Breaking the Billionaire's Rules

by Annika Martin

Sienna even has an amazing talent for posing. It helps that she has a really long, willowy body and long limbs, so when she leans against a wall, it’s willowy girl leaning cool, whereas when I do it with my considerably shorter and less willowy limbs, it just looks like pasta-fed girl of sturdy Italian stock is sooo weary. Pasta-fed girl needs to work on cardio. Pasta-fed girl shouldn’t have gotten bangs, but she’s doing the best she can, so give her a break already. Sienna is eyeing my sparkly boots. “What’s up with the boots?” “Nothing. Just…” I decide it’s now or never. I pull off my hat and take off my coat and shove the stuff in the back of the truck. And then I turn and try to look natural. Sienna is staring at my uniform with a stunned look. Utterly stunned. Let’s just say here that you wouldn’t call it stunned admiration. She devotes extra staring time to my sequined ears, her pretty features twisted into horrified yet delighted confusion. “You lose a bet or something?” I’m about to explain the whole thing, but then I decide not to. An actress commits to a part. “No, I’ve decided that I’m the queen of delivery cats.” Sienna adds a lip twist. “Are you trying to be funny?” “Do I look like I’m trying to be funny? Do you see the work that went into this? I’m the queen of the delivery cats.” “What? You just…decided that?” she asks. “That’s right,” I say, trying to keep the uncertainty out of my voice. “I decided it.” She gapes at me a bit longer.