Josie seemed to have the same thought, scrunching her face in a weird expression. “Huh. What a supremely odd thing to hide from you. I mean, their whole knowing each other and double-teaming you secret was strange, but I can at least understand it. It’s really out there, and they didn’t know how to approach it, and in typical clueless man style they butchered it.”
Laura’s turn to snort.
“But this? I mean, wouldn’t most guys consider being a fucking billionaire something to gloat about?”
Laura swallowed. Hard. “Maybe they’re embarrassed?”
“Why?”
“Because it’s Jill’s money?”
Josie considered that, tipping her head from one side to the other. “Mmmmm, maybe.” Skepticism filled her voice. “You think they were ashamed of coming into the money because she died and left it to them?”
Laura shrugged. “I’m as stumped as you are.” As she shifted, Dotty sniffed the air, stood, and transferred her loyalties and attentions to Josie, who absent-mindedly stroked her multi-colored head.
Josie sighed. “Wouldn’t you share that kind of thing pretty soon in a relationship? I’ve never had that kind of money—any guy who dates me gets Taco Bell, not trips to private islands in Mexico—but I’d think it would be something you throw out there to clear the air right away.”
The two sat in silence for a minute, thinking this through. Laura’s rage was suddenly tempered by thoughtfulness and pensive considerations on the money issue. Dylan and Mike weren’t flashy about it—though this explained Mike’s amazing cabin. They both drove new cars, but they still shared a sleek apartment. It wasn’t a billionaire’s life, by any means. Dylan even kept his old job. He must wipe his ass with his paychecks.
Exchanging confused glances with Josie, the puzzle became more intriguing as she thought about it. If the news channels were covering this, it meant it was all recent. So perhaps it was too recent—they just didn’t know how to explain it?
Too much benefit of the doubt. She yelled at herself mentally. They still should have told you! Of course they should have, and they damn well knew it. She’d given them every opportunity over the past few weeks, and she was most hurt not that they were billionaires—which she actually found to be pretty damn awesome—but that they hid it from her.
Why?
Josie stood, dumping Dotty unceremoniously from her lap, the cat landing gracefully on the small, shag carpet and surveying the room, eyeing her options. Laura, a throw pillow, the carpet. She chose to leave, clearly displeased with her sudden displacement.
“This calls for some breakfast. You hungry?” Without waiting for the answer, Josie went into the kitchen and started the Keurig up again. The sounds of rummaging floated toward Laura, and in two minutes Josie returned with a box of frozen donut holes and her new cup of coffee.
“Martha Stewart,” Laura sighed, hand over her heart.
“I’m more a trashy version of Rachel Ray. But these are yummy pumpkin donuts.”
“Already? Isn’t that a fall flavor?”
“It’s August.”
“August isn’t fall.”
“In retail it is.” Josie threw up her hands and grabbed one of the dough balls, carefully biting into it. Laura did the same, surprised by how hard and soft the donut hole was. It was a cakey consistency and dense. The half she managed to bite was absolutely delicious. Without being asked, Josie grabbed Laura’s glass and returned with it full. A girl could get used to this. She was the one who tended to cater to Josie; it felt nice to be taken care of like this, even in the smallest of ways.
Dotty returned to the room at the entrance of the donut holes, sniffing the box until Josie shoved her off. Offended, she strutted into Josie’s room and out of Laura’s sight. Although the pastry tasted great, her stomach just didn’t want anything.
Why? Why hadn’t they told her?
“Maybe they’re just assholes,” Josie said slowly, answering Laura’s internal question. “Maybe they thought you were a gold digger.”
“How could I be a gold digger if I didn’t know they had so much money?” Her phone buzzed again. Turning it off completely seemed like a perfect solution, her finger holding down the off button with so much force it left a red imprint in her fingertip. Too bad you couldn’t slam a phone down in the cradle like you could when she was a kid. That satisfaction was one area where smart phones just didn’t measure up.
“They keep calling?”
“They keep something-ing. Calls. Texts. Hell, they may have resorted to email.”