Page 63 of Return Billionaire to Sender

Well, he definitely has the wrong idea there. “You can think again on that count, mister,” I say into the mirror.

I plan to be focused on my mission entirely from here on in.

* * *

My fearsabout sexy weirdness turn out to be entirely unfounded. Malcolm is subdued the next day at the negotiation session, even surly. Was it our kiss? Does he regret our kiss?

DoI?

He’s not paying even one iota of attention even as he sits down, as I start up the day’s footage. He’s barely there, even as my skin prickles with awareness of him.

You’d think this would be okay with me, being that I was worried about sexy weirdness, but it’s not okay.

And I’m not saying that just because of the kiss, just because I’ve given it every ounce of my attention while he clearly can’t be bothered—it’s more that the section of video I’m showing him is one of my favorites for displaying the beautiful camaraderie within our building—the trip to the Grand Bazaar to pick art to spruce up the walls. He needs to be paying attention.

Finally I hit pause. “You’re not paying attention.”

“I’m watching it, aren’t I?”

“You’re not paying attention,” I say.

“How can you think that I’m not paying attention?” he asks. “This thing is just distracting enough that when I’m watching it, I can’t think of anything else whatsoever. Kudos.”

“You need to change your attitude,” I say. “It won’t work if you watch this in a negative frame of mind.”

“There’s nothing in the settlement that stipulates the frame of mind with which I’m to undergo your training.”

“If your attitude is extremely poor, the lesson is wasted,” I say.

He gives me his dark look. “Will you give me an X?”

Heat comes over me, remembering the hungry way he kissed me, his body hard against mine. “I want you to have a better attitude, that’s all.”

“A person doesn’t change their attitude with the flip of a switch.”

I frown. As long as he thinks of this as punishment, his heart won’t be open to saving my friends and neighbors.

“Instead of punishment, try looking at it as something like a human interest thing?”

“Attitudes don’t change just like that.”

I sigh. He’s so surly! “I know what you need,” I say.

“What?” he grouches.

I fold my hands in my lap. “When I worked as a letter carrier, there was this total asshole on my route,” I say. “Stanley Manchette.”

He rubs his hands together. “Another letter carrier anecdote.”

“If you’re gonna make fun of my lessons, we can just go back to the video,” I say.

“No, please,” he says with a wave.

“Stanley had this dog, Chuckles,” I continue. “Chuckles was this old dog, kind of a grouch like Stanley. He was a bulldog with a frowny face.”

“Ironically named,” Malcolm observes.

“Yeah,” I say. “Chuckles didn’t like to be petted or anything.”

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