The Billionaire's Passion Read Online Free PDF Page B

a lot more confident than you were back when I was on the computer.”
    “Like I said, I’m back in control of the situation.”
    “Most psychologists say that feeling like you’re in control is a delusion. You know that, right?”
    “Eh, what do they know?”
    “About cognition and human nature and shit like that? Probably a fair amount. ”
    He grins. “It was a joke. Relax, I got it handled.”
    “Why do those sound like famous last words?”
    “Because they usually are.”
    “Don’t say stuff like that… seriously, don’t say stuff like that.”
    “Trust me.”
    “Do I have a choice?”
    “Not really, no.”
    “Greeeeaaaat,” I mutter.
    We park down the alley from one of the most expensive buildings around. It’s about the same age as Grant’s skyscraper, and just as luxurious.
    Before we leave the car, Grant stuffs a thousand dollars in the glove compartment.
    “Why are you doing that?” I asked.
    “We stole it.”
    “So why aren’t you leaving more?”
    “They’ll get it back. It’s mostly for the inconvenience. It’s good karma.”
    “A cat burglar is telling me about good karma,” I mutter to myself as I open the car door and get out.

17
    And so begins one of the strangest journeys I’ve ever taken. I will never look at a building the same way ever again.
    Grant picks a lock at a service entrance. Then we find a service elevator. From there we climb through a trapdoor in the top of the elevator (he has to boost me up). Once we get into the elevator shaft, we climb a ladder for what seems like an eternity until we enter what he says is an air conditioning duct. From there we somehow wind up in a maintenance crawlspace in a wall.
    “How did you know this was here?” I ask, then immediately answer my own question. “Because you designed the building.”
    “Nope,” he says cheerfully. “I just did some redesign work for the owner, so I know the blueprints. Photographic memory, remember?”
    “We’re breaking into this person’s apartment, and you think he’s going to help you?”
    “Well, he kind of owes me one.”
    “I hope his definition of ‘owing you one’ is the same as your definition.”
    “That makes two of us.’
    “What did you do for him?”
    “I convinced my father to be one of his first investors when his own father disowned him.”
    “Wait – so he’s not a criminal?” I ask, surprised.
    “No,” he says, offended. “Why would I go get help from a criminal?”
    “Because we’re… never mind. Did that help him a lot?”
    “Helped make him a billionaire.”
    “Oh…”
    “Plus I dropped some other clients and designed a building for him back in LA, too, a while back.”
    “I would lead with the whole ‘helped make you a billionaire’ thing rather than the ‘I designed a building for  you.’”
    Grant grins. “Yeah, I think he’ll remember that part.”
    After a half hour crawling around in the bowels of the building, we finally reach our destination.
    “We’re here,” he announces.
    Except it’s a dead end.
    Just a blank wall of sheetrock.
    “What?” I ask, surprised.
    “Start kickin’.”
    “What?!”
    He suddenly slams his foot against the sheetrock.
    I want to scream, but I figure that’s probably not the wisest thing when breaking and entering.
    Not that kicking in a bunch of sheetrock is, either.
    Thirty seconds later, there’s a person-sized hole torn in the wall.
    We crawl through on our hands and knees, covered in white dust like a bakery just exploded.
    A few feet in, I lift my head and freeze. “Uh… Grant?”
    “What?” he asks, then looks up to see what I’m staring at. “Oh.”
    There’s a very surprised woman, probably mid-twenties, staring at us with wide eyes. She’s a cute brunette, fairly short, and dressed in a designer skirt suit. She looks fairly familiar… like I’ve seen her before…
    In front of her is an Asian guy in a black suit with a gun pointed at Grant’s head.
    “Facedown on the floor and