Shopping for a Billionaire 4 by Julia Kent Page A

people-powered garbage dude is apologizing profusely. It turns out the trash can popped out of his cart just as I hit the accelerator and it’s actually not my fault.
    Finally. Something’s not my fault.
    I fling my arm repeatedly in varying rotations of horror in an attempt to get the worst of whateverthehell that stuff is on my skin, while Declan gives me a pitying look that makes the white wall of rage come back. If small children didn’t dot the crowd around Jessica and Declan I’d ram the car into them, pinning her in place and shoving the garbage can on that perfect curtain of hair while doing some revenge-type thing of undetermined specificity to Declan.
    “Shannon?” Mom gasps. “Shannon, honey, you’re saying the F-word over and over again and I think we need to get going.”
    BEEP times a thousand plus composted garbage delivered by guys who only eat paleo diets and who think mashed dates in coconut milk are “dessert” is a kind of math problem that makes me shut down. Completely.
    Ignoring the mess, ignoring the honks, and flipping off the car behind me and—did she really?—Jessica and Declan, Mom storms out of her side of the car, pulls me out of the driver’s seat, throws a towel she found in the back seat over the driver’s side, plunks herself down, and waits for me to move all zombie-like into the passenger’s side.
    I’m covered in just enough slime to feel like Carrie, on stage at her prom. There’s a thought. My fingers on the door handle, I stop, the sound of ten thousand horns like Buddhist gongs being struck in unison. Eyes on the building next to Jessica, I will it to crumble and crush her to death. Or a manhole cover to split her in half. An intake vent to suck in her hair and scalp her.
    Thirty seconds of trying and all I get is a cloud of fruit flies in my eye. And when I go to wipe it, I get ganja-scented goo up my nose.
    “Get in the car, Shannon! We have sex toys to visit!”
    I am so done.

Chapter Eight
    Pad Thai brought over to your bedroom by your best friend after a long day of listening to mystery shoppers give excuse after excuse for late field reports is the nectar of the gods.
    Amanda shoves a piece of chicken satay in her mouth and mumbles around the meat. “That’s it? He’s seriously just…done? He dumped you because you pretended to be a lesbian?” We’re reviewing the past week’s events because we’re all still in WTF mode over how my relationship fell apart. 
    “No, he dumped me because he thinks I dated him just to get business deals.” Like that’s so much better.  
    “And because you swing the wrong way.” Amy declares this around a piece of shrimp so big it could choke her.  
    “I don’t swing the wrong way!”
    “There was that girl in college…” Amanda adds, making Amy’s eyes go wide, either from shock or maybe she really is choking. 
    “One kiss! Everyone experiments at least once.” I told Amanda that story in confidence. 
    Amanda and Amy shake their heads no.
    “Seriously?” Now I have to add this to my ever-growing list of Shannon faux pas? 
    “I thought you were a little too good at the credit union,” Amanda says with an arched tone. 
    “C’mon…well, anyhow, I’m not gay and Declan knows I’m not gay. He’s not upset about it. That’s a red herring. Mom keeps thinking it’s why he broke up with me and she’s wrong.”
    “Then…why does he think you were only with him for the accounts?”
    I retell his version of why he thinks that. By the time I’m done, Amy looks horror-stricken and Amanda is patiently picking lint balls off her cotton socks.
    “Oh,” they say in unison.
    “Ouch,” Amanda adds.
    “Yep.” What else can I say? Other than confessing my need to throw myself into a bottomless pit and enjoy the ride forever while thoughts of Declan torment me, there isn’t much more I can explain.
    “And then you saw him with Jessica Coffin at Smith College. Touching,” Amy says. 
    Amanda waves a