Page 31 of Return Billionaire to Sender

Why play hardball? And I can’t even check my phone? It’s not like Corman and his lawyers have hidden cameras here.

She folds her napkin into a tiny triangle, and then runs a fingernail along one side, creating a straight edge.

She appears to be waiting for my answer, even though we both know exactly what an X would mean. It would mean I’m in breach of our agreement. If I refuse to comply with the terms of the agreement, I’m in breach, and Corman’s lawyers could haul me back to court.

A judge in a certain mood could throw me in jail.

Corman’s lawyers would work overtime to get such a judge. They’d call in every favor. Sending me to jail would be beyond Corman’s wildest dreams.

I feel a smile spread over my face. “Are you…threatening me?”

She looks surprised. “I’m just asking if you know what happens.”

I can’t believe it. She is threatening me with possible jail time. She has a tiny little sphere of power and she’s using it like a cudgel. It’s so fucking…unexpected.

I sit up. I wasn’t taking her seriously before, but I am now.

10

Noelle

He wears a wolfish smile—gorgeousand darkly dangerous, like he’s biding his time, dreaming of a someday attack. “Let’s get on with the training, then, shall we?”

Inwardly I sigh. Will I never find out what happens if he gets an X instead of the check mark?

I really want to know!

I turn the video back on. Jada promised me that she’d edited out all of the parts where I appear, but this part is the group of us painting the top floor community room and I nearly have a heart attack when my arm appears in the frame. My hand. My ring. I fold my hands in my lap. I think the ability to recognize an acquaintance’s hand and arm is quite rare, but I wouldn’t put it past Malcolm—he sees things, eagle-eyed predator that he is.

I risk a quick glance. Malcolm’s lounging in his chair, an annoyed prince on his mile-high throne, legs carelessly crossed.

He seems to feel me watching, because he looks over at me just then, eyes sparkling. In a confiding, almost conspiratorial tone, he says, “Surely you don’t have twenty hours of this.”

“No conversation,” I say.

“Can’t I ask questions? Isn’t that how a student learns?”

“Save your questions for the end.”

“You’re honestly telling me you have twenty hours of this footage?”

I stop the video. “My lesson materials are not your concern.”

“What does a documentary on some people in a building have to do with executive emotional intelligence?”

“It’s important for you to see the lives that your project is affecting.” The absolute truth.

“Why?”

“Because it matters,” I say, perhaps too strongly.

“How does that affect my executive emotional intelligence?”

I swallow, unsure how to answer that, being that I have no knowledge of executive coaching whatsoever. I need to get a book or something.

“You can’t be asking questions,” I say. “We’re not two colleagues discussing training methodology here. In this part of the program that I, as an accredited coach, have designed, you are going to learn about the lives that your project is affecting.”

“What possible lesson am I to draw from footage of people painting a run-down building that will soon be torn down?”

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