Page 30 of Most Eligible Billionaire

“It’s not for my house—it’s…a long story. Trust me, I want a dog throne, the most elaborate thing you can possibly make.”

She tilts her head, peering at me as if through a haze.

I give Latrisha the big update. She already knew about Bernadette and the fake whisperer gig, of course, but not about the will or Henry or my first board meeting.

She stares at me for a long time after I finish my story. “I can’t believe you’re in charge of Cock Worldwide. They sound like asshats!”

“You don’t even know.” I tell her how they tried to trick me. I repeat the jungle things Henry said.

Latrisha frowns and puts her fists on her hips. “A dog throne, you say.”

She starts designing, showing me ideas for freakishly elaborate millwork. We push it further and further. We get a pounded sterling guy involved. She has this vision for some sort of medallion for the seat back. “I’m seeing it the size of a coffee saucer. Like a coat of arms, except not.”

I sit up. “It needs to be enamel!” This is my territory—I used to love working in enamel. I do a sketch of Smuckers’s sweet little face with a sequined bow tie collar.

Latrisha bends over my pad. I tell her what it is.

“I freaking love that,” she says. “What are you setting it in?”

Henry’s face comes to me, and I’m thinking WWHH—What Would Henry Hate? “Pink alloy. Neon pink alloy. This huge Smuckers face medallion set in neon pink.”

“Like candy.”

“Like candy.” Yeah, I’m spending way too much time on a medallion for the Smuckers throne, but I haven’t had so much fun designing something new in forever. The jewelry I create is as subdued as my court clothes and not really fun, but this? I’m loving it, even though it was inspired by that jackass Henry Locke.

Henry is a breed of man I avoid like the plague, thanks to Denny.

The minute I sense a guy might have family money, I’m out.

I’m merciless on CupidZoom, passing over any man with an Ivy League college, any man who shows pictures of himself wearing a Tartan plaid scarf, or who likes two of the following list: sailing, downhill skiing, golf, plus anyone who uses the termequestrian, or has a pilot’s license. If he likes Coldplay, or if the only rap music he likes is Eminem, he’s out. And if there is a III at the end of his name?Triple adios, motherfucker.

Latrisha helped me make that list. A two-bottle-of-wine list right there.

Needless to say, my dating history veers toward cooks, musicians, and students on the ten-year plan. My longest-running boyfriend was a cook, a musician,anda student on the ten-year plan; he wrote songs for me that I hated, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him.

Newsflash: acting like you’re into a song that a guy is singing really soulfully while looking deeply into your eyes is harder than faking an orgasm.

So that one didn’t work out.

“Are you going to put Smuckers’s name on the medallion?”

“That’s what I was thinking, but it might not be fun enough,” I say, then I sketch out the wordsSmuck U.

“I love that too much,” Latrisha says breathlessly. “With his little sweet face? It’s like it means kiss you or fuck you or love you or hate you. What are you going to wear?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re part of Smuckers’s entourage. Sort of like, the organ grinder and the monkey—they both get the little vests, right?”

“I hope I’m the organ grinder in this scenario,” I say.

“Oh, def. Henry can be the monkey.”

“An entourage. I didn’t think of that. Or what I’m going to wear, jewelry-wise.”

“Girl, you’re a jewelry maker and you didn’t think of the accessorizing component to all this? It needs to be just as fun as what we’re doing for Smuckers.”

For seven years I’ve funneled my creativity into earning respect. The idea of ultra-subtle class. I never go for wild provocation. But she’s right.

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