Curvy Girls Can't Date Billionaires
Chapter One
THE WORST PART ABOUT A BREAKUP?
Wanting to text them and then realizing you can’t
because every moment you shared no longer
matters. Especially since the guy I wanted to text
was already with another girl—and had been since
we’d broken up. That fact was made even worse at
3:45 in the morning.
The only thing that made waking up before the
birds any better was a white chocolate mocha and a
cinnamon bagel from Seaton Bakery. I waited in the
parking lot in my sputtering car while my mom
went inside for our breakfast trade. We cleaned
their bakery once a week in exchange for free
breakfast each day. (Not sure who fared better in
that deal.)
I lowered my phone and dropped it in the
cupholder, feeling just as tired but much more
acutely aware of the ache in my chest. I hated that
we were done, but I hated that I needed him even
more.
When would I stop wanting to text him? How
long would it be before I stopped picking up my
phone to call him only to realize I shouldn’t?
They say time heals all wounds, but if it worked
this slowly, I needed to find another solution. For
now, I’d settle on the delete button. My finger
hovered over his contact info, his name with the
red, white, and green hearts around it.
The pain in my heart grew stronger, and I
hurried to press delete. He was gone from my list. I
just wished his name could be gone from my heart
as easily.
Through my permanently cracked window, I
heard the bakery door clang shut. Mom
approached my car carrying two to-go cups and
two white paper bags. As she got closer, I opened
my door (because the window wouldn’t roll down)
and took my breakfast from her. “Thanks, amá.”
“Enjoy, mija.”
With half a smile, I nodded and lifted the cup to
see what she’d put on it today. Using a black
Sharpie, she’d written, Eres fuerte with a heart for a
period. You are strong.
As she went back to her car, I took a sip of the
coffee. The sweet flavor immediately made me
relax. This would be a longer day than most—especially considering I had to go to school after
cleaning what Mom said was a mansion. To be fair, most places felt like mansions compared to our one-
bedroom apartment.
After getting into her car, she pulled out of the
bakery’s gravel lot. I drove behind her, hearing the
rocks crunch and pop under my tires. We started
down Emerson Highway until we reached a neighborhood where the houses got bigger and bigger.
Half of me marveled at the homes while the
other half resented them. Why did they need so
much space? The owners probably weren’t using all
those extra rooms to take in foster children or store
goods to donate. Just one of those houses could fit
my entire extended family, plus some. And yet here
we were, cleaning for them, making their lives
easier.
Ahead of me, my mom slowed and turned into
the beginning of a driveway. I stopped behind her
at a security gate like the one Zara had, and she
spoke into a speaker box before the wrought iron
slid open, revealing a winding driveway lined by
sycamore trees. Even in the pale light, I could make
out the leaves’ faded hues of orange, yellow,
and red.
At the end of the drive was the biggest mansion
of all. A massive fountain spurted water in front of
what had to be at least twenty thousand square feet
of gleaming windows and perfectly landscaped
accents.
Mom had warned me the day before that this
house belonged to an Emerson Academy family. I
just hoped whoever owned it didn’t have a student
in my class. That they had kids in elementary school
and I’d never have to face them at the Academy. I
already caught enough grief for being on scholar‐
ship. I didn’t need any more for what Mom and I
had to do to get by.
Mom circumvented the driveway that circled
toward the front entrance and drove toward a separate garage. The one for servants. We’d cleaned
enough rich peoples’ homes to know we weren’t
allowed to mar their perfect image with our old
clunkers that might leak oil on their pristine
cement.
She got out of her car and went to the trunk for
our supplies while I swallowed the last sugary drops
of my mocha. I’d need all the caffeine I could get
my hands on today. Plus, I had to steel myself
before going inside. If this was what the outside of
the house looked like, I hated to think of what
chandeliers lay inside that could pay my college
tuition or crystal serving bowls that could float us
for months.
I shoved my empty cup in the cupholder and
got out to help Mom. She passed me the handle to
the cart we used to bring cleaning supplies from
place to place. I began pulling it toward the open
garage door, but she put her hand on my forearm.
“Jordan, wait.”
I turned and looked at her, confused. We
needed to get as much work done as possible before
I had to get ready for school. “What’s up?”
She waited until my full attention was on her
eyes, completely serious. “This is a big job, and it
could mean finally paying off Juana’s medical bills.”
She gently touched the charm at the end of her
silver necklace, just like she always did when she
talked about Juana. “I need this to work.”
My chest clenched as I nodded, too afraid to
even hope to get out from under the crushing
medical debt. “I’ll do my best, I promise.”
Her lips tugged down. “There’s more.”
Confused, I set the handle of the cart back and
gave her my full attention. “What’s going on, amá?”
“The client—he has a son. Your age.”
My stomach clenched. A son? At least that cut
Merritt Alexander and her crew of mean girls out
of the mix, but that didn’t leave a lot of options...
“Who is it?” Please don’t be Kai Rush. Please don’t be Kai Rush. I couldn’t go much lower than cleaning for an
actual billionaire.
“It doesn’t matter who it is.” Her hands ran
over my shoulders. “Let’s just make sure we do this
right.”
She meant the gesture to be comforting, but
now I was just nervous. “What’s going on?”
She held the charm of her necklace, looking at
our pile of cleaning supplies. “Things have been
tight since I started my business, and if this doesn’t
work, I don’t know what we’ll do.”
Now I was less worried about the mystery boy
and more concerned for our home. Maybe it wasn’t
the right time to start a business. “Can’t you go
back to work at Lucinda’s? She always took care
of us.”
“She made sure we didn’t starve, but I wanted
more for us than just getting by.” She shook her
head, frowning. “When I went on my own, she told
me to never come back.”
I gasped. The woman who’d been like a second
grandmother for my entire life had cast my mom
off like that? Cast me off? “Why would she do
that?”
“She’s a proud woman,” Mom said. “She feels
like she gave us everything. She doesn’t understand
why I’d want more for myself. For us.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but Mom simply
shook her head. “We can’t risk this job. Please,
whatever you do, do not date this boy.”
That’s what this was about? I scoffed. “Amá,
you know I’d never date an Emerson rich kid.” And
a boy who probably hung out with models and the social elite would never consider dating a poor, plus-
sized girl like me.
With that, I picked up the handle and started
walking toward the house. Me falling for the boy
inside the mansion was the last thing my mom
needed to worry about. Public humiliation? Definitely. A secret romance? That was a waste of her
mental energy. We had a job to do.
