Page 26 of Trailer Park Billionaire (Distinguished Billionaires #3)

BEN

A lex’s message arrives later that evening.

Listen, I’m not saying it’s a bad idea.

What I’m saying is that this is a terrible idea.

I wanna get caught as much as you do, but this is an opportunity like no other.

I know, I know. 25,000,000 is a lot of zeroes. I had to double-check them when writing this message.

Even without Sienna and Ryker’s help, we’d have the funding we need, and maybe then some.

Yeah, but this wasn’t the plan. It’s risky.

It wasn’t. The original plan was to use my tour guide to scope out the museum, and to get access. Not to have her join us, or to become an integral part of this new plan.

Can we trust her?

Trusting anyone but ourselves would be foolish. However, I do have a good feeling about her.

Oh, yeah? You think she has a good feeling as well? Because earlier she looked like she wanted to set you on fire with her angry stares. And I’d be more than happy to take care of that for her.

That’s not at all what her stares were saying. Hers were a lot more sexually charged than yours could ever be.

You cannot fuck her, Ben. You’ll break her heart, she’ll get pissed, and then she’ll rat us out.

I’m not an idiot, Alex. Nothing is going to happen between us.

Good and I need you to promise me that you’ll tell her as little about what we’re doing as possible. Tell her just enough so we can pull off this heist. Nothing more. Alright? The more she knows, the more we’re in danger.

I promise. Don’t worry.

No, seriously, Ben. I need you to promise me you won’t talk about our other projects

Alex, the last thing I want is to endanger what we’re doing. You have my word. My lips are sealed.

Good, good. On a related note, any chance you’ve got another box under your bed with a chastity cage? Because I’d like you to put one on for the rest of the operation.

Funny.

No! No funny business!

Anyway, for what it’s worth—I do trust her. Not least because I have a feeling she really needs the money.

Yeah, I got that feeling too. Debt?

Not sure.

Someone taking advantage of her? Blackmailing her?

I’m already trying to find out. We need to make sure it won’t become a problem.

Where the hell are you anyway? The RV is still gone.

Out. Will be back tomorrow.

You’re not staying over at her place, are you?

Not at. Just near. Big difference. Maybe I can catch whoever is responsible for her eye.

I’ll look for that box of chastity cages first thing when you’re back.

While Alex is busy thinking of my celibacy, I check for Helena’s well-being first thing in the morning.

Last night, I set up the RV’s motion-activated dashcam to alert me of anyone entering Helena’s building.

It woke me once when a neighbor left for, I assume, work—and once when two opossums fought and possibly made love simultaneously.

So I’m pretty sure Helena is alright when I make my way up to her apartment door at 7:00 AM. We shouldn’t leave too late if we want a decent shot at finding that 500-year-old canvas we need.

I knock on her door once and wait for her to open.

When no one does, I knock again, louder this time.

When my third knock goes unanswered, I start to get concerned.

Did something slip past me? Did I not watch her building as well as I thought I did?

Is there a back entrance that magically appeared overnight?

I knock again, probably waking her neighbors this time.

When Helena still doesn’t open, I pull my lockpicking set from my pocket and let myself in.

Silently—in case there is still someone lurking—I step into the apartment.

Everything is quiet. There’s no sign of a struggle.

Kitchen and bathroom seem untouched, the windows are closed.

No one appears to be in her small living room either, which only leaves her bedroom.

I arm myself with a small statue from one of her shelves and carefully push the bedroom door open.

Behind it, Helena is snoring peacefully.

She’s lying on her belly, one leg hanging out of bed, her arm wrapped around a pillow that supports her head.

Her hair is messy, and there’s a little drool running from her mouth. It’s… adorable.

I pause, still gripping the small statue like a weapon, though the only threat in this room is how obscenely precious Helena looks in her sleep.

I should not be looking at her like this.

I definitely shouldn’t be thinking about her like this.

Like this… masterpiece. She’s the kind of artwork that makes you stop and stare. Soft in all the right places, with a little craquelure around the edges—which only adds to the intrigue.

If she was a painting, she’d be the first thing I’d steal.

But that’s not why I’m here. I shake my head and lower the statue.

Waking her up feels almost like a crime in itself. At the very least, she deserves to wake up gently. Preferably to something pleasant… like breakfast.

I back out of the room, careful not to make a sound. After checking her fridge (which contains mostly instant ramen in its packaging still), I head back to the RV. It’s not much, but I’ve got just enough supplies to whip up something decent. A quick omelette with a filling of assorted vegetables.

A few minutes later, I return to Helena’s apartment, fully committed to the role of a man who just magically appears in her kitchen to make her morning better.

I move quietly, setting up a humble, but flawless, breakfast spread.

The omelette is golden, the orange juice is freshly squeezed, and the coffee smells strong enough to bring a dead man—and hopefully a sleeping beauty—back to life.

I place some napkins on the plates which is when it hits me.

Maybe breaking and entering, and cooking breakfast in someone else’s kitchen isn’t quite the kind gesture it certainly seems to be at first glance.

Especially not for someone who appears to have a history with domestic violence.

She should feel safe in her own home. Yet here I am, standing in it, uninvited. This could go very wrong.

I leave everything as is, quickly step back outside, and shut the door behind me. Then I knock loudly. “Helena? You awake? It’s me, your friendly, perfectly normal breakfast delivery service! Not intruding!”

I wait a beat, then knock again, a little louder this time. “I come bearing omelettes, coffee, and absolutely no evil, ulterior motives! Well, except that we need to leave soon to do some crime.”

Still nothing.

I knock again, worried I am going to wake the entire building before I manage to wake her. “Helena, please open this door before your neighbors call the cops! Also, I was joking about the crime thing.”

I press my ear to the door, hearing something shuffle faintly inside.

“We’re only preparing the crime,” I mutter under my breath, as the sound of movement confirms she’s up.