Page 10 of The Billionaire's Wake-up-call Girl

“Yeah, but I was nice about it,” I grumble. “Unlike him.”

“Still, you challenged him, and a guy like that isn’t used to being challenged, so it made you stand out, because clearly everyone there kisses his ass. So if you interact with him again, you have to act impressed. Like he’s so amazing.”

I groan.

“Hold up.” Mia slows in front of a street corner vendor selling knock-off Chanel stuff. “I know it’s hard for you,” she says, kneeling to examine a bag. She holds up a black quilted purse for me to inspect. “You like?”

“Way too Kate Middleton,” I say.

She puts it back and picks up a huge red one.

“Kylie Jenner. No, no, no.” I make her put it down and drag her away. “I don’t know if I have it in me to kiss Mr. Drummond’s ass. It’s a lot harder than wearing an ugly dress. I don’t know if I can do it.”

“I know, but just remind yourself he’s not Mason. He’s controlling and jerky like Mason, but he is not Mason, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You will act impressed and amazed whenever he comes around. You just have to last tomorrow, you get the weekend to rest, and then it’s one more week. You can do it.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“You can.” She pulls me to the curb to avoid a guy with a pastry cart. “We’re in this together.”

I squeeze her arm. “It hugely helps that you would say that.”

“I’m always with you. Even when you move back to Fargo. I’ll be the devil on your shoulder telling you to have that extra dessert.”

I sigh.

“But I think you won’t move,” she continues. “I think you’ll find a gorgeous, dirt-cheap space to rent for your new bakery that you can’t pass up.”

I look at her sadly. “A gorgeous, dirt-cheap place that they are dying to rent to me with my shitty credit.”

“There are still lucky finds out there.”

“Not in this city,” I say.

She’s silent. She knows it’s true. Moving out of the city and back with my parents in Fargo is the fastest way to deal with my Mason debt. I could live there rent-free, renegotiate my credit card debt, and run catering out of our family pizzeria for a year and a half. I’d save money like a boss. Come back to the city with the funds to rebuild.

“Don’t worry, though. I’ll get you such a good subletter,” I say. “I’m going to find somebody with a boyfriend or girlfriend who has their own place. And eighteen months later, boo-yah.”

“Friends don’t let friends say boo-yah,” she says.

I give her a fake frown.

“I wonder what Mr. Drummond’s like in bed,” she muses. “Is he just as much of a control freak in bed?”

“Oh my god! Is this a good question to be asking me? Is this what I want in my mind as I struggle to gaze at his nose while channeling my love of gummy bears?”

“You know you’ve been wondering it.”

“He’s probably a deadbeat. His most effusive praise is a grunt,” I say. “What does that tell you?”

She gives me a long, hard look. Solemnly, she whispers, “It tells me,caveman.”

“Fuck the fuck off! Seriously? That’s what you put in my head?” I say. “How can I control my pupils now?”

But control my pupils I must.

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