15. Juno
CHAPTER 15
JUNO
As the limo takes me home, all I can think about is how date-like what just happened was, especially for a business meeting—which is what it really was. The out-of-this-world food, the getting to know each other, the—let’s be honest—attractive man I was with. Hell, Lucius even seemed somewhat less horrible. Some of the time, anyway. There were a few moments when he seemed downright likeable.
Wait. No. What the hell am I thinking? Finding Lucius likeable is like petting a wild raccoon without a rabies shot—too risky. To him, this is just a transaction, that’s all. What we’re about to do is as fake as the wax celebs at Madame Tussauds, and confusing it for an actual relationship would be foolish.
After what happened with Jason, I’m not looking to be in a real relationship, but if I were, it wouldn’t be with a prickly asshole like Lucius, who—despite what he said about not being born with a silver spoon in his mouth—probably thinks of me as uneducated white trash.
The limo stops.
I thank Elijah and rush home. Once inside, I start to pace as I go over the whole situation.
The more I think about it, the more I realize how huge of a deal this is. For starters, I’ll finally be able go to college. Or at least I can fund it now. I still need to apply—and acceptance is something I’m definitely worried about.
What I need right now is to share this whole crazy thing with someone—ideally, Pearl—but the stupid NDA is in the way.
Think of the devil. Pearl is calling me. Of course she is. She was here when Elijah stopped by.
Shit. The NDA means I’ll have to lie to her. On the bright side, if Pearl buys the idea of me and Lucius dating, the rest of the world will too.
I accept the call.
“Dish,” Pearl hisses instead of a hello.
I take a deep breath. “He told me he likes me.”
The squealing sound that comes from Pearl’s end of the phone is worrying. It’s probably my friend producing the noise, but it could also be that she stepped on her cat’s tail.
“Details,” she demands when the sound subsides. “All of them.”
“So… you know the article?”
“The one I showed you ?”
Ah, right. “Turns out, the reason it was written was because of the adoring way Lucius looked at me when we exited the building. I didn’t notice, but the journalists did, so he took me out to apologize… and to see if I liked him back.”
“Tell me you do like him back,” Pearl whispers.
I theatrically clear my throat. “You’ve seen his picture, right?”
The cat-tail shriek is back, this time with some stuck-pig undertones to it. “You’re going to marry him! I can tell.”
Marry him? It’s a good thing she’s not a witch because that fate sounds like it could be a curse.
“We haven’t even had an official date yet,” I say with exasperation. “Today doesn’t count.”
“Boo. And I’m guessing you haven’t tapped that yet either? It takes six dates before you give up the goods, right? Or is it seven?”
“That is just a set of coincidences.”
She lists my exes and the details of the sixth dates that led to sex, in great detail. Damn. I should be more careful when I tell her things, as she never forgets, like a gossip elephant.
“I think someone has just lost her confidante privileges,” I say, playing up the genuine annoyance I feel.
“No. Wait. Sorry. Sleep with him whenever you want, but tell me all about it.”
Time for the knockout punch. “Actually, hon, I have bad news in that department.”
“No,” she shouts. “Don’t tell me he’s asking you for an NDA.”
Huh. “How did you know?”
“Because he’s a fucking billionaire, and I’ve read Fifty Shades . But I can’t not know. Can’t you have him make an exception for me?”
“I tried,” I say. “He said no… at least for now. Eventually, if things work out, who knows.”
“No!” she screams, sounding like Darth Vader at the end of Revenge of the Sith . “Did you sign that shit already?”
“Not yet, or else I wouldn’t have been able to tell you what I have.”
“In that case, I need some juicy details, or else.”
I scratch the back of my head. “I think he really likes my feet.” That’s not a complete lie, I don’t think.
“O! M! G! You lucky fucking duckie. You’ll get all the foot rubs you want!”
Thank goodness I’ve never told Pearl that foot rubs turn me on, or else she’d freak out so much someone would need to perform an exorcism.
“I have to take you out,” she says urgently. “We’ll get pedis, buy you an ankle bracelet, a toe ring, some open-toed shoes?—”
“Sure,” I say, because I know when resistance is futile. “How about later today?”
It might actually be nice to have my feet looking good for the next time I meet Lucius.
Pearl tells me what time she’ll come and hangs up.
I face El Duderino. Since the NDA doesn’t cover conversations with cactuses (at least I hope not), I tell him what really happened, in detail.
Dude. That’s so metal. So what if this Lucius dude is a sucky dude? You’re basically getting paid for eating nice grub.
I sigh.
Maybe it won’t be so bad. For now, I’ll focus on the best part: the possibility of a Botany degree.
Opening my laptop, I navigate to a folder with pre-prepared bookmarks and review the application requirements for the University of California-Irvine, California State Polytechnic University, and a few other colleges nearby that have a Botany program.
Then something hits me. Originally, I wanted to go to a local school because I couldn’t afford to quit my business. Now, though, given how much money I’m going to get for the fartlek, I could consider going out of state.
With that in mind, I eagerly research and bookmark the most promising colleges. Given my B-minus high school grade average, I don’t hold my breath when it comes to fancy places like Harvard and Cornell, but some state schools with very good Botany programs might be within my reach, like the University of Florida or Washington University.
The more I look into their application requirements, though, the more I realize that my high school average might not be enough for them either. Which sucks, considering that it took me a lot of effort to get there with my dyslexia. No-social-life level of effort.
I sigh again. Hopefully, my essay will sway the admission officers, along with the fact that I run my own business. It’s an extracurricular of sorts.
By the time Pearl texts me to let me know that she’s downstairs and it’s “shopping time,” my eyes are blurry from staring at the screen for so long.
I close the laptop and face El Duderino.
“I guess it’s time I go get accoutrements for my feet.”