Page 2 of Trailer Park Billionaire (Distinguished Billionaires #3)

“Ah, you’re wondering what Chi Chi is,” I string her along as payback.

“It’s a staple comfort food made by incarcerated people using ingredients purchased from the commissary or smuggled in.

The base is usually ramen noodles, and then you add whatever you can get your hands on.

Chips, cheese curls, jerky, peanut butter, candy, all mixed together and heated with, usually, improvised tools.

” I wait another moment before putting her out of her misery.

“And no, he is not a murderer. He got booked for some run-of-the-mill fraud.”

She sighs with relief, processing the information. “Oh, well, fraud is fine, I guess.”

I shrug. “So is murder… depending on the victim.”

To inform me of her disapproval, Elaine elbows my side. I groan in response and continue eating, hoping that her thirst for information is quenched for now and we can?—

“How is he doing, anyway?” She smothers the glint of hope I had and motions to the jacket I’m wearing. “He painted that, didn’t he?”

I nod and turn to the side to give her a better view. “It’s an original Edward Frame.”

She reads the text on it out loud, “Catch Me If You Can.” Her fingers trace the outline of the plane underneath it.

“Just Kidding, Please Don’t.” Elaine laughs.

“That was definitely custom-made for you. He’s very talented.

It certainly runs in the family. Are you guys doing your annual birthday mug shot paintings as well? ”

I try to ignore her compliment. “As is tradition, of course. And, yeah, he’s doing reasonably okay, I guess.

” Another bite of my sandwich almost gets stuck in my throat.

I cough and take a sip from a water bottle that Elaine produces from her purse.

“Of course, his poor hearing doesn’t help.

Or the bad hip. Or the fatty liver. Or the diabetes.

Or the arthritis that makes it hard for him to hold a paintbrush for longer periods of time.

But on the bright side, things are going great with his girlfriend, Robyn. ”

“Go gramps! I told you moving him into that community would be a good idea. Social connections at that age are absolutely vital.” Elaine pauses and shoots me a meaningful side-eye. “So are physical connections, by the way. And not just at that age.”

“If this is your not-so-subtle segue into convincing me to attend one of those tantra classes, then I’m leaving—and I’m taking the food with me.” I try to get up, but am quickly pulled back down into my seat.

Elaine checks her watch. “It’s not. Don’t worry. If that was my goal, I would have prepared a much more elaborate ruse. I was, however, just about to trick you into taking care of the job I mentioned earlier, but that won’t require nearly as much finesse.”

A low grumble rumbles from my throat as I finish the last of my lunch. “Do I have a choice?”

“Well, technically, I suppose so. But realistically? No. I do sign your paychecks, after all. I think. I’ve never signed any actual paychecks, but that’s a thing people say when they let the power get to their heads, isn’t it?”

My low grumble picks up where it just left off. All I ever really want is to be left alone. To silently do the job that I love—which is restoring old paintings—without having to talk to anyone, without leaving my lab, and without having to worry about those bad decisions coming to find me.

“You know, my schedule’s already packed.

Once I’m done with the painting I’m working on today, I need to start restoring the Merian and the O’Keeffe.

They’re vital for showcasing the range of subjects women artists in the past worked on.

And after that, I won’t have time for much else.

Also, and I feel quite strongly about this, we should put the Renaissance in the west wing and the Baroque in the north wing to show how they influenced one another—followed by the scientific illustrations of Merian, also in the north, to demonstrate the link between art and science.

Then we wrap with the grand finale in the atrium, where the festivities will take place. ”

Elaine gives my words a few seconds of consideration, then finally nods reluctantly. “That would require us to move a lot of things around. Including all those heavy statues.”

“No, it would allow us to move a lot of things around. We could use the occasion to shift the entire collection into one with a little more educational purpose—rather than just displaying works owned by the St. Clairs and all the other moneybags.”

A bunch of the paintings on display at any time are hung to secure more private funding. That way, the wealthy patron’s private collections rise in value from being on display in a famous museum, and we can make sure our staff gets paid.

Elaine nods again, then sighs. “I’m actually working on something, but I can’t promise anything.

It’s not that simple. Those moneybags might pull our funding.

And I can’t have you out of a job. Or myself, for that matter.

I have tantra classes to pay for, after all.

Oh, and, also, speaking of Greek statues—look at that one.

” She nods towards the entrance, lined by a row of sculptures showcasing what is usually referred to as heroic nudity .

Except for one or two, they’re all men, upright and proud, most with a steady gaze and postures suggesting readiness for battle or deep contemplation. “Look at that. Those sculpted arms.”

I’m a little befuddled, unsure which statue she’s referring to (since technically, they’re all sculpted) when I notice someone wandering between them.

He’s wearing a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal the veins beneath.

I release a silent sigh and, against my better judgment, decide to indulge her just this once to get it over with quickly.

“A bit too bulky, wouldn’t you say? He probably rips his shirts just by moving. ”

“And that perfectly chiseled jawline…”

“Jawline? You can’t even really tell with all that stubble on his face,” I interject. “But sure, all of that is probably attractive if you’re into… Greek statues?”

“And he’s at least seven feet,” Elaine marvels with a whisper.

“Which is at least a couple of feet too tall. You’d have to put on giant stilts any time you wanted to practice what you learned in your classes.” I shake my head, mostly out of frustration for getting dragged into this conversation, and reach for the bag of cookies in her purse.

“Well, I might have to, but you could make do with normal-sized stilts.” Elaine laughs.

“No need. I’d just climb him like a tree,” I say and stop for a second to watch my boss’ eyes grow bigger with excitement. “By which I mean—I wouldn’t climb him at all. Because my arms are surprisingly weak, and I’m a little afraid of heights.”

Elaine laughs again. She loves doing this. Meddling. Granted, she never means any harm, but if she isn’t a catalyst for bad decisions, then I don’t know what is. Plus, I really do prefer to keep to myself. Especially when it comes to things as personal as my dating life.

In the distance, the man saunters from one statue to another, inspecting them thoroughly, before imitating the heroic pose of one and chuckling to himself.

“And look at that. There’s certainly nothing Greek statue about that .” Her head motions in the direction that the quiet laugh is coming from.

“You mean his ability to use his diaphragm to display emotions?” He’s unlucky in that way, I think to myself.

“No,” Elaine leans in and whispers, “I’m talking about the bulge in his pants.”

“Oh, Jesus. You did not just say that!” Instinctively, my eyes shoot up to a neon art installation on the ceiling—then, against my better judgment, I look anyway.

“Yeah, see, that’s the only thing that actually makes any sense about him.

He’s carrying an extra pair of socks. Great forward-thinking.

You never know when you might need them in this weather.

By the way, how is that boyfriend of yours?

The one who was talking about getting engaged the last time I saw him? ”

“Yikes, Helena. Low blow. Can’t a woman objectify an attractive man every once in a while? They do it to us all the time.” Elaine shrugs. “Also, we broke up.”

My eyes roll back into my head once and then drift over to the attractive man with his big bulge, who’s now kneeling uncomfortably close to the statue at the end of the row. “Sometimes two wrongs don’t make a right,” I say. “Also, sorry to hear that.”

“Ugh, fine. You’re right, of course. I apologize. Also, don’t worry about it. I broke up with him. It just wasn’t working out.” She tosses our used takeout boxes into a nearby trash can as we get up to finally return to work. “Now, about that job I was going to trick?—”

“Oi!” I cut her off by yelling across the room at the man, whose arm freezes just inches from the statue he is still kneeling in front of.

Where did that come from?

I don’t think I’ve ever used the word ‘Oi’ before in my life.

Slowly, his head swivels toward me, while the rest of him seems to be set in stone.

“Don’t even think about it,” I add, quickly striding past a bed and a hammock. “Touching the art is not encouraged around here.”

“Helena, don’t even think about it, indeed.” I hear my boss hiss behind me as she tries to catch up.

The man still remains frozen midair when I reach him. His eyes are fixed on me, his expression shifting from slightly shocked to… pleasantly surprised?

When he still doesn’t move back from the statue, I smack his hand once.

In response, the jerk just grins, stands, and gives a little bow. “I apologize,” he says with annoying grace as my boss joins us. “I was just wondering why this particular statue was missing her feet.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “Well, why don’t you keep wondering without touching?—”

“Mr. Lyon,” Elaine interrupts, shaking his hand before I can tell him what I think about his foot fetish disrespecting works of art older than his entire bloodline.

“It is such a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Elaine Hyde.

And I see you’ve already met our most dedicated conservator, Helena Beck.

Helena, this is Benedikt Lyon. The job I was talking about earlier. ”

Ah, fuck.

Maybe the statue can scoot over and let me fossilize beside her.

At least he didn’t try to pee on her.

Yet.