Page 5 of Marked By the Billionaire
“Can I think about it for a day?”
“No,” I groan sharply and firm. “You decide now, and the clock starts.”
She sighs. “I have class tomorrow and a shift tonight at the grocery store.”
The grocery store. That detail lodges somewhere deep. I wonder which one. I picture her stacking cans beneathfluorescent lights, scanning barcodes, answering the same questions over and over again with the same forced smile. I want to save her from that.
“You won’t need either with three million dollars. You invest that right, you’ll be set for life.”
She swallows hard and leans against the side of a rusted tractor that’s pulled up next to the cornfield with a wagon attached. “This is insane.”
For a second, I think she might say yes, but her gaze lifts to mine slowly, and a spark of something wild flashes onto her face. “Four million dollars. Half now, half at the end of the weekend. I’ll do what you say, I’ll follow the rest of your rules, but I’m telling my friend where I am, and I’m checking in with her every few hours.”
My jaw tightens, and I start to speak, but she cuts me off.
“And my phone stays with me. I’ve got two sisters that are in a bit of a situation at home. They sometimes call with emergencies. I have to be available to them at all times.”
That part lands differently. It chips at the edge of what I’ve been so carefully curating.Sisters and emergencies.This is what I need. A loss of control. Variables I can’t predict. A simulation of real-life experiences.
I exhale slowly. “You can check in with your contact once a day, and you can keep your phone on you for emergencies so long as you’re not on it.”
“Twice a day, and we get donuts and cider before we leave.”
I pause because something in her tone flips the balance. She’s negotiating new terms.
A crooked smile edges my lips. Not because she won, but because she played, and that’s what this entire experience is about.
“Twice a day,” I repeat, like I’m tasting the words, “but it can’t interrupt our time together.”
Her chin lifts a fraction, her own smirk ghosting through.
“And the donuts?” she says, arms folded now like we’re closing a merger, not a morally grey zone of reality and fantasy.
I step in, closer than before, the air between us thick with buttered popcorn and damp earth. “Donuts, cider, and whatever else you want before we leave,” I say. “The second we’re in my truck, though, you belong to me.”
“For the weekend,” she reiterates, playing with the ends of her long blonde ponytail.
There’s silence, then a nod, and finally, the deal is struck.
Chapter Three
Penny
Either I’m insane, or I’m the smartest woman alive. The verdict will be read at the end of the weekend.
Donuts and cider in hand, Wilder helps me up into his pickup truck. Judging by the flannel and the ride, I’d guess he’s trying to blend in, but the flannel looks designer, and his truck is some kind of high-tech self-driving thing. No one drives these up here. I mean, how do you even turn it on? There are no buttons, just a massive touchscreen. This isn’t a truck. It’s a spaceship. Folks up here were raised on farm trucks and old model beaters they’ve been fixing for twenty years. I think about pressing him about it, but I opt for warm donuts instead. The man did pay four million dollars for a weekend with me. I might as well be sweet.
“So, what’s with the donuts? That line was like four miles long.” Everything he says sounds flat and a little grumpy. I see now why he had to pay for a date.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“You’ve never had a cinnamon sugar donut? They’re like the fall thing to do here. You get like twelve dozen with a jug of cider, then eat them until your stomach hurts.” I take a bite as I talk, moaning a little as the sugar hits my tongue. The donut iscrisp on the outside, soft in the middle, and still warm. It’s pure nostalgia.
“Well, you made that sound delicious.” He tucks his massive hand into the bag and pulls out a donut, biting into it without regard for where the sugar goes. For a minute, he doesn’t speak. I only hear the groans and moans from his throat as he finishes off the fried cake. “Damn. Okay… I see why we eat these until our stomachs hurt.”
“Right? People around here wait all year for these things. I’ve tried making them at home, but they never turn out right.”
