Beauty and the Billionaire

talking, Chris,” I tell him. “I’m not going to let you drown me out with my own television.”

“What do you expect me to say, huh?” he asks. “I wasn’t born with the gifts that you were. I’m not motivated the same way other people are,” he says. “I know that. Maybe you could even call me lazy or tell me that I just take shortcuts, but do you have any idea how much skill and planning goes into a successful job[6]? Instead of going to college, maybe you should think about interning with your big brother for a little while.”

“Three days,” I tell him. “I want some kind of substantial evidence that you’re turning things around within three days, or I want you out of my house.”

“It’s like that, huh?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I tell him. “That’s what it’s like.”

“Harsh, bro,” Chris says. “And how exactly am I supposed to give you some kind of evidence you’ll actually believe. You’ve never really given me the benefit of the doubt.”

“I did give you the benefit of the doubt,” I tell him. “I gave you the benefit of the doubt when we were both kids and you were the closest thing to a functioning parent that I had, but you lie all the time, Chris. For all I know, your entire half of this conversation has been completely made-up.”

“By the way,” he says, “that chick you’ve been seeing: what’s her story?”

“Are you serious?” I ask.

“What? She’s cute,” he says.

My fingers bend into my palms and my mouth is open, ready for whatever diatribe is about to come out, but that’s when I see the gleam in Chris’s eyes.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“You’re just trying to get me mad now,” I observe. “Why?”

“Oh, I didn’t mean that I was going to try to steal her out from under you,” Chris says. “I just wanted to know a little bit more about her in case things go bad with the two of you.”

“Are you threatening me?” I ask. “Do you really think that’s a smart decision?”

“Put the guns back in their holsters,” he laughs, patting one of my arms. “I just wanted to break the tension.”

“You know, I don’t think it worked,” I tell him.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he says. “Let me back toward home tonight and I’ll see how things look. If everything’s copacetic, I’ll just be gone.”

“If it’s not?” I ask.

“Well, I might need you to help me get back out of there again,” he says.

Chris never has fewer than half a dozen people on the hook at any given time. Most of them are quick, five-minutes-and-out cons, but he’s never let someone with an impressive pocketbook go so easily. The story he’s giving me, as outlandish as it is, can’t be the whole truth.

“What aren’t you telling me?” I ask him.

“Nothing, I swear!” he protests.

“Isn’t that the line you always used when mom asked you if you’d stolen any of her vodka while she was sleeping?” I ask.

“Okay,” he says, “I can see the charm everyone else knows and loves isn’t going to be enough.”

“Stop trying to con me,” I tell him. “Are you going to make a change or are you going to find somewhere else to live?”

“Mase,” he starts.

“I hate that name,” I interrupt.

“Mason, brother, whatever you want me to call you, look,” he says. “I’ve got some money[7] and collateral[8] tied up right now, and I can’t just walk away from that.”