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I nodded. “I know.”
“You also might be struck by lightning,” Bea added. “Does that stop you from using an umbrella in the rain?”
“Well, now I might.” I had to laugh. “Thank you for putting things in perspective. Both of you.”
Shira reached over and squeezed my hand. “It’s okay to be scared. It’s what you do when you’re afraid that matters—and look at you. Moving on right alongside everything that scares you. It’s there, but you’re not letting it stop you. Take it from a woman who hides from her own shadow; you’re doing great.”
“Don’t talk about my friend that way,” I admonished gently.
She shrugged, giving me a small smile. “I think I’ll get sky blue on my toes today.”
“Nice choice, Shir.” Bea fluffed her blue hair. “And brilliant change of subject, no segue or anything.”
Shira shook her nail polish. “Pretty, right?”
I laughed. Shira was very shy, but if you paid attention, her personality shone, and she was terribly funny in her own low-key style. Not enough people gave her a chance, and it was a damn shame.
“Lovely,” I agreed. “I’m going blue too.”
Bea pointed to us both. “One time, friends. I’ll allow it once, so long as you remember blue is mine.”
“Sure, Beatrice,” I agreed. “Have you run into your billionaire lately?”
“You mean besides you?” she drawled.
“Obviously.”
She studied her nails. “There was an incident last week with a corkscrew.”
Shira hissed. “Did you stab him?”
“No. He was in one piece as far as I could tell. His car, on the other hand…” She flicked her fingers. “I was walking Benjamin in the park”—her gray Staffy who was more hippo than dog—“and we came across some boys attempting to open a juice box with a corkscrew.”
“As one does,” Shira murmured.
“Mmhmm. If they’d been teenagers, I wouldn’t have intervened. Because, let’s be honest, most teen boys deserve a little humbling via bloodletting. But these boys couldn’t have been older than ten. So, I helped them, properly stabbing the juice, then confiscated the corkscrew.”
“I bet they loved that,” I said.
“Oh, they did.” Bea smirked. “But since I was saving their lives, I decided to commit to the act and tossed the corkscrew into a trash can on my way out of the park.”
“And then…?” Shira raised her brows expectantly. None of Bea’s stories ended so merrily when it involved her mysterious billionaire.
“Then the corkscrew ricocheted off the inside of the trash can and flew into the road, piercing the tire of a limo idling at the curb,” she deadpanned.
Shira gasped. “Was it his?”
She nodded. “His driver got out to inspect the damage. I didn’t stick around for his assessment.”
I snorted. “Well, he is worth billions. Surely he can afford a new tire.”
She pointed to me. “Exactly my line of thinking.”
“Wait—you recognized the driver?” Shira asked, incredulous since Bea hadn’t actually seen the billionaire from the front.
“Of course. We’re old friends. Formally met six or seven months ago, after a guy on a bike told me I was dazzling then crashed into a woman carrying a tray of coffees. They went flying through the air and landed on the windshield of the limo waiting at the traffic light.” Her nonchalance was truly a thing of beauty. “The driver’s name is Igor, by the way.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You never told me this story.”
