Page 31 of How to Train Your Billionaire

He looks at me, his gaze softening, and the way his eyes linger on mine seems to communicate something that even words can’t say. It’s like he sees beyond all the layers I hide behind, sees not just the girl sitting in front of him but the strength and the vulnerability that I guard so fiercely. The way that I want to be the best version of myself, but something—namely me—holds me back.

“Anyways ...” I draw out the word, needing to break whatever weird connection this is. “We should go. I promised Charles we’d have a Scrabble rematch when I got back.”

“Sure. Of course,” he says, blinking.

Chapter Thirteen

Let Your Freak Flag Fly

Frankie

Tessa calls me that night. “Why are you home? I figured you’d be out.”

It’s Friday night. Ishouldbe out. So naturally, I lie.

“I did a self-tanner. It’s important that it develops under the right conditions.” It’s not a complete lie. I did put on self-tanner—yesterday. I’m home because I have nowhere else to be.

We talk for a few minutes more, but she has plans and needs to head out.

Charles is sleeping. And Hayes is out with Malachi. Who knows what they’re up to. They could be picking up women, for all I know.

Meanwhile, I’m home in my pajamas and it’s not even nine. I haven’t had an adult conversation since Hayes and I called a truce and shared a happy hour cocktail. I can’t sit around the house every night. Charles is often in bed by 7:30, and I’m more of a night owl. I’ll go insane if I don’t get some human interaction.

That’s it. I’ve decided. I’m going to set up a profile on one of those dating apps. I could meet someone and have a fling. Maybe a cute local.

I grab my laptop and begin typing. The key is going to be sounding normal. Bland. Vanilla. Maybe that will attract a nice, normal guy. Tessa seems to think I’m a walking billboard for red flags.

I start typing, and it’s much harder than I thought to write an engaging bio. And who am I kidding? I’mnotnormal.

I delete everything I’ve written and open a new window.

ChatGPT write me a dating profile.

I click enter and stare hard at the screen.

The dating profile it comes up with is even worse! I might be vanilla, but I ain’tthatvanilla.

I close out of ChatGPT and make up my own, letting my creativity fly, because why not? Life’s too short to be boring.

Frankie: 30, currently globetrotting

Swipe right if you enjoy sarcasm, unsolicited snack recommendations, and watching me aggressively parallel park while laughing hysterically.

Location: Somewhere betweenthrivingandneeding a nap.

Special Skills:

Can turn any situation into a sitcom episode.

Once won an argument with a seagull (he started it).