Page 35 of Meet Jon, the Billionaire

“Oh.” He went back to kneading his dough. “I can see where that would make you feel foolish.”

“I know, right?” I gestured about in exasperation. “I mean, all of this, this entire legacy, would mean nothing to a man like him. He makes more money in a hiccup than we make in a week, or maybe even a month.”

“What are you getting at?”

“I’m getting at this: I don’t know if he asked me out because he actually liked me, or because he wanted to pick my brain and try to gain an advantage in the bidding war.”

Pedro nodded as he dropped the mass of yellow dough into a bowl and covered it with a towel. He placed it on a proofing rack next to a dozen others.

“Yeah, those rich business tycoon types are like that. Always looking for an advantage. You want to know what my uncle Garcia used to say?”

“No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me anyway.”

“He used to say ‘never trust a man with a lot of money, because you don’t know how many people they may have had to step on to get it.’ Words of wisdom you should live by.”

“He didn’t step on people, he made some really shrewd purchases and turned around companies that no one else thought were touchable.”

“It sounds like you’re sticking up for him.”

“Hey, if you were about to have to take on Muhammed Ali in a fight, would you want to ignore the fact that he's a dangerous, canny opponent? We have to give the Tiger all the credit he’s due… if we’re going to take him down.”

“Now you speaking MY language,” Yerkov said, brandishing a very sharp knife and a very unsettling grin. “You want me to take care of this man? I know people who could handle it very discreetly, and for less rubles than you might think.”

“Um, I don’t think it’s quite a life and death matter, Boris.”

Yerkov shrugged and went back to grinding meat for his handmade sausage. “Is always life and death.”

I sat my butt down on the end of the prep table and stifled a yawn. “The thing is, I don’t know what to say to the guy now. What am I supposed to do, call him up and be all like ‘hey, guess what, I know who you really are and you’re a rat bastard for keeping it from me? Also, I’m going to get that lot, you stinking weasel?”

I sighed. “See, it doesn’t come out of my mouth right.”

“I’ll tell you what you should do,” Pedro said.

“Oh, this should be good,” Yerkov muttered.

Pedro shot him a dark look, and then focused his umber-eyed gaze on me. “Right now, you’re probably pissed off at him, maybe even a little hurt since I kind of get the impression you sort of, kind of like this guy.”

“Um, okay, I’m with you so far,” I admitted.

“Now, your first instinct might be to call him a jerk and break it off with him,” Pedro said. “But that’s the last thing you should do right now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Right now, he doesn’t know that you know what he was trying to keep you from knowing.”

I blinked in confusion. “What?”

“He doesn’t know that you’re onto him.” Pedro pointed his finger at his temple. “Think, Amy. Think! If he trusts you, he’s going to let his guard down, and he might let something slip, some dirty little secret we can use to disqualify him from the bidding war.”

“Pedro, you sneaky son of a bitch,” I said, shaking my head. “I like it. He played me, so why shouldn’t I play him right back?”

“That’s the spirit!” Pedro made a fist and thrust it in the air. “When the man wants to punch down at you, you’ve just gotta punch him right back, where it counts.”

“The pocketbook?” I asked.

He rolled his eyes. “No, the balls! You always hit the balls first.”

“Hitting balls first is dirty fighting,” Yerkov said.

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