Shopping for a Billionaire 2 by Julia Kent

Author:Julia Kent [Kent, Julia]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Genre Fiction, Coming of Age, Romance, Contemporary, New Adult & College, Romantic Comedy
Amazon: B00JKZZ8K8
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six

Friday. I am going out of my mind now that it is 4:14 p.m. and I have exactly one hour and forty-six minutes to transform myself into a hiking Barbie.

Steve won’t stop texting me, though he finally stopped texting Amanda and Amy when they resorted to texting him various pictures off 4chan and Goatse. I’m close to following suit, but that’s how I handled our breakup at the very end, and if there’s anything worse than being immature, it’s being immature in the exact same way twice.

I receive a text from Amy with a copy of the last picture she sent to Steve. Who knew that anuses could prolapse? Huh.

My phone actually rings. I know Amanda is next door in Josh’s office, talking animatedly to him about simplifying the password policy so we don’t need to use three non-standard Arabic characters when we change our monthly passwords, so it can’t be her.

Mom is with dad at an all-day Reiki training, so it much be Carol, my older sister.

I look at the number. Yup. Carol calls for one of three reasons:

1. She needs a babysitter.

2. She needs someone to come over and binge watch Orange is the New Black and pick up a pint of ice cream on the way.

3. She needs a babysitter.

“I’m busy tonight,” I say as I answer the phone. No preliminaries. Don’t need them. Besides, I’m a ticking time bomb right now, with sixteen minutes to go before I can race home and try to turn myself into a nighttime hiking phenomenon.

“You are?” She sounds disappointed. Panicked, really. I hear mayhem in the background. Random animal sounds that are, in fact, just boy sounds. Same thing, really. Until they’re ten years old or so, boys are just human versions of beasts.

“Yep.”

“Mystery shop?”

“No. Date.” The word rolls off my tongue with a delicious fluidity.

She bursts into a long, drawn-out giggle fest. “Good one. Hah! So which shop is it. Donuts? If you ever get another one for the chain of bars where you have to order the filet skewers and two margaritas, let’s get Mom to watch the boys!”

I am offended. Why does everyone laugh at the thought of me being romantically involved with someone?

“I have a date. An actual date with the vice president of a company.” I want to say more, but I know I’ll be skewered if I do. Carol is like a blend of Mom and Amy. Half reasonable and half batshit crazy.

You never know which half you’re talking to at any give time.

“Is this the billionaire Mom’s been rambling on about? I thought that was some kind of fantasy of hers.”

“It is,” I mumble.

“So you’re not dating a billionaire? She was going on about getting her grandkids into exclusive prep schools like Milton Academy and Buckingham Browne & Nichols—and all kinds of other weird stuff last night.”

In the background I hear my seven-year-old nephew, Jeffrey, arguing with his four-year-old brother, Tyler, who only whines in response. Tyler has a speech disorder and the words don’t come easily, but he’s highly fluent in Whine.

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