Page 61 of The Billionaire's Wake-up-call Girl

“Maybe you need to walk around like, ‘yeah, I’m a hero, biotches. Screw you all. I’m the greatest hero in the world!’”

The window feels cool on my forehead. Central Park is a sea of brown, washing up against the stone building faces on the West Side. She’s somewhere out there. To the west, I’ve decided. Maybe just because my window faces that way, and I want to think she’s in my view. “I suppose that would do it.”

“Too extreme?”

I press my hand to the window. “Where are you right now? Kitchen, bedroom, office…”

She pauses like she does when she’s not sure whether to answer. Then, “Bedroom.”

“What does it look like?”

“I think I need to take a broom to the ceiling.”

“What color is your ceiling?”

“White. It’s got gorgeous crown molding, though.”

“You like a nice ceiling.” It’s a statement. It’s something I know about her. She would appreciate old buildings, this one. All the unnecessary flourishes around the windows and doorways. She’s so impractical.

“My favorite is the pressed tin ceilings. The real ones.”

Of course.I smile.“Come on, you’ll go out to dinner with me eventually. Why not just say yes?”

“Yeah, well, I hate to say this, but…” She lowers her voice. “I hear you’re not the hero everyone makes you out to be.”

“I’m something better. I’m an asshole.”

“An asshole, and you’ll make it SO good.” It’s almost a whisper.

I love that she remembers that. I’m pacing. When did I start pacing? She needs to tell me her name, give me some way to contact her, or at least stop blocking me, but if I demand it, she’ll retreat. Every time I push, she retreats. “I’m the asshole who’ll never candy coat things for you. But I can give you what you really want.” Then, “Tell me your name.”

I realize, in the silence that follows, that I’ve gone too far. I squeeze my eyes shut.

“The weather,” she begins.

“No.” But it’s too late. She follows through. I like that about her.

“The weather at JFK is forty-five and partly cloudy.” With that, she’s gone.

I stand there for a while, holding the phone. As if she might pop back in by some telecom magic. She’s probably blocking me now. Though on some phones, when you block people, you can still call and text them. Maybe she has that kind of phone.

As wake-up callers go, she’s effective. There’s no doubt about that.

I’ve barely slept for three days.

I walk across the parquet floor to the veranda. I step outside into the bracing morning air. The stone pleasantly cool on my bare feet.

I take in a deep breath. I feel energized. Alive. Good.

When was the last time I felt like this? I think back over the months and years, back to the moments when I made my biggest breakthroughs. The day my patent was finally approved. I was pleased in those moments, I suppose, but I can’t quite remember feeling like this. Happy. Excited.

This woman. I need more of her. I need to know her. I have to find her.

And the answer is out there. I’ll crack this puzzle like I crack every other puzzle. I’ll find her name. I’ll find her address. I’ll find her.

Eighteen

Theo

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