Page 25 of Return Billionaire to Sender

We study the packet and the materials, but that’s one of those obvious things that isn’t written down.

“You’ll figure it out,” Jada finally says.

“I feel like there are probably a lot of other questions I should be asking right now, but I don’t know enough to even know the questions,” I say.

“That’s easy,” Willow says, “just frame every question like it’s about their company culture. For example, ‘What time do we arrive on sitevis-a-visyour company culture? What is the dining situationvis-a-visyour company culture?’ Like that.”

“Like when you get a fortune cookie and add the words in bed?” I say.

“Exactly,” Willow says. “And if you really feel like you’re getting into trouble, say, ‘That’s proprietary,’ and don’t back down. Try it with me—That’s proprietary.”

“That’s proprietary,” I say.

“How are the worksheets graded?”

“That’s proprietary.”

“Where did you do your special advanced license training?”

I frown. What is she even talking about?

She frowns. “You can’t tell me the school you trained at?”

“That’s proprietary?”

“Yes!” She claps.

Willow asks my permission to clone my Instagram. I give it.

“I’m merging your past with Stella’s present,” she says. “One of my clients had a shady employee who did that, and it was quite effective. Until I busted the guy. Once Malcolm Blackberg starts getting curious about you, he’ll look at your bio and then click the Facebook or Instagram link and then he’s in my parallel universe. And he’ll have his tech guys try to research you, but his tech guys are my bitches.”

We go through my entire social media life and take out all of the photos that show people in the building or the building itself. Which leaves me with just arty shots I’ve taken on my route, a few inspirational sayings about courage, and random stuff from my past.

It impacts me here big time, how really empty my life is without these women. Without 341 West 45th.

8

Noelle

I’m headingdown through the posh lobby at two the next day toting a chic brown fleur-de-lis suitcase I borrowed from Tabitha this morning. I packed one yoga pants lounge outfit, one fun going-out skirt outfit, and all of my pantsuits except the one I’m wearing, plus a selection of butterfly ties, because I think I’ll be in business meetings most of the time.

For the plane ride I’m wearing my favorite pantsuit—maroon with a white shirt underneath, pulled together with my lucky clip-on butterfly tie with little hedgehogs, because hedgehogs are my fave.

Francine had stopped me at the door and tried to get me to change. “Seriously, the pantsuit? It says sexy detective. But the lady-bow-tie? It says you’re a sexy lady detective who miiiight just have a collection of creepy antique baby dolls at home.”

“One more word about my butterfly tie and Iwillstart a creepy doll collection,” I told her. “And it’ll be the kind of dolls that don’t close their eyes at night. And some might migrate to your room while you’re sleeping!”

She’d laughed. And it was the first time we talked about the future without this gloomy cloud of sadness over us. Because what if this works?

Still, there’s so much that could go wrong. I’m crossing so many lines. Willow says they’d never press charges, but how can she be sure? I try not to think about that as I wait outside in the muggy August air. Eventually a stretch SUV with tinted windows rolls up. A driver gets out, then Lawrence pops his head out the window and waves. “Stella!”

I wave back and head over, praying Janice or Anya aren’t in there. Because they’d definitely recognize me now that I’m in a pantsuit again.

I hand the driver mysuitcase, thankhim, and pulse racing, I get in. “Hi, everybody!”

Four faces. No Janice or Anya.

I take a seat next to Lawrence, who introduces me around. “Coralee is West Coast—East Coast admin,” Lawrence says. “Nisha is legal serving as liaison to the San Fran legal team, and Walt is Malcom’s overall PA. I’m Malcolm’s admin assist. We’re the lowly rabble of the traveling team. The legal and accounting hotshots are already on site.”

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