A Billionaire for Christmas

“Of course she can! It’s open to everyone, Emma. And you know, it’s bad manners to take back a party invitation. I don’t even think that’s a thing. Jack? JACK!”

“What?” I hear my father say in Key West.

“It’s not a thing, right?”

“Mom. Listen.”

“No,” my father says, which he’s only doing to agree with my bossy mom. He probably doesn’t even know what we’re talking about.

“See!” She’s beaming a smile. I just know it.

“Mom. Listen.”

“What time will you get here? You’re not going to be late, right? I told Karen the street party starts at three o’clock sharp.”

“I’m on the jet, Mom. It’s nine AM. There is no possible way I won’t be there by three.”

But maybe there should be a way? Maybe we should break down in like… Gainesville? And spend a nice time in some two-star hotel’s dirty pool? That has to be better than spending an evening with Kraken Karen and her alliteratively-named family, right?

“Great! Then we’ll see you soon! I can’t wait for you and Karen to reconnect. I told her all about Jesse too. She’s swooning over him already!”

“I bet she is. But listen—”

“Byeeeeee!”

The call drops and I just stare at the phone for a moment. Then I open the pocket door and say, “Turn the plane around!”Chapter FiveLet me explain all the ways that Miles is a very cool dude.

One. When he found me passed-out half-naked on the jet portion of the now infamous one-up date between Emma and I, dude didn’t even blink. Just picked up my soiled shirt with a pair of sterling-silver tongs and asked me if I’d like him to have it cleaned. And not only did he do that, it was pressed and inside a little plastic package with a satin bow on the zipper when it was returned to me.

Two. Now that I’ve had a chance to get to know the guy—we have almost religiously taken the weekend trip down to Key West for Saturday night dinner since last summer—I’ve learned a lot about him. For instance, he has no family. None. Not a single brother, or mother, or cousin in the entire world. Just his partner, Christopher, our pilot. That’s why he digs being Emma’s jet butler. And let’s face it, for the salary he’s making to be on call, he’s kinda living the life.

Three. He’s like a world-class champion poker player. Like… seven-card stud is his jam. And good old Miles here, he can count cards. He told me he’s like a Rain Man when it comes to numbers. A savant with social skills, if you will. This is why I offered him an all-expenses-paid trip to Vegas as his Christmas present.

Usually Emma likes to work on the jet ride down to Key West. It makes her feel like she’s not ruining the planet with her air travel if she doesn’t enjoy it too much—which, OK, I don’t buy into myself. But I support her privilege guilt.

So while she works, I chat with Miles. And I learned that fuckin’ Miles has been in the World Series Cup of Poker six times. And he was the grand champion twice.

Just for clarification here, this is not the World Series of Poker. Nor is it the World Cup of Poker. Both of those are legit games. No, my man Miles here? He’s into the underground black-ops version of said games. I’m talking secret Illuminati versions of said games.

Which I’m totally intrigued by since the Boston family is all involved in some secret shit ourselves.

At first, I was a little afraid of Miles after he spilled these beans. I mean, what are the chances that some underground, shadow-poker guy like Miles would end up being my girl’s jet butler when said girl is also involved with me? An underground, shadow something-or-other youngest brother in a sorta Mob family?

But… I was paranoid back then. This was right when Joey found out his kid called him and just before Johnny disappeared in the Caribbean to look for Charlotte Kane. I was a little high-strung at the time.

Since then things have calmed down. I’m still not one hundred percent sure what Johnny did to wrangle us all out of the whole money-making ceremony our family has been running for at least two generations, possibly more. But... it’s all working out, I guess. Everyone seems pretty chill about it.

And the money still flows. So… I should probably think harder about all this, but now is not the time. All I want to hear about right now is what my man Miles will be up to in Vegas over Christmas.

“It’s a five-million-dollar pot,” Miles is telling me. We’re chillaxing at the table and scarfing down some Barbie and Ken mini rolls while Emma takes her mom-call in the bedroom.

“Five large, huh? Damn, dude. And you won this twice? Why do you even work?”