Page 6 of The Thing About My Secret Billionaire
“And are you happy with the parts of your life youhavechosen?”
I stare at her over my mug. “Of course. Do I not seem happy at work?”
“I mean, because work is the only place you ever are. You probably barely remember what the inside of your own apartment looks like. So, yeah, I’m wondering if working sixteen-hour days and choosing men who’re badfor you seem like the best adventures you could have picked.”
“I called you for your financial expertise, not your relationship advice.” I huff. “And it was only one man who was bad for me.”
“Yeah, and he was bad enough that you haven’t touched another one since.”
“How the hell am I supposed to know who I can trust when Bastard Brandon lied about almost everything about himself? And I was too dumb to notice.” My blood pressure rises at the memory. “If I hadn’t shown up to meet him at his office as a surprise and bumped into the woman who told me he was an assistant there, not a lawyer, I would never have known.”
“He was so full of shit,” Paige says. “All that crap about going to Yale law school.”
“I don’t think he’d ever even been to Connecticut.” I laugh, but it’s not a happy one.
If only I could see the funny side. But eighteen months later, all I still feel is foolish and embarrassed that I let myself get so caught up in him that I didn’t spot a single red flag. Not even that he always had an excuse so as not to pay for anything more than a couple of coffees. Or that he never invited me back to his place that he claimed was an apartment with a private terrace in Lake View. And that despite apparently having this spectacular home, he was pushing to move into my perfectly ordinary one-bedroom condo after just a few months.
It took a while after I ended it for the penny to drop that he had some serious financial issues and was just using me for free food and housing. It was never actually about wanting to be with me every available momentlike he’d said.
“Maybe Brandon thought you wouldn’t like him if he didn’t have a fancy degree and an important job,” Paige says.
“I couldn’t have cared less about that. But I sure as hell fucking cared that he’d made up a whole fantasy life and that I fell for it.” I’m not sure I’ll ever shake off the twist in my gut every time I think about it.
“You’re going to have to start trusting your judgment again sooner or later,” she says. “Or you’re going to be married to your job for forever.”
“It loves me back, though. More than any guy would.”
“Sure, if you consider a great paycheck and bonuses to be love.”
“Love doesn’t pay the rent or the bills.” I shake my head.
“Oh, but itfeelslike it does.” Paige’s eyes go all dreamy.
“Yeah, yeah. Just because you and Sean are wallowing in the first flush of gooey love. I get it.”
“Oh, we are so not. I can’t bear the way he chews.” She taps her pen against her chin. “But if you’d had it, you’d know. Don’t you want to find out?”
“This is really not the time for me to be thinking about finding my soulmate and losing myself in a puddle of love. This is the time for me to make the sanctuary solvent, get Grandpa back on two functioning knees, recruit some decent volunteers, and then get my ass back to Chicago before Dickish Darren convinces management he’s a better choice for the promotion than I am.”
“No one could do that job better than you. Dickish Darren would never have come up with the idea of having a muddy pig roll around on the pink velvet SpotlessComfort Meridian Loveseat to prove how easy it is to get stains out.”
I have to admit, that did go well. “Anyway, as far as the bosses are concerned, I’m sure it’s out of sight, out of mind. Dickish Darren’s in front of their face and I’m not. And that’s all they’ll care about.”
There’s a tapping on the kitchen window.
“Oh, hang on.” I look up. “Dave’s here.”
“Who’s Dave?”
“The donkey who mysteriously escapes the paddock and opens the kitchen window to ask for snacks.” I get up and head toward the big gray face that is, indeed, sliding the window open.
My heart melts at the sight of those huge, soulful eyes and the smarts inside the brain that figured out long ago that if he perfected this trick he’d get a carrot every time—Grandpa keeps a stash in a jar by the sink for this very purpose.
“How does a donkey open a window?” Paige’s voice says behind me.
“With his nose, of course.”
Dave takes the carrot I hand him, and the adorable crunches begin. He looks so innocently happy.
