Page 10 of Misdeeds of a Billionaire

I chuckled. “Not a doctor yet.”

I’d known him for a decade and he’d always been incredibly nice. Billie didn’t particularly care for him, but Marco always went out of his way to be kind. It was a running joke during our high school years that we’d end up dating. We never did though. Neither one of us had any romantic notions. We were just good friends.

“But you have it in the bag.” He smacked my butt playfully. “Your sister is over there.”

I followed his gaze and found my sister, Billie, at the table with all our friends, laughing and drinking like it was their last day on this earth. I shook my head. We were like two opposites, but we got along great. She always had my back, and I always had hers.

“I hear you and Pierre broke up.” Of course the news had traveled fast. Men gossiped as much as women.

“Yeah.” It was best not to elaborate on it.

“Need me to kick his ass?” I shook my head and he smiled. “I told you the two of us were meant for each other.”

I threw my head back and laughed. He’d been joking about this since we were kids. He still tended to use it as a way to make me feel better. I couldn’t see him as anything else but a brotherly figure.

“Are you working all night?” I asked instead of answering. I never wanted to lead a man on—intentionally or not—that I was looking for a relationship with him. Our friendship was more important. When we first moved here after Mom died, he was one of the first people Billie and I met. I was ten, Billie a bit older. Marco was my age. He helped me transition during that time, and we built a lasting friendship.

“Yes. I couldn’t pass it up. Tips are good this week.”

I nodded in understanding. “Of course.”

Marco financially supported his mother and his sister. I didn’t know how he succeeded in not going bankrupt. It wasn’t like our own father was wealthy—certainly not by local standards—but we didn’t have to work two jobs to get by. Billie was able to attend college without needing a job, and I’d gotten into Stanford with a scholarship, Father’s financial help, and a casual job at a coffee shop.

He walked me to the table where our friends were already en route to getting drunk.

“Maddy, you’re here!” my sister screamed at the top of her lungs, jumping to her feet and putting both her arms up in the air. “Our future surgeon who will save the world.”

I shook my head in disbelief. She was halfway to hammered. The two of us loved each other and had each other’s back, but we couldn’t be more different. Billie was the more creative one—all her focus on diamond and fashion designing. I, on the other hand, was into science and medicine. Billie was like our mother; I was like our father.

Turning my attention back to Marco, I leaned over and pecked his cheek. “I’ll see you later.”

The usual gang was already seated around the table and I grinned.

“The life of the party is here,” I announced as I joined the table. “Miss me?”

“Woman, where were you?” My sister’s voice came out a bit slurred, and I made a mental note to order her some water or else she’d feel like shit tomorrow.

“Having dinner with Papa. You were supposed to be there too. Remember?”

She waved her hand, her movements slightly off. “I’ll eat tomorrow. I’m watching my weight for the summer.”

Reaching over, I took her glass and downed it. “If you want to give up calories, give up the alcohol. Not food.”

She pouted her lips. “But—”

“No buts.” I turned my attention to our friends. “How long have you guys been here?”

“Before it opened.” The answer came from Desiré, my sister’s best friend. Although I had a feeling once Billie learned of her role in my breakup, the two wouldn’t remain such good friends. She and Desiré had been close for many years. The latter had just been dumb enough to fall for Pierre’s cheating ass and his charm. She seduced him and got what she wanted, but so did Pierre. But I wouldn’t be the one to tell my sister that. I had no doubt that Desiré would eventually slip and tell Billie herself. I just hoped it’d be once I was back at Stanford.

Billie and Desiré were the same age and went to the same college for fashion. Heck, they even had the same hair color. Desiré’s long legs and stunning complexion made her the perfect candidate for modeling. Yet, the only thing she managed to accomplish was snatching other women’s boyfriends.

Like Pierre, my ex, for example. Not that I was bitter or anything. We broke up three months ago, after giving long-distance dating a try. It didn’t work out. Of course, it would have been better if we’d broken up before she jumped his bones, but no, Desiré took advantage of the slightly open window and slithered her way right in.

“We are lit,” Tristan drawled. “Best spring break ever. I loooove France.”

“France seems to love you too,” I remarked, smiling. He had his arms around two women wearing nothing but swimsuits. And here I was worried about being underdressed for the club.

Tristan and I were in our first year at Stanford and had become good friends. He was my study buddy. We pushed each other when we were too tired or tempted to skip a night of studies.