The Art of Catching a Greek Billionaire

The Art of Catching a Greek Billionaire by Marian Tee

extracted from
BILLIONAIRE BAD BOYS OF ROMANCE BOOK BUNDLE / BOXED SET

I kept my mouth shut, eyes squeezed tight as I concentrated on not breathing even as my face was smashed against the glass bowl of the overflowing sink. If Farah Jenkins didn’t let me up soon, I’d probably be the first girl in history to die of drowning in a high school
sink.

Farah pushed me down harder. My throat was on fire now, and as the pressure inside me built higher and higher, I knew it was only a matter of seconds before I---

Aah!
Even as Farah kept her painful grip on my hair as she finally let me up, I didn’t mind, too busy gulping in oxygen. I tried to struggle out of her hold, but it wasn’t easy since Farah’s goons in skirts also had a hold on me, their fingers clamped around my wrists. I tried getting out of their death grips, but it was impossible.
Jesus, these girls were strong.
What did they freaking do during glee practice anyway? Bench press while working on their duets?

“Look at me, you little whore!”

I did as she asked. She didn’t really give me a choice as she yanked my head back. Our gazes met through the mirror. Farah looked absolutely perfect, not a single strawberry blond strand out of place. Her goons looked as impossibly good, their makeup giving their skins a glossy feel.

In contrast, I looked like a drowned rat, the anemic type, my pale skin turning even whiter under the bright fluorescent bulbs of the school’s toilet.

“Do you really think Stavros would want someone like you?”

And someone like me meant…what? Someone who actually ate enough to weigh more than my backpack?

I wanted to ask for clarification, but by then she had dunked my head back into the overflowing sink. This time, she pushed too hard, cracking my head against the side of the sink. When she pulled me up, we all saw the tiny gash of red on my forehead.

“Shit, Farah! That’s going to leave evidence!” Mary Anne, Farah’s best friend, immediately let go of my wrist, leaping away from me at the sight.

Farah looked a little queasy herself, but she still didn’t release me like the others. She saw my gaze straying towards the wall clock, which told me there were still ten long minutes to go before the end of lunch break.

A mix of resentment and fear twisted her face into something terrible before her fingers suddenly dug deep. I wondered if this time she intended to carve out her name on my scalp.

“Are you thinking of running away and asking Stavros for help?” she screamed at my face. “Do you think he’ll listen to a gold digger like you?”

I was
not
a gold digger. I just knew I was meant to be the wife of a hot Greek billionaire. That was
all.
But I couldn’t afford to say that, not with Farah’s twisted face too close for comfort. I’d rather pass out than waste my first kiss on her.

Farah was still screaming. “If you think I’m going to just stand aside and let you leech off Stavros, then you’re crazy. You’ll never have him, you lying, cock-sucking, money-grabbing---”

She spewed out more insults, sounding more like a ghetto baby than our high school’s Glee Club president. My mind began to drift away, distancing itself from reality. Now would probably be the right time for me to get mad, but I just couldn’t. I was raised by two of the kindest and most intellectual beings on earth. If someone did something shitty to me, my first instinct would be to create a petition against the injustice of that act in Change.org.

For today’s incident, the petition would surely be something like “Say No to Psycho Prom Princesses.”

“In a minute, everyone in this town will know you for the slut that you are. Because I’ve got your fucking diary posted on Wattpad, you whore, and soon everyone will know that even your fucking aunts are whores---”

Something inside me shut down at her words. “Take that back.”

Farah snarled, “Never!”

“I’m serious, Farah.” All I could suddenly think about was strangling her just so she’d shut up. “Take that back.”

“And if I don’t? What are you going to do? Get your slutty aunts---”

I snapped.

When the teachers finally managed to drag me away from Farah, all I could think of was -
So this was how it felt like to get mad.

“Your aunts have been notified, Ms. Tanner.” Principal Childress’ voice was cold enough to rival the air-conditioning in her office. She was a gray-haired bespectacled woman in her fifties, someone who had been single throughout her life. She could have been just like my aunts, really, except for a huge difference: my aunts hadn’t let their personalities dry out like their still-intact hymens even after all these years.

I thought about asking Principal Childress if I could temporarily leave and borrow a fresh change of gym clothes from the clinic. Stealing a look at her face, which was lined with disapproval, I decided risking hypothermia was the safer option. At least I still had a chance to live.

“…your eye gets better.”

Her words made my eyelids twitch, which was followed by a jolt of pain. Farah’s surprisingly hard right hook would leave me sporting a panda look for a while, but I still got the better deal. At least I wasn’t two-fifths bald.

“…explain what that blog was about?”

It took me more than a moment to realize Principal Childress was talking to me. “Err, sorry, Principal Childress. What was that again?”

She snapped, “I asked if you could explain what that blog of yours is about.”

I shook my head hurriedly, intent on clearing things up. “It’s
not
my blog. Everything published there was extracted without permission from my diary, which Farah Jenkins stole---”

“Ms. Tanner, you misunderstand. I am not asking about how those entries appeared online. What I am most concerned about is the content. What little I’ve read of it is frankly disturbing.” Her voice stiff with disapproval, she continued, “It appears as if your aunts have poisoned your mind from the very start---”

My mind had shut down after the word ‘poison’. So my aunts didn’t lull me to sleep with regular fairytales from good old Grimm and Andersen. Instead, they had shared with me the most wonderful stories by romance authors who wrote extraordinary love stories about ordinary women falling in love with not-so-ordinary men. How the heck could that be considered poison?

“…making you believe that you must set your sights on an individual of Greek descent---”

My head was literally whirling. I couldn’t believe how petty this talk was turning out to be. So little girls were allowed to dream about Prince Charming but
not
about Greek billionaires?

Before she could confuse me even more, I blurted out, “I’m afraid I don’t get you at all, Principal Childress. What exactly are you implying? My aunts didn’t tell me the normal bedtime stories, yes, but they didn’t mean any harm when they told me those stories. They were good stories about couples finding true love---”

“It is
not
a good story when it inspires a woman to look for a rich benefactor!” Principal Childress shot to her feet, a look of affronted disbelief on her face. “It is not a good story when adults use it as a way of encouraging a child to
whore
herself---”

I shot to my feet too, and this time I knew exactly what was causing me to shake once more. “It wasn’t like that!”

“Then what was that first entry you wrote about? You started it with a
tip
on how to
target
Greek billionaires---”

“There’s nothing wrong about those stories, about my aunts, and there’s nothing wrong about wanting to marry a Greek billionaire!”

Both of us froze.

“You are appalling,” she spat.

I couldn’t answer. Oh dear God, I had shouted! I was still appalled myself, unable to believe how I had become totally violent in a few hours. First, I got into a freaking fist fight and now I was involved in a shouting match with my Principal Childress.

This was wrong, but…I couldn’t help it. She made me so mad! Trying to get a grip on my emotions, I said unevenly, “I was orphaned when I was
eight.
My aunts were career women and suddenly they had an eight year old to take care of. I was insatiable for bedtime stories because it was my way of clinging to my parents’ memories, and they knew that. When they ran out of stories, they just switched to simplifying Harlequin romances. Surely you can understand that? Surely you don’t see anything wrong?” I looked at her pleadingly. “You know those books---”

“No. I’m sorry. I do
not
know those books because I don’t read anything that’s sold in Walmart.”

I gaped at her answer. “But---”

She shut me up with a glare, pointing at me like she was branding me a witch in the Salem Trials. “
You
have more or less admitted that your aunts had raised you to believe it is fine to use the holy sacrament of matrimony as a stepping stone for improving your financial and social status in life.”

Was she basically saying I was a gold-digger?

“Holy Angels is a well-respected
Catholic
school, Ms. Tanner. If you wish to remain enrolled here, then tomorrow you must admit that the entries you have written in your blog---”

“But it isn’t my blog!”

Principal Childress ignored that. “---are based on false and malicious beliefs.”

My head started to hurt, enough to have me close my eyes. If I understood her perfectly, she was basically asking me to call my aunts liars and turn my back on my happy childhood.

“Well?” Principal Childress demanded.

I opened my eyes and gave her the answer she asked for.

Fuck you.

“You’re only eating salad?” Aunt Norah asked that night as she hung her lab coat on the back of the chair before taking the seat at the head of the table. She had on her trademark pearl necklace, and matched with her silk sheath dress, Aunt Norah looked more like a socialite than a doctor on call.

I adjusted the dark glasses on my nose. “I’m on a diet.”

Aunt Vilma took the seat across from me. She was also dressed in her typical power suit, pink, form-fitting, and covering her from head to toe. She had once told me that “looking sexy while kicking ass” was her way of discouraging the big boys in courtrooms from messing with her.

When Aunt Norah asked me about what new movie we could watch over the weekend, I began to relax. My appetite gradually came back and I happily moved on to the next course, a creamy mushroom soup that was my aunt’s only masterpiece in the kitchen.

As Aunt Vilma took another helping of Caesar salad, she asked in a disarmingly casual voice, “And what about school, Mairi? Do you think we’ve given you ample time to have the guts to tell us what really happened?”

Pweh!
That was the sound of my last spoonful of soup spitting out of my mouth, but even after that horrifying display I still kept on choking.

I heard Aunt Norah snapping, “Couldn’t you have been more subtle than that?”

“I gave her more than five minutes,” Aunt Vilma retorted in the same tone. “In my experience, when a person doesn’t talk in five minutes, it means she never will.”

Aunt Norah started pounding me on the back. “She’s
not
one of your defendants! She’s your niece!”

“I know,” Aunt Vilma said as she also started pounding me on the back. “That’s why I gave her
seven
minutes!”

“Oh for God’s sake!”

“What?”

“STOP!” I didn’t mean to scream, but if I let them continue arguing I’d likely end up black and blue. With a little wince, I inched away from their hands. “I’m, umm, okay now.”
Not.
I suddenly felt like I had let an elephant massage my back with its hooves.

Aunt Norah’s gaze widened when she saw me wince again. “Oh, dear. I’m sorry. We didn’t realize---”

“Are you okay?” Aunt Vilma cut her off, concern lining her voice.

She tried reaching for me but I quickly pushed my chair a few inches back again. “I’m okay now,” I said hastily. Seeing them still gazing at me worriedly, knowing what I had to tell them, I decided to play it safe and moved my chair farther away until its back hit the wall.

To my aunts’ credit, they didn’t lose their tempers or even thought I was to blame.

“Does your expulsion have to do something with your shiner?” Aunt Vilma asked.

I was stunned. “You know?”

Aunt Vilma sighed. “Honey, it’s only in the movies that people can get away hiding the fact they’ve gotten punched with sunglasses.”

Before I could answer that, dishonestly but defensively and purely out of pride, Aunt Norah said gently, “Your principal stated in her fax that you’re no longer eligible for admission in their school. I called to know the exact reason but she says it’s classified.”

So Principal Childress had kept her side of the agreement
, I thought with cold satisfaction. After flipping the bird at the old witch the way she deserved to, I had told Principal Childress she could expel me and I wouldn’t contest it – but only if she didn’t breathe a single word of her stupid accusations to my aunts or anyone else. If she did, then I was going to have Aunt Vilma sue her for discrimination and slander – and we both knew who would win that case.