Page 29 of Trailer Park Billionaire (Distinguished Billionaires #3)

HELENA

“ N o way. We have to do this!”

I follow his gaze and see what he has discovered: a tent, dark purple fabric draped over a wooden frame, golden stars painted on the entrance. A sign out front that reads: Madame Clair(voyant) — Seer of Fate, Whisperer of the Unknowable.

My first instinct is to tell him that he’s crazy. My second is that we still haven’t found the canvas.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Ben tries to fight my objections before they can properly form. “You’re thinking: One, we can’t waste time when we have actually important things to take care of. Two, giving money to someone conning people is a terrible investment.”

I nod.

“Three, Ben looks great in those pants he’s wearing today.”

I take a deep breath, but before I can give a snarky remark, Ben’s finger presses gently to my lips.

“And Four, how is it that he’s so good at reading my mind? Maybe he should be Mister Clairvoyant.”

His finger still lingers, while I consider biting it off. Just a little. Nine fingers are plenty.

He continues, “All very reasonable and logical thoughts. But may I offer… a different perspective.” Then his hand slips from my lips to interlock with my hand, and he smoothly guides us toward the tent.

“See, the way I see it—we’re looking for something.

And here is someone who can tell us exactly where to find that something.

Plus,” he whispers into my ear as we near the entrance, “this woman may hold the secrets of the universe in her palm. We’d be fools to just walk away, Panda. ”

“Secrets of the universe? I mean, I don’t doubt she holds the secrets of how to con gullible tourists out of twenty bucks.”

“Exactly!” Ben beams. “I love watching a colleague in action.”

Before I can come up with another reason why we shouldn’t, we’re inside the dimly lit tent.

The air is thick with incense, the scent curling around us like a spell.

Madame Clair sits behind a table draped in deep blue velvet, her hands resting on a crystal ball for dramatic effect.

She peers at us with dark eyes, her presence both theatrical and strangely serious.

“Ah,” she says, smiling slowly. “A pair bound by fate and folly. This will prove interesting.”

Ben pulls a chair out for me to sit, then takes a seat next to me. “Well, we are fond of the folly.” He pauses, rather serious for a second. “And, yes, I suppose fate did bring us together.”

“The cards will reveal much,” she says, shuffling an old, well-worn tarot deck. “Ask what you wish.”

Ben leans in, conspiratorial. “We’re sort of… planning something together.”

“A future,” the Madame says knowingly.

Ben nods. “In a way, I suppose. How will it turn out—our future?”

Madame Clair fans the cards and gestures for one of us to draw. Ben defers to me, and I decide to save my sigh for later so as to not be rude. I place the card in front of her and she flips it over, revealing The Tower.

“Ah,” she says, tilting her head. “A great cataclysm. A crumbling of foundations. The end of something… and, perhaps, the beginning of something new.”

Of course, it’s that card. And of course it brings up my grandpa’s face again. All pain, no peace. It makes me sick to keep feeling like this. I cross my arms and try to keep the derision in check. “What an extremely specific and totally not ominous prediction.”

Madame Clair chuckles. “Mock if you wish, but the cards do not lie. You are both on a path that will change everything. It will bring destruction… but also revelation. And…” She fans the deck toward Ben, who pulls another card, setting it beside The Tower.

The Lovers. “A choice of the heart. A bond tested by fire.”

“That actually all makes perfect sense,” Ben says, far too enthusiastically, then turns back to his colleague. “We’re looking for something. Do you happen to know where we can find it?”

Madame Clair chuckles again. “I do not. But you already do.” She gathers the cards and shuffles them with a crooked grin, her earlier solemnity lifting. “I’d also check Craigslist and eBay. One can find almost anything on there these days.”

Ben laughs and nods his head. “We actually should check there. That was some premium-grade voyance, Madame Clair.”

She points to a laminated menu leaning against a big purple rock. Ben forks over a twenty, and the show is over before it really began.

“You need to be careful tonight,” Madame Clair adds as Ben bids her goodbye and opens the tent flap for me. She lays another card down. “Heed the warning. It is not I who brings it—it is fate. You’ve already set things in motion. But you need to be careful.”

My stomach twists uncomfortably. Not because I believe in this nonsense. I don’t. It’s just… eerie.

“I guess she’s better at your job than I expected,” I admit once we’re far enough away from the tent. The setting sun outside feels too bright after the dim interior. I blink against it.

Ben clears his throat. “Gives you goosebumps, doesn’t it? Look…” He pulls up the sleeves of his shirt to reveal his hair standing up, his blood pumping steadily beneath. “I was a little worried she was about to predict my tragic, but ultimately beautiful, demise. What did you think?”

“That it was a waste of money. I can predict your demise too—not sure I’d call it beautiful though.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can. And yet,” he says, tapping his temple, “I can see you thinking about what she said too.”

“Because she said something that fits literally anyone at any time. It’s what they do.” I cross my arms. “Now where do we find our damn canvas?”

A loud bang behind us makes me jump—right into Ben’s arms. For a second, it sounds like someone knocking down a door.

Ben just looks at me and protectively drapes his arm around my shoulders.

I turn to where the noise came from and see a vendor packing up his stall.

Apparently, it was just him knocking on some wood to take a table apart.

“Whose turn is it?” Ben asks to my confusion. “One of your secrets for one of mine.”

“Uhh,” I try to take a step back, but his arm stays locked around me. “Your turn, I think.”

He doesn’t let go. His eyes have gone serious, locked in on me. He smells intoxicating, dangerous, like scotch with just enough ABV to catch fire. Using his pointer finger and thumb, he angles my chin up to him, then asks, “Who did this to you, Helena?”

I sigh and try to shrug out of his arms, but he just holds me in place.

“This morning, when you heard someone knock on your door, your first instinct was to grab a knife. Just now, a loud knock made you jump like a fugitive hearing sirens. That looks like a trauma response to me. Well, and then you’ve got the actual physical trauma to your eye.

” He slowly releases me, his voice softening.

“I’m sorry I’m not actually rich and powerful.

But I do want to help. And, I assure you, I can if you let me. ”

I don’t answer. Instead, I turn my focus back to the market, scanning the remaining stalls like I’m searching for the canvas—and not hiding behind the task.

Ben, unfortunately, isn’t so easy to ignore.

“You know,” he says, gently tilting my head back toward him again, “I might be a professional liar, but I’m also pretty good at spotting when someone else is faking it.”

“What am I faking?”

“That you’re okay. That you’ve got this handled on your own.” His hand slowly sinks back to his side. “All I’m saying is, you don’t have to pretend with me.”

My fingers tighten around the strap of my bag. The weight of it all—of my grandfather’s death, of his debt, of the past itself, of the uncertain future that may or may not bring destruction—presses against my ribs.

I can handle it on my own.

Because I have to handle it on my own.

There is no one else.

Not anymore.

Ben just watches me with those damned eyes. Right now, they don’t look angry or dangerous. They look like those of a guardian dog that has decided to follow me home and refuses to leave, no matter how many times I try to shoo it away.

“You really want to know?” My voice comes out quieter than I intend, like I’m testing the idea on my tongue first. Instinctively, I touch my eye.

He nods. No jokes, no teasing. Just a simple nod.

I inhale slowly, my eyes drifting to the ravens cawing up in the trees.

“I don’t know who did it,” I say eventually.

“Three guys came to my apartment. They didn’t give me their names or anything.

Just a black eye. Said my grandpa had a debt that I now have to pay back.

” I swallow, the pounding behind my eye suddenly more noticeable.

“One hundred grand. One month. Or else.” I glance up at Ben, whose eyes have now shifted to the angry and dangerous ones.

“I’m not sure what ‘ or else’ means exactly, but it’s probably not a spa treatment,” I try to lighten the mood.

We stand there, the din of the market buzzing around us like static. I brace myself for pity, for some empty reassurance that everything will be fine. Instead, he just tells me to come along. “We’ve got some crime to do,” he says.

Then he slides his hand back onto the small of my back and steers me toward the parking lot.

An hour later, we’re at the location for Plan B. We’ve parked on the other side of the street, a few buildings down. The window of the gallery still isn’t repaired—just a big sheet of plastic covering the front. The other glass panels are lined with newspapers, making it impossible to see inside.

I glance at Ben. Somehow, I can’t shake the feeling that the freaking fortune-teller wasn’t entirely wrong. We do need to be careful tonight.

He just shrugs. “They’ve got what we need. Plus, you made getting in real easy already. Would be a shame not to use your assist.”

“How the fuck?—”

How the fuck does he know I did this?

“You don’t remember?” he asks.

Oh, no.

“Please tell me you taking me home was in fact a dream.”

Ben nods and lightly knocks his fist against my arm. “Definitely. Lots of people dream about going home with me.”

I bury my face in my hands. The half-healed cut in the palm of my hand—the one I’d almost forgotten—suddenly throbs again, like it wants to mock me. “Did we—? No, never mind. I’d remember. Did I do or say anything inappropriate?”