Page 35 of The Billionaire's Angel

“That's perfect, thank you,” she said. I looked at her lap to see a single drinking straw balanced on her knees. Amelia’s blue eyes sparkled as she crushed the square of paper into a ball, popped it into her mouth to get it wet, and then picked up thestraw.

Oh,no.

Chapter Fourteen

Sophie

“Amelia Winters,you put that down right now,” Ihissed.

“Put what down?” she asked, sounding so innocent I almost wanted to believe her despite the straw she held in her hand and the spitball she was carefully plugging into oneend.

“What? Are you in second grade? This is a low point, even for you,” I said, exasperated. What was I supposed to do with a seventy-eight-year-old woman who thought spitballs werefunny?

“You've vetoed everything I've come up with in the past week,” Amelia said, annoyed. She turned the straw in her fingers making sure the spitball filled the end, not leaving any gaps for air toescape.

“You know why I vetoed them,” I whispered. I didn't want Gage to hear our conversation since he'd been the reason I shot down Amelia's pranks. Remembering what he'd said the night we met, I refused to let her tape an airhorn to Aiden's desk chair. Ditto for attaching one to the back of the door. Random air horns going off in the house were the last thing Gageneeded.

I'd also refused to sprinkle sprout seeds in Aiden's keyboard, on the grounds it would likely get me fired, and had said I absolutely would not put a square of bullion in Mrs. W’s shower head so she'd end up bathing in chicken soup. That was just mean. Andgross.

“You're no fun,” Amelia said, lifting thestraw.

“I know,” I said. I wasn't fun. I'd never been the fun type. If you wanted someone to help you with your homework or show up on time to get you at the airport, that was me. I was reliable and loyal, and honest, and I worked hard. But I'd never been particularlyfun.

I wasn't sure I knewhowto be fun. As that depressing thought drifted through my mind, Amelia put the straw to her mouth and blew. Her spitball struck directly between my eyes. Of course, Amelia would have excellent aim withspitballs.

The spitball fell to my lap where I retrieved it and dropped it on the coffee table. I didn't bother to pretend to be annoyed. I wasn't mad; I was resigned. Anyway, I adored Amelia, spitballs andall.

“If you apologize for that, I'll tear more pieces of paper for you. But only if you promise not to aim them atme.”

“Deal. And I'm sorry,” Amelia said, sounding genuinely contrite. I knew her toowell.

“No you're not, but I appreciate theeffort.”

I set aside my birdseed project and quickly tore a sheet of notepaper into a stack of one-inch squares. Handing them to Amelia, I scooted toward the other end of the couch, picking up my box of birdseed supplies and placing it betweenus.

When she got caught, I wanted plausibledeniability.

Of all the things Amelia had proposed in the last week, spitballs were the most harmless. If I didn’t let her get this out of her system, she’d stop asking for my help, and then who knew what she’d get up to? I couldn’t forget the story I’d heard about a prank involving a candle, a set of curtains, and a fire in the livingroom.

I was just going to sit on the other side of the couch, work on my wedding project, and pretend I didn't see anything else in theroom.

I had to stifle a giggle when a spitball hit Gage's shoulder, and he looked up, his gaze flicking around the room to spot whatever had interrupted his focus. Amelia was the picture of innocence, pretending to read a magazine, using the pages to hide her straw and squares ofpaper.

Watching her from the corner of my eye, I had to admire her methods. Amelia was sneaky. If I hadn’t already known what she was doing, I never would've noticed her hand going so often to her mouth and would've thought she was straightening her glasses, or tucking her hair behind herear.

She was a master of deception, which was a little scary. But I already knew that. After six months she was still finding new places in her room to hidecookies.

A wet paper missile winged Gage's ear, and he looked up again, his eyes going from me to Amelia, then back to me. One dark brow lifted in question. I gave a quick shake of my head and forced my attention back to my lap and the bundle of birdseed I was tyingclosed.

I did my best to look innocent, but I already knew Gage didn't buy it. I was a terrible liar, and he'd been trained to readpeople.

Amelia waited a few minutes before her next attack, probably hoping Gage's attention would be drawn back into his work. She should have known better. Her next spitball was aimed right at his face, but it never reached itstarget.

So fast I thought I'd imagined it, Gage's hand whipped up and plucked the spitball from the air. Picking it out of his palm, he held it between his thumb and forefinger, examining it, before looking at Amelia and saying, “What are you eight? Aspitball?”

“I think I should try that on Aiden,” Amelia said. “You two have no sense ofhumor.”

“And Aiden does?” Gage asked, incredulous. I had to agree with his question. I'd never seen any evidence Aiden had a sense ofhumor.