Oops! My Billionaire Boss Fell for Five Versions of Me! Chapter 03

Oops! My Billionaire Boss Fell for Five Versions of Me! Chapter 03

After work, I opened my banking app on the walk home.

One year on the job and I’d already saved two million.

Not enough.

I clenched my fists.

I changed fast. Scarf on, burrito cart out. I wheeled it down to the lake.

Nathaniel ran this route every evening without fail. By the time he got to my spot, he’d have seven hills and six full laps around the lake behind him.

He’d be starving.

Nothing else for five miles. Just me and my cart. If he wanted to eat, I was his only option.

I knew exactly what that man liked.

Right on cue, he caught the smell and slowed down. He stopped in front of my cart, dripping sweat.

“How much?”

“Three hundred.”

“How much?” Nathaniel stared at me like I’d was robbing him at gunpoint.

You could see the gears turning. Was he that out of touch, or had inflation really gotten that bad?

I adjusted my scarf and cleared my throat.

“Everything here is artisanal. The sesame seeds are grown in Redwood, the lettuce is picked fresh and flown in from Oakhaven, and the flour is milled in Silver Lake…”

I let the pitch sit for a moment, then landed it. “So yes. It’s worth every penny.”

“What about the eggs?”

“Pasture-raised on my own farm.”

Every word was a lie. I didn’t even blink.

Nathaniel looked skeptical, but he bought one.

One bite. That was all it took.

His eyes went wide.

“Incredible. You can actually taste the Redwood terroir… and the crispness of the Oakhaven lettuce. These eggs are exceptional.”

“It’s so fucking good!”

Nathaniel peeled off three hundred dollars in cash without blinking.

“Same time, same spot tomorrow. I want another one.”

…

I wasn’t done.

At the next corner, I sold him spring water from Crystal Creek. A block after that, sun-ripened fruit from West Coast orchards. And at the last stop, small-batch civet coffee, hand-roasted and exclusively sourced.

Four hundred. Six hundred. Nine hundred ninety-nine.

Nathaniel bought every single one. And loved every single one.

Same time tomorrow. All four stops.

God, billionaires were easy marks.

I ran the numbers on my walk home. Even if Nathaniel fired all five of me on the same day, the burrito cart, the water stand, the fruit stall, and the coffee shop could keep me afloat.

I’d still live well.

I was already choosing a restaurant for dinner when I spotted a familiar setup on the corner.

Wait. Was that Nathaniel’s uncle from this morning?

He was wearing sunglasses, waving me over. “Hey, gorgeous. Want a portrait?”

He didn’t seem to recognize me.

I sat down, not fully trusting it.

Was face-blindness genetic?