Page 1 of The Billionaire

1

“McKenzie, you’ll be fine. Really, you’ll see.” Shelly, my best friend and roommate, reached for my arm to console me as I sat at my kitchen table in a pool of tears. I was one month away from graduating from the University of Southern California, summa cum laude, and on my way to fulfill my dream to become a surgeon by attending the prestigious Stanford Medical School.

Coming from a middle class American family; Mom a teacher and Dad a fireman, it was a big deal for me to get into USC with practically no student loans.

But medical school was an entirely different league in the student loans arena. Stanford came with prestige as well as a hefty price tag of over $45,000 a year in tuition. There was no way I could attend medical school on my own accord or on my family’s salary; financial aid was a must for me. But there in bold letters on the document before me was an awakening—a slap across the face—that my dream was now over. I lost my funding. I wouldn’t be able to go to Stanford Medical School.

“Ugh,” I crumbled up the letter and threw it across my small apartment. “What am I going to do?” I yelled in unfair annoyance. “I’ve worked so damn hard, Shelly. My whole life I’ve worked my ass off and they’re going to tell me that out of thousands of applicants . . . they only accept 3.3 percent of applicants, I got into fucking Stanford University Medical School! And now I can’t go because my fucking funding fell through?”

After a few moments of silence, Shelly spoke softly, “My dad always said everything is up for negotiation. Why don’t you call the school and see if there is any sort of payment plan?” Her cheerful voice could lighten any mood. But not today, I was in the depths of despair.

“Payment plan. Right.”

“No, seriously. It doesn’t hurt to ask.”

“Let’s see . . . Hi Miss so and so, who works at the business office who really doesn’t give a damn about me. I really want to go to this school. Please help me, please? I’ll make my payments of $45,000. Yet, now that I think of it, I don’t even have money to pay for September, but pretty please, let me. I graduated Summa Cum Laude!”

My forehead fell on my arm lying on the table.

“Well, I’m sure you really impressed them since you told me they only accept less than 200 a year.”

“3.3 percent in fact.” I mumbled in my arms.

The rain poured hard against the window pain only amplifying my disparity.

“That’s it, McKenzie Kane. Get up.”

“What?” I lifted my eyes and stared at her with blurred vision.

“Ever since I’ve know you, you’ve been a fighter. You work your ass off. This isn’t the McKenzie Kane I know. We’re going out.”

“I don’t want to.” I laid my head back on my arms. Pounding my forehead while telling myself, . . . think. Think. Think! . . .

Why is med school so damn expensive anyway? Don’t they want doctors out there? Ever since this stupid market crash, loans have been impossible to obtain. Do they want this country to go to shambles because no one can get an education? It’s the government’s fault! My thoughts raced.

“Kenze! Up!”

Shelly dragged me out of my chair. “Get dressed. Get hot. We’re going for margaritas.”

An hour later I sulked in my chair, nursing my second margarita at our favorite Mexican restaurant. The chips provided very little substance for soaking up the alcohol and I was feeling a little buzzed.

“I just don’t understand, Shell! I’m so close!”

“You’re going to get that money. I know it.”

“Oh really, and how’s that?”

“Well, for starters, you can enter this.” She handed me a flyer.

Miss Orange County swimsuit contest. Winner wins $5,000.

I nearly choked on my margarita. I was not one of those blonde bimbotypes. No offense. But, I sought my entire life to be taken seriously because I was blonde. I wanted to be known for my brains and intellect and not for my abnormally large double d breast, my tiny waist, nor the junk in my trunk.

I sighed and gritted through my teeth, “Hell to the no! Do you know what type of contestants I’d be up against? Models and actresses who are in between jobs. I’m just a girl from Texas.”

“Those Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders are world renown for a reason baby. It’s because Texas women are hot. H-O-T-T. You are hot. You’re a bombshell but you refuse to admit it.” She rimmed her margarita glass and licked the salt off her fingers.

“Look, you’re freaking hot. My brother is always begging me to bring you over. And, well, it’s time to use your assets baby! That’s ass-ets.”

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