“Eight years is one of the better age gaps I’ve heard of. You could always be one of those women who dates an eighty-year-old billionaire on his deathbed,” Poppy says. Bryce snorts a laugh. “Clearly, Poppy has thought of taking that route before. She got lucky and found a thirty-year-old billionaire instead.” “Don’t be jealous, you hag. And don’t talk about me marrying anyone else around Garrison, or he’ll get jealous and have me walking around bow-legged for the next week.” Poppy cuts herself off and smirks. “Okay, on second thought, maybe do bring that up to him.”
