The Billionaire Boss Next Door

“Oh, uh, watch out!” The words tumble out of my mouth on instinct, and I point toward the vehicle right beside us. The one she’s mere inches away from side-swiping because, apparently, Nelly is an “I’m going to use all the fucking lanes” kind of broad.

“Hey there, buddy!” She honks her horn and jerks her wheel to the right. “Bastards don’t know how to drive!”

Simply put, her driving isn’t exactly aces, and I’m gripping the edge of my seat before we even reach the highway.

And, sadly for me, the ride doesn’t get any smoother.

The road is apparently a deterrent for Nelly’s eyes. Her foot consists of lead. Her turns are rough at best, and she sticks with the mind-set that everyone on the road but her is a terrible driver.

“What the hell!” she shouts toward the car in front of us. The car that she cut off no less than two minutes prior, mind you. “For goodness’ sake, no one can drive today!”

I grip the edge of my seat tighter and close my eyes and start chanting namaste in my head.

But my attempt at finding solace and calm is brief at best. I pop my eyes wide open when my body is catapulted toward the passenger door as Nelly takes a sharp left turn and accelerates onto the highway.

Whoa, Nelly.

All the while, the swooshing from the back turns into the equivalent of Niagara Falls, and I white-knuckle the handle above the passenger door and glance toward my driver. “What did you say you have in the back again?”

Please don’t say gasoline. Please don’t say gasoline.

“Two big tanks of water for my horses,” she answers like it’s the most normal thing in the world and switches lanes without the use of her blinker. A horn honks behind us, but Nelly gives zero fucks about other drivers’ horns. “I was at my mom’s place this morning, and I always get my water from there because it’s cheaper. She has a well.” She grins over at me. “And since I’m planning on seeing my horses after my morning Uber shift, I figured what the hell. Might as well kill two birds with one stone today.”

Metaphorical birds might not be the only thing she kills today.

On the bright side, I suppose, if I never make it to the airport, I won’t have to worry about my interview with Turner Properties.

Hah. My anxiety must be at a new, all-time high if I’m considering the possibility of death as an upside.

Yeah. But that’s because things are looking pretty damn grim from where I sit.

Even though I have plenty of happy return clients and referrals for small bathroom renovations or sunroom decoration available for work, the profit margin on those kinds of jobs is barely enough to keep my doors open for a month or two.

I need a large-scale job with notoriety and name recognition, and the new Vanderturn New Orleans hotel is it. The outcome of this interview is the difference between struggling to stay open for another thirty days without bankrupting myself and setting up my firm to thrive.

My stomach spasms.

Yeah, no pressure or anything.

Instantly, my stress level skyrockets, and Nelly’s driving only gets worse.

Not to mention, she keeps talking to me.

It’s the longest twenty minutes anyone has ever experienced, and all I can do is hold on for dear life and answer her questions. The last thing I want to do is upset her and cause some sort of accident.

Honestly, I never would’ve thought drowning was an actual possibility in a motor vehicle collision, but here I am, inside Nelly’s water bed on wheels.

By the time she pulls the Equinox into the airport entrance, I’ve seen my life flash before my eyes a good seven times, and I’ve run the conversational equivalent of a marathon.

I know the names of all five of her horses, her retired parents’ favorite vacation spots, and that her sister Marion makes her money by selling homemade scarves on Etsy.

Once she pulls the SUV to a stop at the departure curb, I hop out with about six times as much energy as the carcass formerly known as my body feels, but also, I hop the hell out.

Five stars. That’s what you do with Uber, right? Just be thankful you arrived at your intended destination alive? What the fuck do I know.

I’m tempted to get on my knees and kiss the concrete, but my body isn’t up for that kind of physical challenge. My legs and lower back ache as I yank my suitcase out of the back seat, and a sigh escapes my lungs of its own accord.

I feel like I’ve been ridden hard and put away in one of Nelly’s water tanks.

Simply put, my mood is shit.

My business is failing. I’ve had zero sleep. And I’m headed to New York for the biggest interview of my life.