How to Marry Another Billionaire

by Elise Sax

  “Orangutans,” Rosalind repeats, rolling the word around in her mouth, like she’s thinking about it. “That might work for us.”

  “Rosalind’s a genius when it comes to trapping men,” Bessie says with more than a little awe in her voice. “If we could bottle her, we could set up the whole planet.”

  “I just use common sense,” Rosalind says.

  I’m not sure any of this is common sense. I’m about to fly to Los Angeles to become Rock Clarke’s personal assistant, and I don’t know how to use Excel. “I don’t know how to use Excel!” I shout and break out into a sweat.

  “There she goes, again,” Bessie says. “I’ve never seen someone sweat as much as Olivia.”

  “I’ve sweated LeBron James kind of sweat for my job,” Rosalind announces.

  I can’t picture Rosalind sweating. She’s more put together than a completed jigsaw puzzle. She’s super glam sophistication. If I was a betting woman, I’d put money on the fact that she doesn’t have pores.

  The thought helps me stop sweating. My mother walks in from the other room. It must be a commercial break. “Do I smell bacon?”

  “Am I allowed to eat bacon?” I ask, hopefully.

  “No,” Rosalind says. “You can eat scrambled eggs, though.”

  “Don’t say eggs to Olivia,” my mother says. “You’ll stir hers up, and the next thing we know, she’s giving birth on the barstool.”

  Chapter 2

  Olivia

  It’s the first time that I’m traveling without my kids. I’m so worried about them that I’m almost lactating. Almost. Thank God I’m not lactating. That would ruin the dress that Rosalind forced me to wear. It’s a blue sheath dress, which supposedly matches my eyes. I’ve got two pairs of Spanx under it so that I don’t have any “bulges”, and I’m having a hard time breathing.

  I’m pretty sure my colon has been pushed up behind my lungs.

  My kingdom for a bulge.

  “Are you hungry, miss?” the flight attendant asks me. She doesn’t have any bulges, either. In fact, the other flight attendant doesn’t have a bulge, too. Nor do the two pilots, who are both women and are flying the plane in mini-skirts.

  I’m the only passenger in Rock’s private plane. He’s flying me to Los Angeles in it, while my kids and the Operation Billionaire backup team are flying in Cole’s plane. According to Beatrice, I’m more likely to arrive in Los Angeles without spit-up on me if I go without my children.

  “Miss? Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?” the flight attendant repeats. I’m starving. I would eat my foot, if I could bend over in my dress.

  “No, I’m not hungry. Thank you,” I lie. My stomach growls, loudly, ratting me out.

  “We have pulled pork sandwiches. Mr. Clarke informed us that you like pulled pork sandwiches.” Her voice is sweetness and light, but I detect a kernel of judgment in her tone. And in her face.

  “No, thank you,” I say, and my stomach growls, again. I sit back in my large, comfortable seat and look out the round window, smiling. Rock remembered that I liked pulled pork sandwiches because he saw me eat one at a barbecue a week ago.

  And he remembered.

  He remembered what I like.

  The realization sets off a chain reaction in my brain. I have visions of him naked, followed by gifts of flowers and a wedding cake. I’ll love you forever, he says to me and hands me a pulled pork sandwich. Then, he slips a giant diamond on my finger, and he kisses me with loads of tongue.

  It’s a damned good vision. I close my eyes and wish for more visions, especially where he’s naked. But I’m cut short when the plane lands in Burbank. My luggage is whisked off the plane for me, and I only have to carry my purse down the stairs to the tarmac. Below me, Rock is leaning against a white Aston Martin. His arms are crossed in front of him, and his legs are crossed at the ankles. He’s wearing a custom-made suit that fits him perfectly.

  It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him in a suit, and suddenly, I’m so thankful to suit designers everywhere. I have a strong desire to write a thank you card to Armani right this second.

  Rock nods at the flight attendants, who are flirting shamelessly with him, showing off their non-bulges. He arches an eyebrow at them and smiles, and I almost fall down the stairs. I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I’m a sort of married woman, for goodness sake. I have kids. I have responsibilities.

  I… oh, he’s looking at me now.

  We lock eyes, and I want to marry him so bad. It’s like wanting to breathe. I want air. I want Rock. No difference. Under his gaze, I grow self-conscious. What if I need three pairs of Spanx instead of two? What if a bulge has eluded Rosalind’s watchful eye? What if I got spit-up on me when I said goodbye to my babies? What if I have spinach between my teeth?

  Calm down, Olivia. You haven’t eaten spinach in years.

  I take a deep breath and pretend I’m a supermodel. Glide. Step. Glide. Step. I’m doing great! He’s watching me, and I’m a hot mama. I’m Claudia Schiffer in the eighties. I’m flawless, as I step elegantly down the stairs.

  Glide. Step. Glide. Fall.

  Fall!

  I almost make it, but my high heels get caught, and I go flying down the last two steps. I put my hands out in front of me to break my fall, and I sail through the air like an Olympian. It looks like I’m going to hit the pavement face first, but somehow, my body flies further out, as if I’ve got wings, and I land splat! on the two flight attendants, taking them down with amazing force.

  I roll off the string bean women and feel my body for broken bones. Nope. Miraculously, I’m fine. I might have a few bruises because the flight attendants are big-time bony, but I don’t have a scrape on me.

  “The fat bitch killed me,” one of them moans, uncharitably.

  I’m not fat, by the way. But my stomach will never be the same after four kids in less than five years. Never. I could store coins in my belly button. It’s not a pretty sight.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. There’s a flurry of activity, and I’m happy that Rock comes to my aid, while the pilots go to the flight attendants. I adjust my dress, but my Spanx has rolled down, forming a large roll around my waist. But I look better than the flight attendants, who look like they’ve been in a street brawl.

  Or like a woman fell on them.

  Rock takes my hands and looks into my eyes, as if he’s searching for signs of a concussion. “You all right?” he asks.

  I nod.

  “That’s…” he starts and falls into hysterics, laughing his ass off. He points to the stairs and then at me and then at the flight attendants and erupts in even louder laughter. He tries to catch his breath, but it’s hopeless. He’s giggling uncontrollably.

  The flight attendants don’t find it funny, and I’m just embarrassed. Rock seems to understand that he’s the only one laughing and gets it under control, closing his mouth with only intermittent bursts of laughter. He says something to the two women and hands them a wad of cash from his money clip.

  It’s a very big money clip.

  The money doesn’t seem to pacify them, but when Rock flashes them his billion-dollar smile and whispers another something in their ears, they turn positively delighted that I fell on them.

  Rock could do wonders with the United Nations.

  “Sorry, again,” I tell them. “I slipped.”

  They scowl in return, and I decide to leave well enough alone. Rock opens the passenger door of his sports car, and I get in. It’s a lot easier to bend now that my Spanx have gone to hell. Rock gets into the driver’s seat and takes a deep breath.

  “You made my Monday morning, Olivia. Thank you,” he says. My heart skips a beat, and my pulse races. I made his Monday morning? Me? And he said my name…I love when he does that. “You should have seen yourself. You actually flew through the air. And the faces of the flight attendants. Horror! Terror! They knew you were coming right at them, but did they take a step to the right or left? No!” He chuckles and turns tow
ard me in his seat. “And then splat! I thought I heard broken bones, but I guess not.”

  “Somehow my heels broke,” I explain. “I think that’s what made that noise.”

  “It was a scary noise. Like something out of Criminal Minds.” He’s smiling at me, like I’m the goddess of delights. I’ve brought entertainment to him. I’m supposed to be his personal assistant, but I’m more like Laurel & Hardy. Both of them. Laurel in my Spanx. Hardy with my Spanx rolled down.

  I’ve failed. All of Operation Billionaire’s planning has come to nothing. I’m a big fat joke. I should just pack up and leave.

  But suddenly, Rock stops laughing and is staring at me intently. I recognize the look in his eyes. It’s the look my kids give me when they realize it’s macaroni and cheese night. He has beautiful eyes. Blue, like the ocean in Hawaii. I’ve never been to Hawaii, but I’ve seen pictures, and that’s exactly what I’m looking at now. Blue paradise.

  “Olivia…” he starts. His voice is low and gruff, like it’s filled with emotion. Oh my God. This is it. He’s going to tell me he loves me. He’s going to tell me that I’m the one. It doesn’t matter that I’m the slapstick queen. It doesn’t matter that I have a giant roll of spandex under my dress.

  “Yes,” I say. My voice is low and gruff, too, and I say “yes” like it’s the answer to everything he could ever ask me.

  Rock lifts his hand and touches my hair. “You’ve got something in your hair,” he says.

  “What?” I ask, waking out of my reverie.

  “It’s something gross. It’s…oh, it’s just gum.”

  “Gum?”

  “Spearmint, I think. It’s a big wad. At least two pieces. I wonder if you knocked it out of one of the flight attendants’ mouths when you landed on them.”

  He tugs at my hair a little and drops his hand back to his lap. “It’s stuck in there real good,” he says. “Don’t worry. We’ll cut it out of your hair when we get to the office.”

  The car roars to life, and he drives away. I pull my visor down and take a look at myself in the mirror. My long red hair has gone wild, sticking out in places, like it’s trying to escape my head. And right by the black asphalt mark on my right cheek is a huge wad of green gum, stuck in my hair. Green gum in red hair. I look like a Christmas tree. A bruised and battered Christmas tree. So much for seduction. The good news is that Rock’s seen me at my worst. It can only get better from here.

  Rock’s office is located in a tall building downtown. It’s older, but it’s been refurbished and is beautiful with lots of detail, like carved cornices and colored glass. Real old Hollywood. He drives up to the front, and a valet hops to, helping me out. I’m limping because my shoes are broken, and my other shoes are in my suitcases, which were taken away by someone else to Rock’s guesthouse. So, now, I’m a hobbling, bruised woman with a big roll of Spanx around my middle and gum in my hair.

  If I were a sarcastic woman, I’d say I’m a shoo-in to catch the most eligible billionaire bachelor in the world. But I’m not a sarcastic woman, so I’m filled with self-loathing, and I’m terrified of the reaction from my mother, Rosalind, Beatrice, and Bessie when they find out about how I look on my first day on the job.

  Rock puts his hand on my lower back, and we walk into the lobby. His large hand covers the entire width of my back, even over the large roll of Spanx. His touch calms me, and I’m able to gather my wits around me.

  “I think I should change before I start work,” I tell him. “Maybe I could go get my suitcases?”

  “I have a change of clothes for you inside. I can’t wait until you meet the crew. They’re going to love you.”

  A security guard nods at Rock and runs to the elevator to push the button for him. I guess billionaires don’t push buttons. We go to the top floor, and when the doors open, we’re greeted by at least fifty employees, all in line like soldiers.

  Not one of them has gum in their hair.

  Swell. I put a hand on my Spanx roll, trying to cover it up.

  “Hey guys!” Rock calls, like he’s visiting his buds at the bar. “Show some love to Olivia. She’s my new PA. She’s awesome.”

  He walks me quickly past them, high-fiving several of them. I do a royal wave, like I’ve seen in my mother’s VHS tape of Princess Diana’s wedding. I’m dimly aware of the offices, which have been maintained in their post-war glory. We march quickly over the plush carpet, while two women introduce themselves to me and then bark information at Rock.

  “Brazil up by ten percent.”

  “New York City permits.”

  “Reservations at seven.”

  “John called with a possible opportunity in Brentwood.”

  Rock handles each piece of business with a line or two, and the two women scatter to do his bidding. I gulp. This is going to be me as his personal assistant, but I’ve never held down a job with so much responsibility. I’ve spent most of my adult life growing babies in my belly. What do I know about New York City permits?

  I follow Rock through large double doors, into an enormous office that’s decked out in art deco furniture. There’s a couple of couches and a large television, and it all looks like it came out of a classic movie. Rock closes the doors behind me.

  “I have an outfit you can change into,” he tells me. He opens a side door and goes into a room. Uh oh. I can only imagine the outfit he has for me. Probably some slinky size two thing that one of his many women left after they did something nasty and acrobatic on one of his fancy couches.

  “Here you go,” Rock tells me, coming back and handing me some clothes bunched into a ball. “I don’t have shoes for you, but there’s some fluffy socks you’ll like.”

  He gestures toward another door, and I open it. Inside is the nicest bathroom I’ve ever seen. Lots of marble, and there’s a couch in here, too. I take off my clothes. I practically cry with relief when I remove the two pair of Spanx. Bulges or no, I’m never wearing a girdle again.

  I rinse the dirt, gravel, and asphalt off my face and brush through my hair. Then, I finally pee after holding it since I left Idaho in the morning. As I sit on the toilet in my bra and nothing else, I contemplate never leaving the bathroom. Outside of the bathroom is a job I’m not qualified for and a man who’s way out of my league.

  My phone rings, and I answer it while sitting on the toilet. “What’s happening?” Rosalind asks on the other line.

  “I’m peeing.”

  “Did he kiss you when you saw him?”

  “No. He laughed.”

  “What did she say?” I hear Bessie yell. “Did she say he laughed?”

  “No, of course she didn’t say that,” Rosalind says. “Right? You didn’t say that?” she asks me.

  “It’s a long story,” I say. “I have gum in my hair.”

  “What does she have in her hair?” Bessie yells.

  “Oh, God,” I hear my mother moan. “Not lice, again.”

  “Shut up.” Rosalind sighs. “Rock’s guesthouse is nice, but it’s close quarters for the three of us plus your kids. I had to buy an air mattress. It’s a mattress you blow up. At first, I thought it was a joke. But nope. It’s real. A mattress that you blow up like a raft. I’m ready for a flood or a lounge in the pool. There’s my silver lining. And I bought it at Walmart. You heard that correctly, Olivia. I bought an air mattress at Walmart.”

  Rosalind is a big-time professional with a gorgeous wardrobe of high-fashion clothes, and I get the impression that she’s never bothered with a Black Friday sale or generic toilet paper.

  “You okay in there?” I hear Rock at the door.

  “Gotta go,” I whisper into the phone.

  “Wait. What about the laughing? What about your hair?” Rosalind asks.

  “Gotta go. I’ll fill you in later.”

  I flush the toilet and wash my hands. I snap the ball of clothes open and see that it’s a pair of his sweatpants and a sweatshirt. No sexy girlfriend clothes, which makes me relieved and disappointed at the same time
. On one hand, I’ll be able to bend and breathe and eat lunch. On the other hand, I’m wearing sweats that are five sizes too big. I roll up the sleeves and the waistband of the pants, and I’m one step away from getting hired by Barnum and Bailey.

  I open the door and step out of the bathroom. Rock is waiting for me, and he smiles wide when he sees me. “That’s more like it,” he says. “You look much more comfortable. This is exactly how I picture you when I think of you.”

  I hike up the sweatpants. “You think of me?”

  “Of course. I’m part of Operation Billionaire, right?”

  “Uh…”

  “I ordered lunch for us. Sit down and take a load off. You can update me on your plans. I’ve got a few ideas I want to share with you.”

  “Ideas?”

  “You know, to find you a billionaire. I loved helping Beatrice rope in Cole. Now, I’m ready to lock down an unsuspecting capitalist to fall in love with you.”

  Chapter 3

  Olivia

  Oh no. Operation Billionaire has boomeranged, exploded, disintegrated, fizzled, and crapped out. I knew that Rock was aware of Operation Billionaire and was in on our mission to hook up Beatrice with Cole. But I figured that he would have understood that he was next on the list. After all, he’s a billionaire, I’m looking for one, he invited me to be with him in L.A., and I wore Spanx.

  What’s clearer than that?

  I need to update Beatrice and Rosalind on the double. But running back into the bathroom to call them will have to wait. Two waiters carry in trays of food and set a mahogany table by the window, overlooking Los Angeles.

  T-bone steaks are served with mashed potatoes, asparagus, and a large salad. “You like iced tea, right?” Rock asks me.

  “Yes. It all looks wonderful.”

  “There should be chocolate cake here somewhere.”

  The waiters leave, and we sit down. With my baggy clothes, elastic waistband, and my dashed hopes about getting Rock to fall in love with me, I’m determined to eat every bite. It’s delicious. I go at my meal like a buzzsaw. When I look up for a second to grab some horseradish, I catch Rock studying me. He catches me catching him, and goes back to his steak.