Breaking the Billionaire’s Rules Read online

  “That’ll be all, Mia.”

  The breath goes out of me. That’ll be all. As though I’m a ridiculous creature, scrabbling at his feet.

  My hands grab onto my cart handle, seemingly of their own will. It’s like my hands are saying, let’s get out of here! And my feet agree. Go, go, goooo! They’re moving, ferrying me away with whatever shreds of dignity I have left. Somehow I get my servile cart out through the door. I push it down the hallway and all the way down to the elevator. Into the elevator.

  I don’t remember getting down to the street, but eventually I’m there, grateful for the bracing winter breeze.

  One thought and one thought only races through my mind: never again.

  I can never go back there again. They can fire me, take my apartment, strip me of my insurance. They can send me back to south Jersey to run-down Sadler with its bars and sad little Dollar Store and boarded-up movie theater.

  And my mom will be so sweet to me. She’ll totally understand, because that’s the Corelli family curse. Chase your goals and get knocked flat. My folks started so many crazy businesses when my brother and I were coming up, but they’re playing it safe now, working at the Foot Locker at the mall. “The higher you shoot, the harder you fall,” Dad warned me when I took off.

  I walk down the block, trying to keep a spring in my step in case he’s watching. And then I go around the corner and cry.

  4

  Remember, you’re the alpha. You’re the pursued. Let your reality be stronger than hers.

  ~THE MAX HILTON PLAYBOOK: TEN GOLDEN RULES FOR LANDING THE HOTTEST GIRL IN THE ROOM

  * * *

  MIA

  Kelsey, Antonio, and Jada are waiting for me when I get back home, along with a redhead who rises from the couch with the poise of a dancer. She rushes up and shakes my hand before I can even take off my coat.

  “I want you to know that I dated a guy off that capricious-god-escalation move,” she says with confidential urgency. “And I found half the things he ever told me in the back of that book. I kept giving him chances because of those stories and it was all Max Hilton material!”

  “Oh, no,” I say.

  “This is Francine,” Kelsey calls from the couch, dimples on full flare. “Francine is in.”

  Francine says, “I’m putting a hundred toward buying your heels because you are so amazing for doing this, and here’s another hundred from my sister, who fell for half the lines in there. Kelsey told us to read that book, and we’ve been freaking out.”

  “Thank you,” I say, “but I don’t know…this whole thing...” I give Kelsey a desperate look.

  “Are you gonna have him on his grovelly knees soon?” Jada asks excitedly, not picking up on my distress.

  Kelsey gets it, though. She’s on her feet. “What?”

  “It was harder than I thought it would be,” I say. “It might be a little ambitious, thinking I’m going to put Max Hilton on his knees. After today, I’d settle for retaining a shred of dignity. It could not have been more demeaning.”

  “Demeaning the woman who inspires my dreams?” Antonio growls from the couch. “Perhaps my character needs to teach this man a lesson he won’t forget.”

  “Don’t,” I say, not sure whether I want to laugh or cry. “It’s not funny.”

  Kelsey wraps me in a big long hug. “You got this.” She gives me one final squeeze, then lets me go. “You got it.”

  “Yeah, I don’t know,” I say.

  “What happened?”

  I peel off my coat and sink into the couch next to Antonio, who’s studying his phone now. “It was just the worst experience of my life.”

  “So, you wore the ears?” Jada asks softly. “Did he notice?”

  “Hard to say. Max is a man with a carefully curated surface. I know in his pictures he looks all natural and warm and friendly with his enchanting smile, but he’s a cold, calculating metal robot. He gives you nothing. Though he did try to act like he was surprised that I was there, and then he got off on ordering me around. It was just…uhhh.” I tell them about the chips array thing.

  “I would die,” Francine says unhelpfully.

  “I wanted to,” I say.

  Jada scowls. The silver glitter headband that holds back her thick blonde hair seems almost to sparkle in sympathetic anger. “Why is he such an asshole to you?”

  “Because we’re natural enemies in the wild. Why is the lion an asshole to the antelope?”

  “I think that’s a negative way of framing it,” Kelsey says. “It positions you as the prey of the lion. You’re more like the giraffe.”

  “A lion can take down a giraffe,” I say.

  “Hyena?” Jada offers. “The lion can rarely get the best of a hyena. You’re the hyena.”

  “The hyena. Thank you, Jada. Why not a plague of locusts? Or a noxious cloud?”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Kidding,” I say. Kind of.

  “Anyway, I’m a long way to bringing him to his grovelly knees. It’s not just about his heartless power. There’s a massive flock of supermodels that will be keeping him from sinking to his grovelly knees for me. With gossamer threads. Lifting him up.”

  “Max Hilton girls,” Kelsey groans.

  Antonio looks up from his phone. As a male member of the species, it’s his duty to perk up whenever Max Hilton girls are mentioned. “You don’t think those girls all actually…”

  “Fuck him? No way, it’s just publicity,” Jada says. “Socialites and models and designers use him for his name. And he’s using them for the Max Hilton illusion.”

  I study her. She’s quite the Max Hilton expert. “Yeah, they’d flee like rats if he went out in sweatpants with socks under sandals.”

  Kelsey snorts.

  “Give them a break. The Max Hilton girls are sweet,” Antonio says. “They’re very attractive and clever too. On Instagram…”

  “Uhhh.” Kelsey tosses a cork from our cork bowl at him. And then another and another.

  Kelsey tosses more corks. I grab a handful and completely nail him.

  Antonio’s cringing, laughing. “What?!”

  “It’s PR, Antonio,” Kelsey says. “That’s not who they are.”

  I’m feeling better. Slightly. Antonio watches Kelsey out the side of his eyes. Did he say that to get a rise out of her?

  “It was only your first day working his own rules on him,” Kelsey says. “Do we need to get out the Hilton Playbook and read what it says about perseverance?”

  I snort. “No.”

  “What does it say?” Francine asks.

  “To not get discouraged,” Kelsey says. “Hold your head up high and keep moving forward. You can do anything.”

  “As long as you have Max Hilton telling you what to do,” Francine grumbles.

  “It’s a good system,” Antonio says, gazing over at Kelsey, who’s all dimples back at him.

  Antonio and Kelsey. Is it possible?

  “You have to deliver sandwiches to him either way,” Jada points out. “You may as well check off all of the boxes. Worst-case scenario, we buy you those shoes. Best-case scenario, he’s on his knees and you are wearing them as you crush him.”

  “You can do it!” Kelsey grabs a marker off the side table and holds it out to me. “Put an X in that box! You nailed that rule. One golden move down, nine to go.”

  I just stare at the marker.

  “And you’re fighting for us,” Francine says. “For all of us who went home with a clever, exciting guy and woke up with a loser. You’re our hero. You’re showing Max what it’s like for somebody to do a system on him. Please don’t quit.”

  “Pleeeeease,” Jada says.

  Something swells in my chest. They’re counting on me.

  We used to play this nerdy guessing game in acting class where you had to pantomime things in a really specific way—like you’d pantomime washing the dishes smugly or charmingly or happily or wonderingly or whatever, and the others would have to guess the adjecti
ve you were going for. It’s a fun game—if you’re an actor—and great for building nuance.

  So I’m looking at my girlfriends, old and new. And yeah, maybe I’m fighting a losing battle, but I’m fighting for them, and that means something.

  I grab the marker and march over to the chart swashbucklingly. I slash out an X resolutely, and spin around. Boldly I jam my fists onto my hips. I’m fighting for my friends. I’m fighting for all women. I’m Joan of Arc in kitten ears. “One golden rule down, nine to go, bitches!”

  Francine hoots, and Jada claps. Kelsey’s hands are clasped. Antonio looks on smolderingly, a five on the Blue Steel scale.

  The other nine rules won’t be so easy, but I’m acting as if, and that’s important. Acting as if is the key to a lot in life. Acting as if you’re successful invites success. Acting as if things are sexy with a guy makes things sexier. Like if you act like a kiss is super sexy, then it is super sexy. Or at least that’s what I think. Lizzie disagrees. But she’s a baker, what does she know about the magic of acting as if?

  “What rule are you doing tomorrow?” Kelsey asks.

  I eye the chart. “Reverse-chasing is next.”

  “Reverse-chasing?” Francine asks

  Kelsey raises her hand. “Oh, I know all about reverse-chasing.” There’s a murderous look in her eye. “Reverse-chasing is where you act like the woman you want to pick up is after you, even though she totally is not. And you’re all like, get away! Even though she’s not at all after you, but you act like you think she is, and it intrigues her. Falsely. That’s how my cheating ex kicked things off. If only I’d known.”

  Francine shakes her head disgustedly in solidarity with Kelsey, then she turns to me. “So you’re gonna do it right back at him. What are you gonna say?”

  “I don’t have it worked out. But I have some ideas. I want it to feel spontaneous.”

  “Mia can improv like a boss,” Kelsey says. “Mia’ll reverse-chase his ass so hard, he won’t know what hit him.”

  “Do not forget prize-baiting.” Antonio puts away his phone. “Where you position yourself as a prize. A sought-after partner, desired by others.” He smiles, all smoldery man-mystery. “I’ve been working on my backstory, cara.”

  “You have?” I try to act like that’s good news, and not the worst news ever. If there’s one thing you don’t want, it’s Antonio working on his backstory.

  “And when I dress in Hugo Boss?” He kisses his fingers. “With this backstory I’m creating?”

  “You in a suit, that’s probably all we need, right there,” I say.

  “But to add this backstory,” he says.

  “We’ll see. I did see Max cross the street from afar, going between his two buildings, before the last delivery. Around eleven. So we could set it up so he sees you talking with me out there, but you wouldn’t have to interact with him.”

  “You saw him before the delivery?” Kelsey asks.

  “Just from afar. I was pretty sure it was him. Max’s company owns this rehabbed workshop space across the street from Maximillion Plaza. If he goes back and forth often at that time, I could get the driver to park at a spot where Antonio would be visibly admiring me.”

  Antonio rubs his hands. “I will be such a suitor. He will see my passion.”

  “My plan is that you just smile at me a lot and laugh at whatever I say. It doesn’t have to be over the top.”

  “He would see my desperation for you.”

  “Just passion is good,” I say.

  “No, it’s desperation.” Antonio puts on a dark expression. Scarface meets Blue Steel on steroids. “I grew up poor in the streets. My father rejected me. My mother was cruel but beautiful. So poor were we that they sold me to a brothel when I was but a boy. I was forced to sell myself in the alleyways of Milano.”

  “Double Dark Chocolate Milano is my favorite cookie,” I say, trying to lighten the mood.

  “Milano is not a cookie,” Antonio growls. “It’s a city.”

  “Sorry, Antonio…” Jada winces. “In America it kind of is a cookie.”

  “If you knew the underbelly of Milano as I did,” Antonio says, “you would not think it.”

  “The underbelly of Milano,” I say. “Is that near the hardscrabble alley behind the Keebler Elves’ Factory?” I ask.

  Jada raises a finger. “I believe it’s located east of the Pepperidge Farms killing fields.”

  “Stop it, you guys! Let Antonio tell his backstory.” Kelsey turns to Antonio. “Ignore them, Antonio. Please go on.”

  Antonio fixes her with Scarface meets Blue Steel. “I grew up fighting hoodlums. The fist, the blade. What did I care? What did ever I see of life?”

  I suck in a breath. “Too many productions of West Side Story, maybe?”

  He gives me a dark look.

  “Dude, I’m just saying you should save this backstory for a real role where you have lines and things,” I say.

  Antonio’s unperturbed. “So many shameful acts I did until I hit rock bottom, so desperate was I for a kind word from my mother.”

  “Your mother?” Jada squeaks. “Are you going Jerry Springer on us?”

  Kelsey scowls at Jada. “Come on, you guys!”

  “Italian men prize the love of their mothers,” Antonio says. “It is a pure and good thing.” He turns to me. “Then, at my lowest, lying in the gutter, I see your Yummies ad.”

  “Oh my god, Antonio, no,” I laugh. I actually was in a Yummies caramel-pops commercial that got made into a print ad. “I don’t think they have Yummies in Milano.”

  “They don’t have Yummies there because all the people are eating Milanos,” Jada says.

  Antonio waves her off and continues with his backstory, which involves him lying injured in a pool of blood—the blood of his rival, he clarifies—and then an American tourist comes by and casts a magazine down onto his face in disgust, and when he regains consciousness, he sees my ad. “It is your beauty and talent that inspired me to clean myself up and climb from the gutter and come to America. To seek you out. You are the light of my life.”

  “Umm…that’s an amazing backstory, Antonio,” I say. “Not that you’ll be able to use it. But I guess there’s no harm in having that on your mind as you appear to admire me when Max walks by.”

  The operative phrase there being on his mind, as opposed to leaving his mouth. No way do I want him saying crazy things to Max.

  “Will we kiss? We could make a signal,” he says. “I remember every one of your expert stage kissing pointers.”

  I smile. I taught Antonio the art of the stage kiss, where the man puts his fingers behind the woman’s ear and his thumb over her lips, and then he leans in and kisses his own thumb. Antonio’s a very dramatic kisser of his own thumb, needless to say. But then, I’m a dramatic kisser, too.

  I sometimes apply my stage-kissing expertise to real life, pouring on the big drama. I find that big, emo kisses make things seem sexier. Unfortunately, the few long-term relationships I’ve been in have felt way more convenient than passionate.

  “We won’t need a stage kiss,” I tell him. “Your character sounds protective and macho. Maybe he prefers his woman to appear modest. I doubt he’d wanna go all PDA.”

  “Unless he feels his woman is being ogled,” he rumbles. “Then he would want to claim her publicly.”

  “Yeah, but what if she gets carried away and messes up his hair?” A threat. He hates when you touch his hair.

  “She must not do that,” he growls.

  I snort. “Well, it luckily won’t come to that. It would just be you looking adoringly at me.”

  If and when the time comes. Which is looking less likely with every new twist in his backstory.

  5

  Nice guys wind up in the friend zone.

  ~THE MAX HILTON PLAYBOOK: TEN GOLDEN RULES FOR LANDING THE HOTTEST GIRL IN THE ROOM

  * * *

  MIA

  Sienna is down at the rendezvous point when I arrive. She is sitting tod
ay, draped elegantly over a bus bench, arms splayed to either side. You can almost hear the lush electronica playing in the background.

  She looks me up and down, from my shiny silver boots sticking out under my wool overcoat to my sequined cat ears. “Again? Seriously?”

  I put on a Cheshire cat smile, and do a little shimmy-dance right up to her, in time with music blaring out of somebody’s car.

  She sits up. “Seriously? How much did it raise your tips?”

  “Does it matter?” I tease. “Sienna, only one cat can be alpha queen.”

  “Cats don’t have alphas,” she says. “They’re not pack animals.”

  I hold up four fingers.

  “Four percent better?” she asks.

  I smile even more widely, shaking my head.

  “Forty?!?”

  “Forty.” And that’s not counting Max’s great tip. Far more than the cost of his meal.

  “Are you messing with me?”

  I shake my head. “Not messing with you.”

  She narrows her eyes. “It could’ve been the shock of the new outfit.”

  “Possibly.”

  She studies my getup. “Lemme know if the tips stay good. If this thing holds, I’m doing alpha-queen cat, too.”

  “I’ll let you know,” I say.

  And I will. Sienna’s not the nicest, but we all deserve more money.

  I do my route, taking my pair of financial industries buildings first, because those guys are all at work at five in the morning, so lunch for them is around ten. I head to the next building, a mammoth office complex. I check my tips between buildings, and they are definitely staying high. In fact, the more expressively I do my meow, the higher they go. I’ll definitely let Sienna in on that.

  It’s half past twelve by the time I hit Maximillion Plaza. I deliver up, and before I know it, I’m on the twenty-fifth floor. I walk down past the glorious receptionists and continue on down the glorious hall and knock. “Meow Squad,” I say.

  “Come.” Because he can’t be bothered to say come in.