Page 58 of Meet Jon, the Billionaire

“Now who’s being unethical?”

“What do you want me to do?” She spread her hands. “I’m a private dick. It’s what we do. If I hadn’t done it, someone else would have, you know.”

“What I want is for you to call that reporter and amend your story, this time adding in the donuts. I’d also like to know who hired you.”

She laughed into her drink. “That’s private info that I don’t have to share with you.”

“Was it Jonathon Thomas?”

Jack suddenly coughed, spitting out her coffee into a napkin. She looked up at me and swallowed.

“No,” she lied.

I began to tremble with anger. Jack shrank back, as if afraid I was going to throttle her, but she wasn’t the impetus of my rage.

Jonathon really had stabbed me in the back.

Chapter Thirty

Jonathon

After I’d taken Amelia out on my yacht, I spent the following evening and most of the next day completely, hopelessly distracted.

I read, and then re-read, the same four lines on a sales sheet ten times without comprehending, because my mind wasn’t on the task. My mind was only on Amelia.

I hadn’t been so infatuated in… well, ever. Even my middle school crushes never seemed as intense as this. I finally decided that I had to go and ask an expert on the subject.

My folks lived in Greenwich—Connecticut, not Village—and it had been a while since I had gone to visit them anyway. I told my assistant I would be out of the office for the rest of the day and drove the Jag up to see them.

Their house was located in a quaint little gated community, a three-story colonial which they had refused to upgrade despite my numerous offers to cover all expenses.

They were both retired, ostensibly, though they still had their side hustles mostly just for fun. My Dad worked on cars—he didn’t have to, he enjoyed it—and my mom sold candy to support the local school district.

They’d been married thirty-five years and remained disgustingly in love. I figured if anyone could help me out, it would be them.

Mom answered the door a few seconds after I rang it. Her face lit up with delight and she embraced me warmly. “Jonathon. What a lovely surprise.”

“Hi, Mom. How are you?”

“I’m just fine, now that you’re here. Come on in, I’ve got a new type of candy bar for you to try. It has hot curry inside, apparently it’s all the rage in Asia.”

I smiled, but my stomach did a backflip. Some of the exotic ‘candy’ my mother found for me to try was nothing short of vile. I’m not faulting other cultures, but in my opinion candy is supposed to be sweet—not hot enough to melt your tongue, or sour enough to make your face pucker like an asshole. And especially doesn’t come in little hot sauce packets. I mean, what in the actual fuck is up with those?

“Here you are, dear,” she said as she led me into the kitchen and handed me a golden foil-wrapped bundle. The candy bar was kind of heavy, and as I unwrapped it one of the five segmented pieces of chocolate fell off, spilling a reddish paste onto my fingers.

“Oh, that happens sometimes. I wouldn’t unwrap the whole thing at once.”

I knew I had passed the point of no return. I’d been planning to pretend to eat it and spit it into my napkin, but…

I licked the sauce off my finger. At first, it was a sort of pleasant burn, but soon I found myself with my mouth on fire. I hastily bit into the chocolate, hoping that it could cool off my mouth.

Only to find it was hot and spicy curry-flavored, too.

“What do you think?” Mom asked.

“One of a kind experience,” I managed to croak out. “I need a glass of water.”

“Oh, don’t be silly. Drink a glass of milk. Water won’t help.”

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