Page 107 of Return Billionaire to Sender

“That seems like an understatement,” she says.

“I’m much more concerned about how he got his information,” I say.

Do I have a spy in my midst? It could be somebody from Gerrold’s team, but how would anybody from Gerrold’s team know about the animosity between my father and me? Know enough to capitalize on it?

I hate that it could be somebody from my team. I hate the idea more than I normally would. As if the loyalty of my team suddenly means something. What’s going on? I hate it—I really do.

Is this soft skills? If so, I’m not loving it.

I want to be alone—I feel this need to get right to work on fending off my asshole of a father from the acquisition and figuring out who the corporate spy is, but Elle insists on patching me up.

She’s back from her room, having changed into a tank top and stretchy pants. Does she iterate on this one too? If we were together, would she wear different colors of this same outfit when she comes over? Would she keep a version of this outfit at my place?

“Is that your comfort uniform?” I ask.

“Yes, exactly.” She sits me in my bathroom and cleans up my wounds. She has bandages and skin glue that work on my forehead but not so much on my lip. It’s ineffectual, but she keeps trying.

I like the feeling of her caring for me, and I encourage her to keep trying even though I know she won’t succeed. It’s the trying that does something for me. I want to reach out to her as she works on me, just to touch her, or maybe to pull her closer, but I don’t want to ask for it. It’s not the kind of thing a man like me asks for.

“It’s going to be in the paper now, too,” I say. “I’ll be the aggressor and he’ll use it with Gerrold. He wanted this.”

“I’m sorry. You were standing up for me,” she says.

“And it was worth it. I don’t care—I’d do it over again,” I say. “It’s worth it, even if I lose the Germantown Group. Not that I plan on losing it. I need to figure out his spy and hit back.”

“I don’t think it’s anybody on the traveling team,” she says. “At least not the admin group.”

“Why would you think that? Everybody has their price.”

“They just really believe in you. They’re proud of you,” she says.

“Now whose soft skills are not in evidence?” I joke.

“I know what I know,” she says. “They admire you. They love being able to add insight after the sessions. Those moments when you seem to appreciate their observations—it means a lot to them.”

I grunt, like I’m not convinced. Really, I don’t know what to say to that. Things are simpler when people don’t like you.

“Sooo…” she begins, “what’s up with you and your dad?”

“He’s just an asshole. But then again, so am I. Peas in a pod.”

“You’re not an asshole,” she says.

“Elle,” I say. “My being an incorrigible asshole is the whole reason you’re here.”

She narrows her eyes. “So…your mom…”

“I don’t know. She left when I was ten—moved to Australia. Had enough of the two of us. I’m sure she would’ve volunteered to be a colonist on Mars if that had been an option.”

“Leaving you with that guy?”

“Who could blame her?” I stand and unbutton my now-bloody shirt. “It was good not to be coddled. It suited me. I made a hundred thousand bucks by the time I was fifteen. I hired a lawyer and got emancipated. Left that godforsaken boys’ school and came back to the States. He’s been after me ever since. I mean, not that he was father of the year before that.” I toss the bloody shirt and the T-shirt into the garbage and pull on a dark T-shirt.

“She just left for no reason?”

“Well, she said she was visiting her sister in Australia, but she never quite made it back. She wanted a different life. Away from my father and me.”

“I’m sure it had nothing to do with you.”

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