Page 24 of The Billionaire Is Back

I gently cut out another perfect circle of sugar cookie dough and then another.

“Okay,” Vera says. “Well, it sounds like you’re fine, then.”

“I am fine. Super fine.” Too manyfines arenever fine—I know, I know. Maybe she’ll get bored of this conversation and let me get away with it.

“Okay, great, you’re super fine. I love that for you! Talk soon.” She hangs up. Which is weird. Or maybe I’m the first person in the history of people to convince their nosy best friend that they really are fine.

Adele resumes her singing. I take another sip of wine. After cutting out a dozen perfect circles, I hear a knock at the front door, followed by Vera’s voice as she opens the unlocked door. “I knew it. You are never fine when you’re listening to21.”

I am so fucking happy to see my friend right now and totally unwilling to let her know this. “Sometimes people just listen to Adele because she’s a passionate songstress.”

“Right.” She drops her shoulder bag onto the floor and reaches for a pinch of uncooked dough. I don’t bother slapping her hand because that never stops her. “It was just Grody Borber. It’s not like he’s an ex.”

“Exactly,” I say. “He wasn’t even my friend, really.”

“Right. He was your brother’s friend.”

“Precisely.”

“Someone from your past.”

“Yep.Waaayyyydeep in the past.”

Someone I was never meant to have a future with,I think to myself as I carefully place the cutout dough on the parchment-covered cookie sheet.Someone who didn’t even want to kiss me.My throat tightens and my nose tingles, but that’s not sadness so much as regret.

It’s regret that Grady never got to see how hot I looked senior year so thathecould regret not kissing me. Yes, I had fantasies about him showing up in hisMercedes to take me to prom, hoping to surprise me and trying to kiss me. But they were revenge fantasies because I walked right past him in my Vera Wang wedding dress and then got into a limo with 1986 Andrew McCarthy. Because my John Hughes era overlapped with myGossip Girlera.

Vera puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Babe. If you want to cry or something, I mean—crying’s gross, but I’m here for you.”

That makes me laugh. “I don’t need to cry. Crying is disgusting.”

“Would you like me to list the names of all the guys I can think of who would give anything to date you—worship the ground you walk on every single day—if only you would stop comparing them to He Who Shall Not Be Named?”

I wrinkle my nose. “Do we want guys worshipping the ground we walk on every single day?”

“Okay, that would be annoying, but it’s a long list of guys. And not all of them are awful—they live in the tristate area, they own cars, and most of them have jobs and homes of their own!”

I scrunch up my entire face.

“Not helpful?”

“Do you really not have anything better to do right now?”

“I have, like, fourteen other people I could be hanging out with at the moment, but I amyourperson, so I am here for you in whatever way you need me to be here for you.” I’m about to tell her I just need her to let me forget about Grady when she pours herself a glass of wine andcontinues, “Okay, here are two or five ideas, and I’m just spitballing. You let me give you a long overdue makeover?—”

“I beg your pardon?”

“—I will do what I can do within a half-hour time period. We’re talking blowout; glow up; super casual, slightly slutty outfit that doesn’t look like you’re trying too hard but also looks like you’re making an effort, for a change.”

“Excuseme?”

“Then we ‘stop by’ the barbecue on our way to some fabulous place, like, I don’t know, we’ll tell him we’re going to hit a club in Portland. You’re wearing a crop top, jean shorts, and high-heel sandals. Your lips are so glossy, it looks like you just made out with a stick of butter.”

I would honestly just like to do themake out with a stick of butterpart, but I require clarification on one thing first. “What barbecue?”

“Oh. Did he not tell you about the barbecue?”

“No. He was too busy criticizing me and the way I do business to mention anything else.”

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