Page 53 of Trailer Park Billionaire

Did he see me sleep?

“You know how to pick locks?” I ask, the doorknob still in my other hand.

“Not the important thing here. The important thing is that you’re okay. And that I’m here to make sure you’re more than okay. Which is why I made you breakfast.” He looks past me and nods toward the kitchen, then gently turns me around and leads us both inside, closing the door behind us.

What am I wearing right now?

I look down on myself.

Not so bad. Short shorts. He can probably see half my ass right now. I do have a pretty good ass. Cute tank top. And, yep—my nipples are definitely poking through it. Oh, well.

The kitchen, which was previously a barren wasteland of instant noodles, leftover lasagna, and casserole, now smells like coffee and omelette. There’s an actual breakfast spread on my tiny table.

I look back at him. “How did?—?”

“Magic,” he says. “And, you know, breaking and entering. But with good intentions.”

I narrow my eyes, but my stomach betrays me once again by growling.

Didn’t I just feed you last night?

“See?” He smiles brightly. “Your body understands me.”

My nipples seem to agree.

“Now sit. Eat. And then we hunt for ancient canvas.”

I may be used to getting up early in the morning, but I’ve never actually been a morning person. Especially not on weekends. That’s when I catch up on sleep. Judging by Ben’s bright smile, he is a morning person. Usually, that would annoy me, but for whatever reason I don’t really mind with him. I was almost happy when I saw him in his RV last night. Of course, I know it’s unlikely they’ll come back immediately or demand the money sooner, but it was comforting knowing he was out there just in case.

He slides an omelette on my plate and eagerly waits for me to try. So I pick up my fork and keep it lingering in front of my (now totally drool-free) mouth, watching him grow more and more impatient.

“You’re very invested in me eating this,” I discern.

“Of course I am.” Ben leans his chin on his hands, elbows propped on the table, watching me like a hawk. “It’s the most important meal of the day. And almost definitely not poisoned.” His eyes go wide.

I hate that he’s funny.

He should at least be a little uglier to even it out.

I stop teasing and take a bite. It’s… really good. Fluffy, soft, just the right amount of savoriness.

“Hm.” I chew slowly, making a show of evaluating his food.

Ben just nods.

I swallow. “It’s edible.”

Ben’s head smoothly shifts to shaking instead of nodding.

I sigh. “Fine, if it’s poisoned, I don’t even mind because it’s really delicious.”

His whole face lights up like he just won a Michelin star, then he grabs his fork and digs in too, looking far too pleased with himself. “Well, it’s like I always say. Crime is great and all, but breakfast is where my true talents shine.”

“Speaking of which,” I sip my coffee, watching him. “You said something about crime earlier?” A warmth spreads in my chest that I don’t think can be attributed to the hot liquid. On cue, the knot in my gut punches upward. I shouldn’t feelwarmthright now. It’s wrong to even entertain emotions like this when my grandpa, my only remaining relative, just died. I should be heartbroken. That’s all I should feel. All I’m allowed to feel.

That, and a sense of impending doom if we don’t manage to pull off this heist. So that’s what I decide to focus on: the heist. Nothing but the heist.

“Right,” Ben says after swallowing. He checks his watch. “Crime time. We should leave soon. The earlier we get there, the better.”