Luke’s behalf,’ my little hellcat says, crossing her arms.

‘As am I, darling. As am I. Anyway, the stress of the whole thing’s getting to us all. Dad’s blood pressure’s through the roof, his cholesterol’s a fucking disaster, and Mum’s going ballistic about his health. She said I’m working him too hard, when in reality it’s completely the other way around. God knows, I’m going to need a fucking guru just to keep him alive for the next six months. It’ll be a marathon—the planned publicity around it is a total circus.’

‘Ooh—I have someone,’ Lotta says. ‘My parents will be away from October and they have an amazing person they won’t be requiring for winter—she’s a wellness consultant. She’s from California, and she’s extremely well-versed on the whole holistic thing, and, you know, complementary medicine. And nutrition too, obviously.’

Santi grimaces and rakes a hand through his dark hair. ‘Dear God. An American, and an alternative one at that. She sounds utterlyghastly.’ He really is a fucking drama queen, this guy.

‘She is notghastly,’ Lotts says firmly. ‘She’sdelightful. And she’s an amazing chef. She is also a total smoke show, for your information,Santi, so I would thank you to keep your ill-informed opinions to yourself.’

He shoots her a filthy look, then rolls his eyes. ‘Fine. Send me her number.’

* * *

‘Let’s play a game,’I say when we’ve got rid of Santi and are each nursing a glass of Meursault. ‘Quick fire get-to-know-you.’

‘I’m in,’ she says with a sexy smile.

‘Let’s see—favourite subject at school.’

‘Classics,’ she shoots back. ‘You?’

‘IT, obviously. And Maths. Why Classics?’

‘Dunno.’ She sticks out her delicious lower lip as she thinks. ‘I suppose a lot of it was Italian history, which I loved. But I think it was just learning about ancient civilisations. We’re so smug about how sophisticated we are—you know? But there was so much wisdom and insight back then. They had it a lot more figured out than we do. I ended up doing it at uni, too.’

This I did not know. ‘Where did you go to uni?’

‘Cambridge. Emmanuel College.’

‘Course you did,’ I say, smiling at her.

She laughs, and it’s fucking beautiful.Sheis fucking beautiful. ‘What’s that supposed to mean? That I’m awful and entitled?’

‘No. That you’re very fucking intelligent.’

She narrows her eyes at me. ‘Nice recovery. You were at UCL, right?’

‘Yeah, but I never finished. I dropped out, thanks to your Dad’s help.’

‘He told me why you started Totum,’ she says softly, stretching across the table to take my hand. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Thanks,’ I say. I can feel myself stiffen at the thought of that poor, poor little fucker, Jerry Smith. He was a skinny little thing. Stunted. I look down at our conjoined hands.

‘I didn’t mean to upset you,’ she says. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Nothing to apologise for,’ I tell her. ‘It was a long time ago. I wasn’t in a position to be able to fight child abuse, not then, but I could sure as fuck do something about making sure the NHS never let that stuff fall through the cracks.’

‘It’s absolutely amazing, what you’ve done.’

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