Page 33 of Return Billionaire to Sender

The Maybourne Hotel is every bit as glorious as the New York Four Seasons, with marble pillars and marble floors and huge skylights flooding the area with natural light. The seating looks like it came straight out of a French palace. I turn around, slowly, taking it all in, because apparently my soul can’t consume the place from a stationary position. Maybe I’m embarrassing the team, I don’t know, but they should be thankful that I don’t drop my bags and twirl around and around, Sound of Music-style.

Once I’ve gotten my overall eyeful, I spot a table with drinking glasses arranged around a crystal bowl of water with bright green cucumbers floating in it. I put down my bags and go to get myself a glass of it, needing somehow to consume all of this luxury. The water is indeed very cucumbery. I close my eyes and let it fill me.

It tastes fresh and pure. It’s not like I can’t make cucumber water at home, but it’s weirdly special somehow. I sip and take another gander at the chandelier and potted palms. It’s like I’ve entered a storybook written in another century.

And then I look across the lobby and there’s Malcolm, coat slung over his arm, gazing at me. The beautiful devil.

But I know he’s not a devil, and I won’t give up hope. Yes, maybe I’m clinging too ferociously to that one little encounter that we had, to that one little flash of kindness in his eyes, my intuition of his heart. Well, cling I will.

Lawrence comes up with my key card. “You’re in 708. A few of us are meeting in the restaurant for dinner if you want to come.”

“Right, it’s way past our dinnertime, isn’t it?” I say. It’s nine at home but it’s only six in San Francisco.

“So? Save you a seat?” He’s waiting for an answer.

“Thanks. I’d love that.”

He heads for the elevator. I take one last look back at Malcolm, who’s heading for the elevators with Walt. I fuss with my water glass, letting everybody go ahead. I’m tired of being always on guard, of acting like I belong when I don’t. I just need to be alone for a little bit.

Yet again, I have a room to myself, and it’s beyond glorious. Right out the window I have a classic San Francisco panorama with trolley cars and steep streets and the Golden Gate Bridge beyond the rooftops.

I text Francine some pictures and then I call her with a quick update.

She can’t believe I took away his phone. “I can barely believe it myself,” I say.

“Maybe this can really work,” she exclaims.

A wave of doubt twists through my rib cage as I recall Malcolm’s dismissive attitude. Maybe this whole thing really is nuts. But then I hear myself say, “Yeah, maybe it can.”

* * *

I spot Lawrence,Coralee, Nisha, and Walt ensconced in a corner table in the plush, candlelit hotel restaurant.

Lawrence waves me over. Nisha stands up to get a chair for me; she’s in flowy pants that look like a skirt. Coralee wears a long black sweater over a brown tee that’s the exact same color as her brown bob.

I sit, fingering my butterfly tie, feeling like a dork for having come to dinner in my pantsuit.

The waiter hands me a piece of paper and asks if I want a drink. Do people on work trips have drinks? Three of them have beers, but they could be non-alcoholic, and I can’t tell what Walt is drinking. “What’s that?” I point to Nisha’s beer.

“A local ale. Really good.”

“I’ll have one of those, too,” I say to the waiter. I really can’t afford it; I don’t have much in my bank account—I’m still paying off credit cards from Mom’s illness, but drinking what other people drink is a good way to fit in. I noticed that when I first moved to the big city.

I study the paper, which seems to be the entire menu. It doesn’t even have prices—a definite bad sign.

“This is our favorite table when we’re here,” Lawrence says. “It’s good luck to get it the first night.”

“I hope I’m not taking Malcolm’s seat,” I say.

They all smile. “Not likely!” Nisha says. Is the idea of Malcolm sitting down with them and eating with them so amusing?

“Did you get the backgrounder and the schedule for the week?” Lawrence asks me.

“Yes,” I say, grateful for Willow’s computer magic. There was a lot of factual information in the backgrounder. “Looking to buy the second-largest logistics company in the nation,” I say, just to show I read it. I actually read it twice—and some of the more complicated parts three or four times.

Lawrence fills me in on the upcoming sessions that I’m to observe. From what I gather, part of my coaching duties involve watching him in negotiation sessions and offering tips. Right. I’ll offer Malcolm Blackberg negotiation suggestions, and after that, I’ll give Lady Gaga singing pointers and show Kylie Jenner how to use an eyebrow pencil.

The waiter brings two plates of steamed mussels in garlic sauce. It smells unbelievably good. We all place our dinner orders—I choose the vegetarian pasta, which should be the cheapest dinner.

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