Page 13 of Her New Billionaire Bosshole

“That’s the spirit.”

Olivia is quiet for a moment, and I use the opportunity to spit out my toothpaste and rinse my mouth.

“You know, you could mute me when you do that.”

“You never mute me,” I say. “Even when you’re on the toilet.”

“Whatever. So, you lost the game. Does that mean fancy pants gets to have his way with you?”

I’m alone in my bathroom, and it’s pitch black in here, and still my cheeks heat. “Olivia?—”

“Oh myGod. You’re totally blushing, aren’t you?”

“Shut up. No, it does not mean that. It means he’s going to totally ruin the team. Ruin everything — didn’t I tell you he wants tofireMolly?”

“You know I don’t agree with firing Molly.” Olivia is quiet for a moment, then says, quickly and quietly, “But maybe it’s not a bad idea to bring another trainer on.”

“Traitor.”

“I’m not a traitor! I just think that when a hottie billionaire comes and takes over your place of work, you should take fulladvantage of that. In more ways than one!”

“He’s not that good-looking.”

Olivia sucks in an offended breath. “Are we looking at the same man? Are all the images and videos of him onlinedoctored?Are we not talking about the way-over-six-foot, built snack with the dark hair and bedroom eyes?”

My entire body is burning up now, my skin weirdly prickling. I run my hands over my arms and try to shake the feeling away.

“Oh myGod, Olivia. Please. You are practically talking about my boss right now.”

“He’s not your boss. I looked it up online to make sure it would be ethical if you went for it, and just?—”

I pause with my leggings pulled halfway up my legs, the phone pinched between my shoulder and cheek.

“Olivia. This guy is a grade-Ajerk, okay? Even if I was physically attracted to him — which I’m not — there’s no way I could get over his huge ego. He’d probably just stare at himself in the mirror the whole time, anyway?—”

“So, youhavethought about it.”

“You’re insufferable. I’m going to hang up.”

“You can’t hang up until I know you’re doing the thing!”

I freeze, the idea of it pricking at the back of my neck. That’s the purpose of this call — why Olivia calls me on Sunday mornings. Because Sunday mornings are the days that I suck it up and get over myself.

They’re the days that I kick a soccer ball around. On Sunday mornings, I follow my therapist’s advice and reconnect with my sport physically. I do the thing I was doing the day I got hurt.

I open the closet door slowly, so Olivia can hear the squeaks. When I pick up the soccer ball, it’s practically burning through my hands. As if in response to it, the thought that I might actually kick it around myself, my hip twinges painfully.

Sucking in a breath, I say, “Got it. I’m doing the thing, Ol.”

“So proud of you!” she chirps, and I hear the definite sound of iced coffee moving through her straw. My sister isactuallydoing the thing, having moved across the country and going after her dream. “First, a little soccer ball action, then someotherballs?—”

“I’m hanging up now.”

I hang up, then call her back, and she’s laughing.

“That’s my move,” she says, then, “Love you, Soph.”

“You too,” I say, doing everything I can to keep my voice light.