Page 71 of How to Blow It with a Billionaire

Not just for me and my career. But for Poppy.

She deserved an interview that captured at least something of who she was. Her anger and her kindness, her charisma and her strength.

Fuck it fuck it fuck it.

I sat up and grabbed my laptop. Slammed every door in my brain that didn’t lead to Poppy Carrie.

Wrote: Eat it, motherbitches.

Kept writing: Poppy Carrie isn’t like you think she is. And then she’s not like that either.

Soon there was nothing but the hours passing. The words ebbing and flowing across my screen.

Chapter 18

The next day, I said goodbye to Nik, made sure it wasn’t stupid o’clock in England, and rang Bellerose.

He answered quickly, just like always. “Hello, Arden.”

“Knitted anything cool?”

“I sincerely wish I hadn’t told you that.”

“Do you make your own yarn and stuff as well, or do you buy it?”

“My yarn is none of your business. Now, is there something you need?”

I couldn’t quite contain an eager squeak. “I’m ready to come home.”

“Caspian will be delighted. When would you like the jet?”

Oh dear God. I was never going to get used to being able to order a plane like a pizza. “As soon as possible?”

There was a pause. Presumably Bellerose was…actually, I had no idea. Calculating stuff? Organizing things? “You will be departing at nine a.m. tomorrow. Be at the airport in good time.”

“Yay. Thank you.” Since Bellerose couldn’t see me, and I was in a city where nobody knew me, I skipped about excitedly. “Will you let Caspian know? In case you see him before he picks up a message?”

“Of course. Though I should tell you he has a social engagement in the evening and therefore may not be available to meet you when you arrive.”

I stopped skipping. But, honestly, what had I been expecting? That a man like Caspian Hart would have nothing on his schedule? Or that he’d be able to drop everything for me? “It’s okay. I get it. Thanks again, Bellerose.”

“See you soon, Arden.”

Disappointment drowned me in its bitter tide. And I slumped onto the bed, on the verge of tears, trying to figure out if I was overreacting or not. I mean, I knew this wasn’t Caspian’s fault. It wasn’t a value judgment on my importance to him or a reflection of my place in his life.

It was sucky circumstances.

But I guess I’d got used to his availability. To being busy, and hurried, and in the middle of something while he scheduled and rescheduled around me. And now the clock was striking midnight. The spell was breaking. And tomorrow I’d be in London, my time turned back into mice and pumpkins: not special at all.

Then my phone rang.

It was Caspian and, for a split second, I thought about not answering. I don’t know why—just that I was feeling bad, and wanting in some hopelessly petty and non-specific way to make him be the thwarted one, the disappointed one, the one who was always waiting and dreaming and hoping. Then I realized I was being a complete wanker, and picked up.

“I’m so sorry,” said Caspian, rather breathlessly, “my mother’s holding one of her charity auctions tomorrow. And I can’t fail to attend.”

Oh great. A charity auction. Could I be any more selfish?

“I understand.” I said, only lying a little bit. “It’s okay.”

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