Page 54 of Grumpy Boss of the Year

“Oh.” Elisabetta frowned. “That sounds a little miserable.”

“It sounds more miserable than it was,” I say. “They did their best, and they loved me, and they loved Daisy. And my father did okay for himself. He started a small, little business and was able to provide for us, and I was able to go to some of the best schools, and because of that, I’ve been able to make a lot of money.”

“Because you’re just fabulous,” she deadpans.

“Because I’m ruthless,” I say.

She stares, and I can tell she’s waiting for me to laugh.

“Which is not a joke,” I say. “If you think grumpy is an adjective to describe me, then you’ve not met some of my former coworkers in the UK.”

“Ruthless,” she says. “Like ruthless in what ways?”

“In every way possible.” I stare at her, and then I shrug. “But I’m a multi-millionaire now.”

“Thought you were a billionaire,” she says.

“Yeah, I think my net worth is probably in the billions now.” I shrug. “I don’t keep track.”

“That’s a lie.” She shakes her head. “You were just doing your accounts in your shitty little apartment. You keep track. I bet you know to the dollar what your worth is.”

“No, I don’t,” I remark. “I know to the pound, though.

“To the pound, eh?” She shakes her head and smiles. “British through and through.”

“That I am.”

“So, do you think you’ll always live in England, or are you going to split your time more?”

“I would never live in the States,” I say. “I mean, not permanently.”

I shake my head. “I love my home too much. I do like being here, spending a couple of months at a time, but I think we always love the place where we grew up, you know? Fond memories.”

“What if your wife wants to live somewhere else?”

“I’m never getting married.” I shake my head. “That’s not something I worry about.”

“What if Daisy and Harriet want to live somewhere else?”

I stare at her. She’s more attuned to me than I thought she was. “Then I would seriously consider moving because they are my life,” I say.

“Your sister works?” she asks me.

“Kind of. She’s an artist.”

“Oh, is her husband rich?”

“Harriet’s father is not in the picture,” I say. “But that’s okay. Luckily for them, I make a lot of money, and I’m able to support them.”

“Lucky them,” she says. “Not that I’m independent or anything; my dad has supported me my entire life.”

“Well, how does that make you feel?” I ask her.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you feel like you have a sense of purpose in life?”

She stares at me for a few moments, not saying anything. “You’re quite perceptive, aren’t you, Liam?”

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