Page 122 of The Thing About My Secret Billionaire
LEO
Guys. The restaurant room? Should we book it?
OLIVER
Hey Leo, aren’t you going to wish Mill good luck on his love mission?
ME
Not sure I’m comfortable with the term “love mission.”
OLIVER
You totally love her.
CHASE
Yup. Totally. I’ve never seen you go a block out of your way for a woman before, so am sure you wouldn’t be chasing four hours across state lines if you didn’t.
LEO
I’ll ask Amelia to book it for 12:30. See you there.
LEO
Good luck Miller.
ME
Thanks Leo. Thanks guys. Gotta run. I’ll try not to make too much of an assjerk of myself.
As I reach for the elevator button again to reopen the doors, I realize my hand is shaking.
My knees might be too.
Whatever. My body needs to get over itself.
Because I need to somehow get Frankie to realize not only that she doesn’t hate me, but that she actually loves me.
I’m the one with the persuasive skills, right? Mom always says I can talk the hind legs off a donkey (how ironic), talk someone down off a ledge, or should have been a hostage negotiator.
But all those things would be a cakewalk compared to trying to convince Frankie that I’m not a lying assjerk.
The elevator doors slide open.
And I step inside anyway.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
MILLER
Well, shit.
I’ve been so up in my head about everything that I’d totally lost track of the days and not registered that today is the Saturday after Thanksgiving, so it’s the open day that Frankie’s been working so hard on.
Stopped by the side of the road, a little way back from the gates, all I can see is a line of cars being directed to park in the field across the street from the sanctuary.
All the people wearing safety vests must be over seventy and are clearly taking no crap. One of them is violently waving his flag at a vehicle that’s parked about three inches out of line.
