Page 27 of Two Billionaires For Her

“Where’d you pick it up?”

“Just came to the main office of my company.”

“Didtheysay who it was from?”

“Hey man. Pick up and drop off. That’s all I do, OK?”

“Sure.” I close the door in his face.

Back in my kitchen, I toss the manilla envelope on the island’s marble top. It skids across it a little. I stare at it like it might try to harm me.

Thing is, even without knowing what’s in there, I know it can’t be good news. I’m not sure I want to deal with more bullshit tonight.

Yet there it sits. Fucking beckoning to me, like a cheap whore or something.

So I down my glass of wine and pluck the envelope up. I tear it open and yank out what’s inside.

Some sort of file. I glance in the envelope to see if there’s a goddamn note or something. Anything that might tell me who the fuck sent me this shit.

There’s nothing.

I look at the file again. Flip it over. And see that there’s something written on it, in big, black sharpy.

Just one word. Just a name.

“Becky.”