Page 2 of The Billionaire's Teacher

I’d gotten the feeling Noah had pried it out of him earlier.

When no one immediately replied to my text, I shoved to my feet. I’d clean up all the poker stuff and then…what, exactly?

“One thing at a time.” I muttered under my breath as I slid decks of cards into their boxes. I took a few extra minutes to organize the poker chips by color in the aluminum case they’d come in. The other guys always seemed to have no problem just sorting the chips on poker night, but didn’t it make more sense to spend the time keeping things organized in the first place?

I shut and flipped the locks on the case closed, then stashed it in the bottom of the china cabinet, which took up the single wall in the dining room that didn’t have an opening of some sort. I frowned, like I usually did, at the blank shelves on the top half of the thing. Mom had this grand idea that grown-up furniture would make me want more grown-up things.

Like a wife.

Grandkids for her to spoil.

Unless the cabinet was supposed to magically summon them into my house, I wasn’t sure I followed her train of thought, but I also hadn’t been able to talk her out of giving the thing to me. Since she and my stepdad had made the trip in a U-Haul specifically to deliver this wooden monstrosity, I really hadn’t had much choice.

I sighed. At least it wasn’t ugly. I kind of liked the simple lines—Mom said it was mission style. That had launched me down a path of research that ended with me agreeing that I liked the look. But it didn’t prompt me to invest in more furniture of that ilk.

Maybe now that money wasn’t an issue, I should.

Or I could give Mom the go-ahead and let her take care of it for me.

My phone rang. I laughed as I answered, “Speak of the devil.”

“Who are you calling the devil?” The laughter in Mom’s voice was stronger than her attempt at censure.

“No one specific.”

“That’s what I thought.” Mom cleared her throat. “Are you standing in the dining room glaring at your china cabinet again?”

I wished, again, that I could believe psychics were real, because Mom had a knack. “How’d you know?”

“It’s the only time you call me the devil.”

I snorted.

“I’m serious. I’m keeping a list. So is The General.”

I imagined the letters capitalized even though there was warmth and affection in the nickname Mom had for my stepdad. “Well, as long as he’s keeping you honest.”

“Always.” The General chimed in.

“I’m on speaker.” I shook my head and wandered out of the dining room to the living room where I plopped onto the leather sofa I’d bought with my first real paycheck. “You’re supposed to tell people before they reveal state secrets.”

“I don’t think your mother’s psychic abilities are state secrets, son.” The General’s gruff voice held a hint of humor. “But I’ll keep it in mind. Of course, you’re still doing the Jesus thing, aren’t you. So you probably don’t believe she has the sight.”

“I am still doing the Jesus thing, yes.” I didn’t bother defending it or going further down that train of thought. I’d reached a quiet peace with my parents—all three of them, since Dad and his latest wife had just ended things—when it came to Jesus. I didn’t try to force Him down their throats, and they kept their annoyance and teasing to a minimum. Of course, their definition of “minimum” wasn’t always the same as mine, but I was still going to call it a win.

“Good for you, honey.” Mom’s voice was soothing. Of the three of them, Mom was the most open to hearing about it. “We called because I have on my calendar that you’re heading to the islands soon and was hoping for more detail.”

Right. I’d emailed them about my plans before they were completely firmed up. “I’ll fly down to the Caymans on Monday. I’m going to base myself in Scott and Whitney’s place there for a day or two, then I hired a boat to take me around to some of the other islands to check out resorts and dive sites.”

“A boat? What sort?” The General, for all he was an Army man, loved to sail.

I cringed even though he couldn’t see me. “It’s a yacht. A small one, but still.”

Mom laughed. “For a minute there, I think The General wanted to come along and sail with you.”

“I did think about sailing. But I didn’t want to be gone quite as long as that would probably take.” Plus, I didn’t actually understand sailboats, despite The General’s efforts. I liked motors. Cars. Boats. Airplanes. They should all have motors as far as I was concerned.

The General grunted.

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