Page 75 of Interning For A Billionaire

I sat in the stupid, small rental car and repeated the words to myself out loud, “Embrace the rock.” Then I started laughing and I felt my dark mood lift. I was being unreasonable because I had been flying all day and my leg hurt, because I had to have it stitched up following my rock-climbing fall. I had bruised my ribs, but they weren’t cracked even though it felt painful all over my chest area. My face was covered in scratches and bruises, and I looked like I had been in a terrible bar fight. All of which was my own fault. It wasn’t poor Mandy’s fault that I had flown out here, looking for Belle, not even able to call her because I had lost my phone somewhere on the trail in the cold when I tried to find my car after the fall. And despite the fact that I knew complicated algorithms and mathematical formulas by heart, I had never memorized Belle’s number.

If I hadn’t been so stubborn and pig-headed, Belle and I could have sorted out this mess days ago. Now, the only way for me to get her back was to come out here, get on my hands and knees and grovel in the Kansas dirt.

By the time I’d reached Nolan, or Naln, or however they pronounce it, the sun was beginning to set. I drove through the town and thought, Belle was right, you’d blink and it’s gone. There was one street with some shops, all of them closed by now, of course. I turned off the main road and drove past the houses, maybe I thought I’d see Belle or a house that looked like she might have lived there. She’d mentioned that her house was an old Victorian and there weren’t too many of those around. There was one particular house that caught my eye. It was set on a corner plot, with a steep, gabled roof and a wide wrap-around porch.

I could see Belle growing up here, coming back from school and sitting out on the porch steps, drinking lemonade and dreaming of the city while looking out over the prairies. It was dark, so I was imagining that part, but it seemed likely. I thought even if it wasn’t the Scuziak residence, whoever lived here would probably know where they lived.

I walked up to the front door and heard voices coming from inside.

I knocked and the talking stopped instantly.

The door was wrenched open and I stood face-to-face with a man pushing a shotgun in my face.

“You back for more, you motherfucker??”

I froze to the spot, shocked.

I saw that I was going to die out here, shot to death on some porch in Kansas by a madman. Nobody would know who I was or what had happened to me. I’d be one of those TV crime mysteries and people would speculate for years about where I’d disappeared to.

All of it would be my own fault.

I accepted my fate. This was how it was meant to end; it was fitting. I bowed my head and waited for the shot.

Which never came.

I opened my eyes and saw the man drop the gun.

“My apologies,” he said in a very civilized and sane voice. “I thought you were my daughter’s crazy ex-boyfriend.”

I realized that I had found Belle’s house after all.

“I’m probably Belle’s other crazy ex-boyfriend,” I said.

“Another one?” His bushy eyebrows frowned. “I think you’d better come in.”

“Is Belle here?” I asked.

“She went to visit an old school friend. I’m expecting her back any minute. What about a drink? I’m sure you could use one.”

“Thank you,” I looked around the living room, which was furnished in a homely, if slightly dated style. There were photographs of Belle everywhere. Belle as a gymnast, in her athletics outfit, showing off her shapely legs. Dr. Scuziak handed me a glass of whiskey and I drank it neat. He eyed me carefully, probably wondering whether I had a problem with alcohol.

“Another one?”

“Please.”

“She said there was another man in the story. Someone from the city. Michael.”

“That’s me. Michael Greer.” I stuck out my hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Dr. Scuziak shook my hand. He had a firm grip.

“Sorry about the gun,” he said. “I thought Sven was back for more.”

“I wouldn’t have minded if you shot Sven, to be honest,” I said. “He’s been making a lot of trouble for us,” I said.

But then, warmed and mellowed by the whisky, I also admitted. “But I can’t really blame him. It’s my fault. I’ve never known anyone like Belle and that has been a problem.”

“How is that a problem?” her father asked.

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