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She smirks. “So, tell me. What is it like to click your fingers and get anything you want?”
“I’m not magic.”
She frowns. “Dang. Now I won’t get my three wishes.”
I lean forward. “What would your wishes be?”
She starts counting on her hand. “World peace, duh. A dog that lives as long as I do.” Her face drops. “A cure for all cancers.”
A pit forms in my stomach. I didn’t expect her to get serious, and from the look on her face, she didn’t either.
“What about you? Or do you already have everything you want?”
I look at Tiffany. I don’t know if I should be truthful or just make something up.
“The only thing I want,” I scooch closer to her, “is you.”
Millie bursts out laughing. “Wow, smooth.”
“I thought you’d like that one.” I pop a grape in my mouth.
“That’s a wrap!” Michael calls out.
“Thank God.” Millie jumps up and dusts sand off her.
“Wow, sorry it was so painful for you.” I feel slightly hurt.
“I’m accustomed to a lavish lifestyle, and this just doesn’t cut it. Where’s the cutlery made of gold? Where’s my servant? Gosh.” She rolls her eyes.
I squint. She’s a puzzle that I want to solve. I know I shouldn’t want to, but there’s something about her that intrigues me.
“Sorry, I left it in my castle. I thought you might be more down to earth.” I try to keep her talking, even if it’s thinly veiled humor.
“I’m offended. How dare you lump me in with the peasants.” She puts her hand over her chest.
I grin. “Apologies, milady. I’ll have the servants sent to your quarters and make sure everything is to your liking.”
I can tell she’s trying not to smile.
She walks toward the hair and makeup tent. “Have fun with your harem.”
“Open invitation for you to join!” I yell after her.
Tiffany smiles at Millie as she walks by her and gives me a questioning look.
I shrug at her. I think she’s equally as confused about Millie as I am.
On the surface, she’s infuriating and self-centered, but it feels like there’s more to it than that.
My phone beeps. Another crisis has arisen. The last thing I need is to be stuck on more dates today. I need to sort this out.
“Tiff, what are the chances of me not doing the rest of the dates today?” I ask.
She lowers her glasses. “About as much chance as I have at marrying an NFL player.”
I pretend to count on my hand. “Those seem like good odds.”
“Flattery, while appreciated, will not get you out of this. Nice try, though.”
