“He’s not unprofessional like that. Anyway, it’s never going to happen. Like I said, he’s oblivious.”
“Maybe if you were a book or a war or some famous historical character come back to life, he’d pay attention to you.”
Leanne sticks out her tongue. She looks so pretty doing it that even after all these years and how much I freaking love her, my envy meter does some lowkey dinging. “The guy has to be crazy not to notice you,” I console her. “Are you sure he’s not actually legally blind?”
“No, he’s not. I’m sure there have been good looking people in his class before. He just doesn’t notice. He doesn’t look at people that way. He’d fall for a woman for her mind before anything else.”
“Well, you’re smart too. You’re doing your freaking Masters.”
“He’s not really impressed about how I’m writing about graveyards and their importance to society today. He would rather I wrote about something ancient.”
“It will be ancient one day. Today’s present is tomorrow’s past.”
“Very inspirational,” Leanne groans, but she can’t keep a small smile off her naturally pink lips. “Write that into your next book. Actually, you should write one about a History student getting the professor. Make it all spicy and saucy so I can live vicariously through it.”
“Right. I’m sure it’ll be popular. Anyway, I’m mostly taken up right now writing travel and self-help articles for a couple of magazines. It’s all non-fiction and really boring. Not spicy or saucy at all.”
“Travel articles? Don’t you have to actually travel to be able to write those?”
“No,” I groan. “It’s all research. Totally not glamorous at all.”
Leanne grins wickedly at me. She waves her wine glass in her hand rather regally. “Well then. How about writing a non-fiction self-help article for shy people who have secret crushes on their neighbors and spy on them at inappropriate hours while pining away and shoring up those secret sightings for when she does start writing spicy romances again?”
“I have no idea who you’re talking about.”
Leanne raises her glass in the air. “I’ll toast to that, bish. And to you. For being the best bish ever.”
And so, our girl’s night truly begins. That’s my cue to start up a sappy chick flick, kick back, and enjoy the wine and the chips and dip I’m about to break out so we can both binge guiltily on them before we spend a few more hours rehashing all the highlights and dramas of our week.
I can’t think of a better way to spend a Friday night.
CHAPTER 2
Wade
Good lord, the suburbs are another version of a nightmare. It’s beyond me why anyone would want to live here in this boxy bullshit where no one can mind their own business for more than five minutes. Not that anyone here bothers me. In fact, people are actually unfriendly now that I’ve given the fuck-off and leave me alone to die in peace vibe. All it took were a few well-timed scowls, and the fact that I don’t go out during the day, to send the message that I’m not here to chat about kids, dogs, or my day job. I haven’t received any invites to watch the big game, have a few beers, or do some backyard barbequing because I haven’t given anyone the chance to actually talk to me.
All this because I inherited some money from a grandfather who I never actually knew.
Okay, so I met him once when I was five. I barely remember it. My parents weren’t on good terms with the guy. He was well known in our household, at least by my father, as that old, stinking, pain in the ass geezer. My mom was a lot nicer about her father-in-law. The worst thing I ever heard her say about him was that visiting him over in Canada all those years ago was less fun than having hemorrhoids.
Turns out the old, stinking, pain in my father’s ass, less fun than hemorrhoids geezer was actually really freaking rich. My parents had no idea. But they wouldn’t have sucked up to him even if they did. They aren’t like that. The guy invented some serious software, which none of us knew about, and sold it a few years ago for a fortune. He then successfully reinvested that money. Since he was indeed rather old, he kicked the bucket a few months ago and left me all of it.
We were all surprised to find out that it amounted to three billion, six million, and eight hundred thousand odd dollars. Yeah. Seriously.
Overnight, I became this freaking sensation that every single news outlet and media hound wanted a piece of. Not just the ones here either. International journalists from all over Europe tracked me down and literally surrounded my apartment building like an apocalypse of crazed, bloodthirsty zombie journalists, all demanding a piece of my flesh.