“Lizzieeee!!!”, I squealed through the phone.

“Yes baby”, Lizzie answered. I’m sure she was puzzled.
”Come over”, I said blandly, dropping the call.

About thirty minutes later, Lizzie came in. I was lying on the couch, eating ice cream.
She rushed towards me, looking concerned.
”Are you okay? Ice cream is a code for deception, right?”, she asked, touching my forehead.
”Lizzie-“, I started but she interrupted me.
”Shush! I know you’re hurt and I’m really sorry. I had no idea… I thought he was just gonna see you and offer to give you the job. Mon dieu, quel con!” (My god, what a stupid man!)

“Lizzie”, I laughed. She was getting really worked up over nothing.
”C’est vraiment un imbécile de la pure espèce! Je vais lui dire ce que je pense vraiment de lui!”, she fumed, making me burst into laughter (He’s really a fool of the highest order. I’m going to tell him what I really think of him)
She looked and angrily and said, “It’s not funny, Gisele”

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while she gave me tips on how to seduce a billionaire.
”You should be cla**y but not too much. He

with her, then forced her

doesn’t belong to me”, I replied.
He nodded, looking around thoughtfully.
”Slate”, he said abruptly.
”Huh?”, I asked, confused.
”Slate. I told you to call me Slate”, he repeated with a smirk.
”Oh sorry”, I said, blushing even more. Sometimes I really

didn’t feel like talking about my family at that moment.
”And you’ve lived here all your life?”, he asked, wanting to keep the conversation going, not realizing my current mood.
”No Slate. I moved here with my parents

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one in possession of my file”, I said, jokingly, trying to lighten the mood, but he took my question seriously and was silent until I said, “I was joking”
He let out a huge sigh of relief and we started laughing along with each other. “You should have seen your face sir”, I gasped out in between laughs.
”What did I tell you about calling me sir?”, he asked, smirking.
I grew quiet as I remembered his words. “Are you really going to punish me, Slate?”, I asked, not wanting to admit that

to type in the code and went straight to the garage.
I was left wondering what he meant by that when he led me into the house.
”Welcome to my home. Or as you say in French, bienvenue chez moi.”
”You speak French?” I asked, impressed, raising my eyebrows.
”Je fais de mon mieux”, he replied, making me giggle and clap. He spoke quite well and his French did not have an accent.
He bowed, making me laugh even harder,


”I hope you like

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