The Billionaire Game 3(23)

I took a bite of the asparagus and almost choked. No way in hell that tasted even remotely like bacon.

“Are you all right, Kate?” Coral asked, her eyes just daring me to insult her precious cooking.

“Fine,” I said shortly. “Something just disagreed with me, is all. Maybe the pepper.”

“Actually, did you have meat for lunch?” Coral asked, her eyes now gleaming with evangelical fervor. “Because did you know that the human stomach is actually not designed to digest beef? It can cause a lot of problems. That’s probably why you have so much trouble losing weight, and why you’re always so irritable.” She smiled sweetly.

“You don’t say,” I said, and promptly tuned out the rest of her following speech in favor of happier thoughts. Like real bacon, and impromptu dressing room sex, and money. Yes, money. Big fat wads of it. One million literal dollars of it, just waiting for me to sign the dotted line and collect it. I let the ka-chings rattle around my brain, trying to block out the inappropriate thoughts I was having about my business partner. It was almost working.

Today Slips ‘N More had sent me a lavish gift basket, full of designer jewelry, chocolate-dipped strawberries, and a bottle of champagne I was pretty sure cost more than my apartment. Scratch that, I was pretty sure it cost more than my whole apartment building.

And that was just the gift basket they’d sent today. They’d been sending me a different one every day of the week.

They did seem to actually want me pretty badly. Did that mean they’d keep me on as a consultant, respect my creative vision once they had me? Or did it just mean they thought I was an easy mark who’d be so bowled over by fancy gifts I wouldn’t consider the finer details in their contract?

“And so, Mom, Dad—Kate—Coral and I have gotten engaged!”

Wait, what? What was happening?

The cries of joy jolted me back to my family’s gathering, where my mother and father were greeting the addition of the worst person in the world to our family with hugs and congratulations and what I could only assume were tears of sadness disguised as tears of joy, because actual tears of joy would make me lose all faith in my family’s power of discernment forever.

“Aren’t you going to offer us any congratulations, Kate?” Coral asked sharply, her eyes like daggers.

“Sure,” I said flatly. I took a bite of asparagus and spoke around it: “Congratulations. You two were made for each other. Woo. Fucking. Woo.”

“Kate,” Coral gasped, taken aback. “What’s your problem?”

My mother waved her hands as if she could waft the discord away with emphatic gestures. “Oh, don’t mind her, dear. She’s been under a black cloud for weeks now. Ever since—” she frowned slightly, thinking back. “Say, whatever happened to that darling young man, Asher, was it?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Coral said, her eyes gleaming like those of a hawk who had spotted prey. “Whatever happened to him?”

“Nothing ‘happened’ to Asher,” I said, spearing a tomato in my salad with enough force that the seeds spurted out the side. “Asher is just fine. Still ripped, still loaded, and still obsessed with science fiction from the sixties and seventies. Totally fine.”

“Then why hasn’t he come around?” my mother asked. “Ooooooh.” Her voice took on a knowing tone. “Did you two have a lovers’ spat?”

“Gag me,” I said, miming vomiting.

“Katherine, not at the dinner table!”

I sighed. “Our relationship wasn’t like that, Mom,” I tried to deflect. “It was business. It still is business. Actually, why don’t we just focus on a happy relationship, like Brian and Coral? Imagine all the adorable little children they’ll have.”

That should have been a surefire gambit—even Coral looked willing to leave off the Kate-baiting in favor of everyone fawning over her for awhile—but when my mom got the bit of my perceived romantic failure between her teeth, she didn’t let go without a fight.

“You’re only a few years away from thirty, dear,” my mother said, clutching at her pearls. “Do you know what the magazine I was reading just called that? The Age of No Return.”

“Nice, Mom. Did you get that magazine delivered to you straight from the 1950s?”

“Well, I never!” My mom took a deep breath, preparing to be loudly scandalized for at least an hour, but in a pleasant surprise, my dad covered her hand with his and spoke first.

“Now, now, dear. Kate’s a good girl. Solid head on her shoulders. Focusing on business first. Very commendable.” He beamed at me. “How’s it going, my girl?”