“You have seven accountants?”

“We. And do you have any clue how much money we have?”

“Yes. I told you.”

He shook his head. “That’s not mine.”

“Right, so you have more?”

He held up a thumb and index finger, indicating a tiny amount.

“Oh, wow.” I lay back down again. “A little over fifty million.” I let that sink in. Or tried to. It wouldn’t. It was so very far beyond my comprehension. “So, if you stacked all your money in a pile, how big would the pile be? I need a visual. Like, could it fill a Dumpster?”

“Depends on the bills, but we don’t have a little over fifty million.”

“You just held up your fingers.”

“I know, and I also know you don’t care, but you need to.”

“This sounds ominous.” I slid a thumbnail between my fingers.

“Okay, just so you know, we have a little over thirty billion dollars.”

I tilted my head. Blinked. Frowned. Looked up. Mumbled something incoherent. Bit my bottom lip. “So, two Dumpsters?”

“Everything you need, if anything happens to me, is in the filing cabinets in our closet.”

“Oh, you mean that room the size of my old apartment? That closet?”

“Yes.”

“Gotcha.” I nodded and tried to absorb what he’d just said. “Just so I have this straight, you have over thirty billion dollars?”

“We have over thirty billion dollars.”

He gave me a moment. It didn’t help. Mostly because numbers were not my forte. I didn’t math. Mathing was never on my list of favorite things to do, but it did make a strong showing on my list of things I’d do only if the other option was having my toenails removed by a man from El Salvador named Toro the Magnificent.

Yeah, no. My brain shut down after around three million. Couldn’t think any higher.

“So, are you the richest man in the world?” I asked in awe.

“Not hardly. Not by a long shot.”

“Bummer.” I let all the possibilities rush through my mind like a movie on fast-forward. “I’m married to a billionaire like in all those books I read where the superrich guy falls in love with the poor chick who may not have much in the way of money but is wealthy in vivacity and sprightliness and is really into bondage?”

“Why not.”

“And she may or may not need a heart transplant.”

“Story of my life.”

“Dude, I am so getting a Vespa. And a signed first edition of Pride and Prejudice. And a pair of Rocketbuster boots.” I looked around our exquisitely decorated apartment. “And, yep, an elephant.”

“Okay, but you’re cleaning up after it.”

I scoffed. “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but I’m married to a billionaire. I can hire a pooper-scooper. Wait.” I tilted my head again as another thought hit me. “Isn’t there like a club you have to belong to if you have that much money? Shouldn’t you have, like, paparazzi and reporters following you around? And Forbes calling wanting interviews? And rock stars on speed dial? It’s impossible to have that much money without being hounded by the masses.”

“Not necessarily. You just have to be smart about it.”

And he had smarts down to a science.

“And Forbes wouldn’t call me, anyway.”

“Why? Offshore accounts or underground bunker?”

“Something like that. Let’s just say I am very good friends with our banker in Switzerland.”

“We have a banker in Switzerland?” I leaned back and stared at him. “Dude, who are you? Who has that kind of money?”

“You do,” he said, pulling me back down and into his arms.

20

Money may not be able to buy happiness,

but it’s more comfortable to cry in a Mercedes than on a bicycle.

—MEME

I dwelled on the money thing, mentally making a list of all the boots I was going to buy. But I’d stop there. Just because one’s husband was loaded was no reason to spend it all on boots. I’d just spend a very small percentage on boots. Each week.

But reality came creeping back in. He was right. What if something happened to him, heaven forbid, and I had to go on the run with Beep? I really needed to get my powers under control. Starting with …

“There actually is something else I need to know. For me and for Beep.”

“Name it.”

“I need to know how to dematerialize.”