Page 116 of Return Billionaire to Sender

He texts back—an upside-down frown emoji, which is so him. It’s him doing the right thing for the wrong reason. It’s him throwing the best party he knows how to throw—a party he mostly isn’t there for. An upside-down frown as a smile. It’s sweet and sad and it makes me want to go find him and forcibly snuggle him.

It gets late. We start in on our entrées. Where is Malcolm? I would have thought he’d stop in at least by now. I keep thinking about AJ—what if AJ got to him?

“Maybe he’s huddling with New York on something,” Walt says.

“It’s weird that he wouldn’t come at all,” Nisha observes. “He’s the one that gathered us.”

“I hope he didn’t get into another fight,” Coralee says.

People resume eating. Conversation goes back to normal. I text Malcolm a question mark. Nothing comes back.

I’m getting a bad feeling about this.

Right before dessert, Walt eyes the group of us. “I’m thinking another round, full dessert service, and then dancing it off at that place on Mission Street.”

“I’ve got an early flight,” Coralee says.

“I’m out, too,” I say, over the protests of Nisha. “I slept for shit last night,” I add.

Back at the hotel, I go straight to Malcolm’s room. I have this terrible feeling he’s found out. Or what if AJ got to him? I need to tell him.

Nervously, I knock on the door. This is the right thing to do. If I’ll ever have a chance with him in the future, I have to be honest with him now. How did I let it go on so long?

The door swings open, and Malcolm’s broad smile tells me he doesn’t know. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

“You didn’t come to dinner or answer my text.”

“You texted?” He pulls me in. The door shuts behind me. In a jokey voice he says, “There issomethingyou can assist me with.”

I roll my eyes. “Shut.” I make a little hand motion that means hole and also bruschetta, and I walk in. There are papers strewn all over his desk. A printer is spitting out hard copies of something. “It’s ten at night, dude, and you just closed a deal. Is this more about Germantown?”

“No,” he says, stepping between me and the papers.

“Is it a secret? A secret formoi?” I tease.

He smiles, and it makes me smile. I’d wanted him to see us as humans with hopes and dreams—that was the extent of my plan. I’d never imagined how important he could become to me. How his hopes and dreams might become intertwined with mine.

“Look, I need to tell you something.”

“Oh, I think I know what you’re going to tell me,” he says.

My pulse is racing. “You do?”

“I’ve missed my video session. I understand that you might feel compelled to give me an X for the day. We know how stringent you are about those rules.”

“No,” I say sadly. “That’s not it.” I take a deep breath, unsure how to begin.

He’s gathering up his papers and collating them. “That’s right, you’re not going to give me an X. I’m making sure of that.” He spins around. “I’m expecting a passing grade, in fact, because what have I done? Completely nailed this course.” He shoves a bunch of papers into my hands.

“What is this?” I ask, clutching them, not reading. They look legal. Did his lawyers figure out a way to get him extricated from the coaching?

“It’s my extra credit assignment.”

I furrow my brow, confused. “What extra credit assignment?”

“Don’t you remember?” he asks. “One way I can get a pass out of the class? I’m tired of this, Elle. Take a look. Let’s end this charade.”

I glance down and read the first line. “A proposed offering plan relating to the conversion to cooperative ownership of the apartments in this building has been submitted to the Department of Law of the State of New York…”

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