I can hear the scrape of my friend’s palm against the stubble of his cheeks. The quiet, agonized groan.
But like this life choice I’m trying to justify to him, I must see this metaphor through to a satisfying conclusion. “I’ve been orbiting these feelings for over five years. Between five and ten, let’s say.”
Monty sounds like he’s in pain now.
“I’ve tried to stay at a safe distance. But you told me to check on her. I did. Yesterday. And being around her again after all these years—I crossed the event horizon. There’s no going back. I’m being sucked in by her immense gravitational pull.”
“I’m going to stop you right there,” he says. “This is a black hole metaphor, and if you use the wordholewhile informing methat you’re taking my sister out on a date, I will never speak to you again.”
“Right… Right. I see what you mean. I’m done talking. What are your thoughts on the matter?”
“Fuck,” he mutters. “The jizz rag.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“At my parents’ house. Thanksgiving?” he says. “Youwerejerking it to my sister, weren’t you?”
After a beat, I say, “I don’t think I should answer that.”
“That’s exactly right—you shouldn’t.” I can hear him scraping his face with the palm of his hand again. And then he sighs. “Look, I know what a big deal this must be for you and how hard it was for you to bring this up, so?—”
“Probably shouldn’t use the words ‘big’ and ‘hard’ when you’re talking about me and your sister either,” I offer.
After a pause, Monty laughs. Hard. I wasn’t making a joke, but it’s a relief to hear himnotthreatening me. “Oh my God. Okay. Yes. You aren’t asking for my permission, but you have my blessing. As long as you don’t fuck with her or fuck things up. If she actually agreed to go out with you and you’re not, like, forcing her to go out with you against her will.”
“I’m definitely not forcing her.”
This is, essentially, the truth. It’s a truth wrapped in a ruse inside a grand romantic plan.
“Then I’d rather she date you than a pretentious artsy-fartsy asshole in a fedora,” Monty says.
“You know about that guy?”
“She told my mom and me about him back when she was in Pittsburgh. So gross.”
“So gross,” I agree.
“Okay, well. Talk later.”
“Talk later.”
I end the call.
Andthat’show it’s done.
I check my watch to confirm that my heart rate and blood pressure have returned to a normal range.
Step Two is now complete.
Step Three is to begin to reveal to Olivia just how good I’m capable of making her feel—without losing my head. Because I need to close this deal with Merrick, or everything else falls apart. But I won’t lose my head. I didn’t become a billionaire by getting sidetracked by feelings. And the great thing about Olivia is that she’s so focused on her career too.
CHAPTER 9
OLIVIA
After trying on no fewer than eleven outfit variations, I have opted for a green cotton wrap dress that falls just below my knees and nude Mary Jane stacked heels. My hair is up in a messy bun. It is tasteful but not overtly sexy. I can’t help it if my neck is so enticing. I definitely can’t help it that I smell so good after applying multiple layers of my signature blend of scents—body wash, body lotion, and perfume. I sure hope Mrs. Investor Guy doesn’t feel intimidated by my toned-down yet awe-inspiring beauty. But when Johnny gets a glimpse of what’s going on underneath this dress, the poor guy won’t know what hit him.
I’ve already set all of my YouTube videos back to public and posted a Short announcing my glorious return. Hopefully, that will wake up the algorithms. Hopefully, word about a hot billionaire getting Louisa to approve my vlogs will reach Kennedy in Paris. She can soufflemoi, or however you sayblow mein French.
