Free For Richer, for Richest by Gina Robinson Page A

than a thousand yards or so away from the Bellevue show. More than half the time, it rained in Seattle on the Fourth. We joked that summer never started around here until July fifth. Having a warm, comfortable place and plenty of expensive booze was an added bonus enticement.
    Jus shook his head. "Riggins always hosts a Fourth of July bash on his yacht. We boat around the sound all afternoon, eating and drinking. Then we park and watch the fireworks over Elliott Bay. With more eating and drinking. Attendance is mandatory. I've already accepted his invitation."
    Did my face fall? It must have.
    Jus pulled me into a hug. "Maybe next year we can coordinate with Riggins."
    "Next year we'll be divorced." The words popped out of my mouth before I thought about them. They sounded harsh and hard-edged. And almost petulant.
    Jus cleared his throat and looked away, embarrassed. "Yeah."
    I sighed. As far as holidays, it was one and done around here. I had to make every holiday fabulous and full of memories before I left. Make the most out of this billionaire lifestyle. Although getting used to it probably wasn't the best idea.
    Jus took the car service to the airport the next day. I got up and saw him off at the door with a kiss that was more than perfunctory on my part.
    And I was on my own for two solitary weeks. So I thought. As it turned out, I had no time to grow bored. My days were completely booked. Compliments of my savvy personal assistant, Andrea. Meetings with the hospital's charitable board. Meetings at Flash with the buyers, arranging and organizing the samples that would be available for sale. Coordinating volunteer signups for the sale. Meetings with donors and caterers. Florists. Friends. Shopping.
    Magda and I grew closer. Maybe it wasn't good to get too friendly with the help. But I couldn't resist. When I got her going, she talked about Jus, always glowing about what a considerate employer he was. How he'd given her a large bonus when she needed help with her daughter's medical bills after a motorcycle accident. Really, did Jus have any faults?
    More and more I felt like I was in a modern retelling of Pride and Prejudice . Where Lizzie finds out the true, caring character of Mr. Darcy. Why, he wasn't proud at all! Only in my case it was more like Geek and Great Guy . Everywhere I turned, people loved and admired Jus.
    The part-time maid came and went, tidying up after me. But she rarely spoke. I never got to know her.
    Even through all the busyness, I missed Jus. And so did poor little Data. She moped around and looked expectantly toward the door every time someone came or went.
    On Monday night, I replaced Jus in bed with his pillow, curling up next to it as I lay awake in bed. How could I have gotten so used to his presence in just a few weeks? Outside my door, Data whimpered and cried, refusing to sleep. I relented and took her into bed with me, letting her sleep curled at the foot of the bed. It was a dangerous precedent to set, but without it, neither of us was going to get any sleep.
    Concerned, the next day I asked Magda about it. "What does Jus usually do with Data when he's gone? Is he aware she cries all night?"
    "Mr. Justin hasn't had Data long," she told me. "When he's gone at night, I take her home with me."
    So there it was. Mystery solved. I was relieved. I didn't like the thought of Data all alone and crying, during the day or during the night. And so I indulged myself in carrying out the threat I'd made when I first met Data—I bought a dog purse. Because, yes, rich people must carry their dogs around in purses or they break the stereotype. And besides, it was a simple kind of evil fun to imagine Justin's response when he got home.
    I mentioned, partly in jest, the struggles of trying to find a doggy purse that coordinated with my outfits to Marla on one of my visits to Flash.
    "A doggy and me event!" Marla gave me a thumbs-up. "That's brilliant! We'll see what we can do."
    Two days later, Marla