Page 113 of Return Billionaire to Sender

Nobody says anything about my black eye and split lip before the session begins, but there are definitely two empty seats on either side of me.

As usual, Elle takes one, settling in next to me. I’m still vibrating from this morning—not just the sex, though that was amazing, and not just because her body is delicious, and not just because of all of the pornographically hot high points of it, of which, trust me, there were many, but it’s because of how right we felt. How we worked together, caring about getting it right for each other. It was more than getting off; it was us collaborating on a secret experience.

There are times when I feel like I’m building a private world with her. Nobody ever told me it was like this in a relationship. Nothing could’ve surprised me more.

I’ve certainly never communicated with a woman as extensively as I have with Elle over the past three weeks. I never imagined something like that would be a plus.

Even more surprising, considering that the sex was so amazing, it was almost more satisfying to have her sleep curled up next to me. It was something about her presence, or more, the way she seemed to take comfort in my presence, that was deeply satisfying.

So many times I wanted to settle my hand onto her shoulder, but I didn’t want to wake her.

There was this photo series of a gorilla that raised a kitten circulating a few years back. The kitten would snuggle with its gorilla parent—it only liked the gorilla; no one else, human or nonhuman—would do. I think it disheartened a lot of people who felt like they had soul bonds with their cats when really, it’s just that they’re a large mammal that the kitten has become accustomed to.

Not a high bar, admittedly but what do you want from a kitten?

So I could’ve been a gorilla or maybe a toaster and Elle would’ve snuggled next to me.

I tried to remind myself of that—that it has nothing to do with me, but it swelled me up all the same. And then that light came into her eyes when she looked at me—the kind of light that wouldn’t come into her eyes had I been a gorilla or a toaster—and it was impossible for me to lie to myself and tell myself I didn’t care.

So I’m sitting waiting for the session to start and thinking all of these things, and she turns to me like she senses the direction of my thoughts.

I direct my gaze at the croissants and she rolls her eyes.

Then Gerrold is seated. “Somebody had a wild night.”

I smile. He’s the only one who dared to say anything about my face.

I have the proposals in my satchel, a paper copy for everybody. My lead New York attorney has arrived and my legal team bristles when I introduce her around. I can’t imagine the mole being among the West Coast legal team—something like that could lead to disbarment, but I don’t mess around.

“We’ve got some interest from another quarter,” Gerrold says.

I can feel my people stiffen. Are they surprised? Is somebody a good actor? Meanwhile, Gerrold’s son has an eager look on his face—he reminds me of a dog, trying to contain himself at the kids’ table, thrilled at the opportunity to squeeze more money out.

“Is there an offer?” I ask.

“No, but a request to open the process up,” Gerrold says.

“You might want to take a look at this first,” I say, passing out the packets. I can feel the confusion from my team, but they’re trained well enough that they won’t show it. They don’t even pounce eagerly on the sections that spell out the deal, though that’s the area they’ll be interested in. I’m sure they’re wondering if my black eye is related to this personnel switch-up.

My New York lawyer and I set out the terms, the training, the guaranteed employment terms after training.

It’s obvious when Gerrold reaches the important part. Everything about his body language changes. “You’d train my displaced people in coding?” he asks, stunned. “Even the truckers?”

“And their significant others, if they so desire,” I say. “It’s still a job they can do sitting down.”

“Truckers and support staff…coding?” the son asks in disbelief.

“People have displaced coal miners doing it,” I say. “It’s a skill. Skills are learnable.” I walk them through the HR portion of the writeup, all of the success rates and income charts for coders.

Gerrold’s team wants the room to go over everything, so we head out for a break.

Walt comes right over. “What’s going on?”

“Maybe I had to balance out the badassery of my black eye,” I say.

“I could’ve helped work this up…” He gestures back at the room. He knows somebody had to coordinate the details, and it usually would’ve been him. “You had New York step in?”

“It was late,” I say.

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