Page 47 of The Billionaire Is Back

She puts the key into the ignition, turns it, but nothing happens.

She left her window cracked open, so I’m able tospeak to her without raising my voice. “I think you left your headlights on.”

“Yes!I left my headlights on because Vera wasn’t here to remind me to turn them off!”

She thrusts the car door open, nearly hitting me, slams it shut again, and storms away from me again.

“Where are you going?”

“Home,” she replies curtly without bothering to look back at me. She is so stubborn, I don’t doubt that she’s willing to walk over a mile just to get away from me. She doesn’t seem to notice or care that it has started to drizzle.

I get in my car and follow slowly behind her. Rolling down my window and pulling up alongside her, I say, “Claire. It’s starting to rain. Get in. Come on, let’s talk about this.”

“I don’t want to do any of those things,” she says without looking at me. “Leave me alone.”

I rub a hand over my face, sighing. Give me cold, hard numbers any day. Emotional humans are a pain in the ass. Especially the pretty ones that I care about. “Get in the car, Claire.”

“Stop ordering me around!”

She leaves the parking lot and turns onto the sidewalk. The raindrops are getting bigger. I turn on the windshield wipers and lower the passenger-side window, traveling about half a mile per hour. “Get out of the rain!”

“Leave me alone.”

“No. We need each other, Claire.”

“No, we don’t. We’ve both lived our lives without each other just fine for twelve years. You’ve lived it out there with God knows who. I’ve lived it here with thepeople I actually need, who actually stay to help me. Vera, for one. Vera, who would have reminded me to turn off my damn headlights if she were here.”

“You need to fire Vera,” I blurt out. It’s not like the negotiation was going well anyway, so it’s time to throw in a monkey wrench.

Claire stops, turns, and glares at me. Her blonde hair has gone from frizzy to plastered around her beautiful, furious face. “What did you just say?!”

“Listen, I like Vera. She’s a great friend to you. She’s a very smart and capable woman. But she is not the person to help you achieve what you want to achieve. You have to put the right people in the right positions if you want your organization or the people you care about to thrive.”

I watch her process this for about three seconds—and almost acknowledge it—before rejecting the idea, everything I represent, and walking away again.

Shit.

I smack my palm against the dashboard. Does she not realize how desperate so many people are for my advice and money? I need to leverage and synergize and strategize and… My attention lands on the CD player. Yes. That is what I need.

I press Play and turn up the volume.

The first song on the Mumford & Sons CD that Claire gave me so many years ago plays. “Sigh No More.” She’s still stomping in the rain and I’m still driving alongside her, but her pace slows.I’m sorry,they sing.You know me,they sing. It’s what I’d say myself, but she wouldn’t believe it.

She stops walking, her shoulders trembling andhunched over as she lowers her backpack to the ground and covers her face.

She’s crying.

I park, jump out of the car, and run around to her, placing my hands on her shoulders. She tries to shrug them off, keeping her face covered. “Claire,” I say softly. “Just get in the car. Please.”

She sniffles.

They don’t teach you how to handle this kind of thing at Wharton. There’s no crying in multimillion-dollar business negotiations. Of course, this isn’t just business. This is Claire.

“Please,” I repeat as I open the passenger door and hold my arm out to her.

She picks up her backpack and wordlessly slips into my car.

I gently shut the door and jog around to the driver’s side. I turn down the volume on the stereo and roll up the windows. She rests her elbow against the door and her head against her fist, staring ahead. Tears fall down her already-wet cheeks, but she remains silent and it’s breaking my heart.

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