by Bella Grant
“I’ve seen you recently,” she said as she put the plate on the table.
Oh good, Nick thought. She was being nicer today, but he didn’t push it. “Coffee? Dark and strong?” Nick suggested, smiling.
“Oh yeah, the Rolex guy,” she said, smiling in return. She looked at his wrist.
“Not today,” he told her as he pulled up his sleeve and showed her the watch he wore today, which was equally expensive but one he could bet she didn’t know. His gamble paid off; she did not recognize the watch.
“I see you’re keeping it simple today.”
“Yes,” Nick said with a smile. “Simple can be best.”
“Unless you’re riding in the limo parked across the street.” She pointed outside the window and Nick had no choice but to look at the limo. Thankfully, it was a regular black limo and the windows were dark. She wouldn’t be able to recognize David unless he chose to step out of the limo at that instant.
“Work.”
“What sort of work do you do that requires a limo and a Rolex?” she asked curiously.
“Real estate,” Nick said, hoping she wouldn’t ask any more questions. He didn’t lie about his work, but he didn’t want to reveal too much. This visit was not going according to his plan. He had planned to come in and say hello to her just to see her, then leave. He didn’t want her to ask questions that could lead her to suspect the card he sent her was not a mistake. He needed to gain control of the situation. “Investment real estate.”
“That sounds interesting. Would you like some ketchup with your sandwich?” And just like that she had lost interest in him.
“No, this is fine,” Nick replied, cursing himself for showing up at her work place. Now he had given her something else to hold against him. Clearly she didn’t care about his money, or maybe she just didn’t like him. There was no way for him to know, and he didn’t want to hang around any longer and make things worse. And actually, he did like ketchup on his sandwich, but he wasn’t going to ask her for anything, except maybe a way to get out of there really fast.
“Well, enjoy your lunch. I hope it’s to your satisfaction.” She was finished with him and was departing when he called her back.
“Excuse me, Sara. May I get a take-away plate?” he asked. “I have to be somewhere.”
“Oh, okay. I’ll wrap it up for you then,” she replied after a moment of hesitation. She stepped back, took the plate, and walked away. She returned quickly with his food nicely packaged in a Styrofoam plate in a plastic bag.
“I put some ketchup on the side. I have a feeling you like ketchup,” she said as she handed the bag to him. She had a little more than a hint of a smile on her face.
“Thank you,” Nick said as he slipped her a few hundred dollar bills as a tip when she wasn’t looking. He didn’t look back to see her reaction as he walked to the door. He would see her in a few days. No need to push any more buttons.
SARA
When the man left, I went back to wipe the table and pick up the tip I had seen him leave. In as much as I didn’t want a tip from him since I hadn’t done much, my salary was minimal and I had to make up my earnings with tips. I assumed he had left a couple of dollars, and even though it wouldn’t do much for me, it could at least add to my savings for gas money that week. I picked up the loose change and the cash. Five hundred dollars!
My first instinct was to run after him and return the money because it had to be a mistake. He must have meant to drop five singles and had inadvertently left five hundred-dollar bills. I looked up, but he was already out the door. I ran out to catch him.
“Excuse me,” I called, but he didn’t hear me with the distractions and noise of the busy street. “Hey, Mister!” I called even louder, but he had already crossed the busy street.
I tried to follow him, but a bus slowed right in front of me. I waited for the bus to come to a complete stop so I could navigate around it, but I was too late. Before I could get to the other side of the road, his sleek limousine had pulled out.
I looked at the money in my hands, wondering how I could return it to him, but a thought hit my mind. The money wasn’t a mistake. The man wore a Rolex and had a limo. He probably had meant to tip me the exorbitant amount, which I was not opposed to. What I would be opposed to was if his rich ass came back wanting more from me. I debated what to do with it. It was legitimately mine; I had earned it as part of my privileges of serving Mr. Rich. Even though I thought it was way too much, I decided to accept it. My rent was due and the money would go a long way to subsidizing it. And even if I didn’t have impending rent, I had a party to go to.
Amy had promised to shop for me, but I couldn’t leave everything up to her. I needed to pay for some stuff myself. I took a second look at where his limo had been parked, which had been quickly replaced by two cars. It was almost as if he hadn’t been there. I whispered a thank you to no one in particular, pocketed the money, and went back to work.
Throughout the rest of my work day, my mind remained on the stranger and how deeply he had looked into my eyes with his dark brown, sexy eyes like he could see the depths of my soul. I smiled as I remembered the way his lips had curved into a slight smile when he spoke. I bet those lips tasted like sugar, no honey. He had to taste like honey. Men like him didn’t taste any less sweet.
I needed to get a grip on myself. I almost poured coffee on a client while lost in my imagination. Mr. Rich had distracted me like no one else had. I got through the day like clockwork - smiling at customers, taking orders, serving food, cleaning up after them. Each time the door opened, I looked up in anticipation, expecting Mr. Rich to come through the door, but I was disappointed every time.
By the time evening rolled around, I was a hot mess. All I wanted to do was get home and sleep him off. I was probably never going to see him again anyways.
I didn’t have to work the next day, and though I would have liked a chance to go in just in case he showed up again, common sense told me a man like that had more to do with his weekends than come to a deli chasing after a waitress, if that was what he was truly doing.
After tossing around on the bed for a few hours and getting nowhere with my day, I decided to get up, shower, and take a walk. My walk didn’t clear my head like I hoped it would. Thoughts of Mr. Rich kept playing like a movie. After a few miles, I gave up and walked home, put my PJs back on, and got back into bed. I had more important problems than my raging hormones to worry about. I had yet to solve the problem of what to do about the stupid elite ball I had no business going to. Funny how I could still be influenced by peer pressure even as an adult!
I lay on my bed twiddling with the pre-invitation, or was it a save-the-date card? I knew better than to let Amy's crazy decisions override my common sense. It didn't make sense to dress up, wear a necklace that wasn't for me, and attend a party I wasn't technically invited to. Alarms might go off as I stepped into the building. Nick Saunders could rip the necklace off my neck and call the cops on me.
If I ever had a chance of working for his empire, impersonating someone else at his ball would destroy it. Saunders owned most of the city, so if I ever wanted a decent job in this town, the sensible thing to do was place that call and return everything to the right Sara.
Unless I wanted to work at the coffee shop until my hair turned gray.
I grabbed my cell phone and punched the numbers on the card but hesitated to push the "talk" button. I stared at the phone until it timed out, then I did it again. What if Amy was right? All the good breaks I've had in life were due to Amy's input. She helped me get accepted into the college of my dreams and obtain a scholarship that covered most of my expenses. I still had to get student loans, but it would have been worse without the scholarships. She encouraged me to apply for jobs that I would never have had the courage to consider. Unfortunately, due to the economy souring, I wasn't able to get the job of my dreams with Saunders. So she had gotten me a job at the coffee shop while we looked for other jobs.
&nb
sp; What was the worst that could happen if I did go to the ball? It wasn't my fault I got an invitation card addressed to me. If Nick Saunders got mad, I would simply return the necklace, apologize, and let myself out. Maybe if they needed a waitress, I could volunteer to help and earn some extra money while I was there.
Common sense, which had been escaping me more often recently, demanded that I call and inform them I had been accidentally invited. I punched the numbers on the phone again and pressed send. It rang a few times and went to a voicemail.
"This is Nick Saunders. Please leave a message."
Shit! The number was Nick's personal cell phone? The real Sara Nolles must be important enough to have direct access to him. I quickly hung up the phone as the beep sounded to leave a message. I was not going to leave a message for the richest man in town. What would I say to him? Hi Nick, you invited me to a party and sent me this lovely necklace, but I can't go and I can't wear it because I'm not the real Sara Nolles. But my friend Amy thinks I should go, so I wanted to make sure it was okay with you.
Okay, that sounded dumb. Real Sara Nolles? When did I become the fake Sara? Maybe if I dialed again and just said that I got an invitation by error and wanted to get a return address? That sounded more reasonable and more adult.
I picked up the phone again and punched the number for the millionth time. What if he picked up? Was I ready to talk to him? Rich men frightened me. Maybe all that money and fame rubbed me the wrong way. I wasn't going to call him. I'll just drop by one of their offices on Monday and drop off the card with a note. I could ask him to have someone call me to arrange to pick up the necklace so I made sure it got back to him. I couldn't imagine how expensive the necklace was and how much trouble I could be in if I lost it.
With my decision firmly made, I got out of bed and put on some shorts and a tee. It was still early enough to go for another walk or even run a mile or two. As I laced my sneakers, strapped on my running watch, and cranked up the music on my headphones, I knew I had made a good decision regarding the party.
When I returned from my run, three miles and thirty minutes later, Amy was sitting in my apartment. I swear the way she showed up at my apartment as she pleased, it's hard to imagine she didn't live there.
"Running away from home?" I asked as I opened my door and found her sprawled on my bed flipping through the latest copy of Fashionette magazine. "Blueberry pancakes," I murmured as the familiar smell of her delicious pancakes hit my nose. Amy was the cook between the two of us. I always opted for carry-out and didn't think twice about ordering food for every meal.
"Vanilla blueberry pancakes," she corrected. "You didn't have any sausage or bacon."
"Maybe because I hardly cook," I pointed out. “And maybe because I’m not a big meat person.”
"Maybe you should cook once in a while," she said as she got out of the bed and walked to the tiny kitchen. “And maybe you should buy sausage.”
"Amy, you know I can cook very well. I just choose not to cook,” I reminded her, slightly irritated, which was useless because it really never bothered Amy when I got mad at her.
"Sure you can cook. When was the last time you cooked? Fifth grade?"
"Third maybe," I said, laughing. "I'll take a quick shower and be right out."
"Hurry up so the food doesn't get too cold!” she yelled as I disappeared in the shower.
"Yes, ma'am!" I called as I closed the bathroom door. In less than ten minutes, I was dressed in sweats and sitting with Amy.
"So why are you here so early?" I asked between forkfuls of food.
"We're going shopping," Amy said dryly.
"For what?" I asked. I was really short of money and shopping was not on my list of things to do. “I don’t need anything at the mall right now.”
"What do you mean?” she asked, slightly irritated. “Of course you need to go to the mall.”
“What do I need at the mall?” I asked.
“Your ball gown, idiot! The party is a week away and you have nothing to wear."
"Oh, a dress. Amy, you know I can't go. You know it doesn't make sense. It's sort of crazy and…” But even as I protested, I knew I was fighting a losing battle.
First off, I really did want to go to the ball. I wanted to see how the rich folks lived. And secondly, it had crossed my mind that Mr. Rich may be there. A guy who wore expensive watches, rode in limos, and dropped five hundred dollar tips certainly had to be on the guest list. Even though I hated to admit it, I was curious about him. I wanted to know his name or at least get to know him just a tad bit more.
"We're leaving in ten minutes. My treat. I already arranged for a personal shopper to help us,” Amy said, cutting into my thoughts.
Amy was very good at persuasion, which was why she was taking the LSATs in preparation for law school. I wondered how much more deadly she might get when she actually became a real lawyer.
"But you know I can't afford that with what I earn, even with tips." For a second, I was tempted to tell Amy about Mr. Rich, but she was already doing enough damage to me by coercing me to go to the ball. If she knew about him, she would make me hook up with him after a lesson on how rich men love me and how I would fit in nicely with the elite.
"I told you it was on me. Your food is getting cold." She pointed to the fork that held a piece of pancake that had been making its way to my mouth for over five minutes. “You will go to that ball and you will look fabulous.”
I sighed as I put the pancake in my mouth. Sometimes I truly hated Amy!
NICK
Nick stretched and grabbed his phone, which had been lying next to him. He hadn't heard the phone go off while deep in sleep. Some days, he slept so deeply even an earthquake wouldn't wake him up, a by-product of being overworked most days, which is why he played hard when he wasn’t working hard. But being rich required more than just giving instructions to his staff; he had to be hands-on, which required his time and energy.
His phone was beeping with a missed call. He clicked on the missed call and instantly recognized the number. He had started to dial that number several times but had hesitated, knowing a call would blow his cover. If he called her back, it would be hard to pretend he hadn’t met her. Even though he wanted to get her to the ball, he had to be careful so he didn’t lie to her. Besides, there was something to be said about getting a girl to give him her number herself. It was all part of winning at the wooing game. If he called girls without their permission, the game would be lost. And he never lost.
He looked at her number flashing on his phone screen again and fought the urge to dial her digits. He wasn’t going to call her and that was final.
He walked over to his dresser and pulled out the file he had on her. Some would call him a stalker, a pervert, but in his world where money ruled, he was simply researching someone he was interested in. He opened the file for the millionth time since receiving it from his private investigator and pulled out a picture of her. Her curvy body made him want to know a little bit more about her. That was how he had felt the first time he’d seen her, and that was how he felt now. His private investigator had been quick to scope her out and sent him every bit of information under the sun about her. He re-read a couple of the pages on her –excellent SAT scores, class valedictorian in college, finance grad school student– yes, she was intelligent and sexy with a smart mouth. His type of woman.
He pulled out his phone again and checked his messages, but she apparently hadn’t left one for him. He knew what she wanted to talk about. She obviously had no idea who he was and being invited to an exclusive ball, to her, must have seemed like an error. He guessed she was probably going to refuse the invitation and would most likely return the necklace. But he didn't want that. He wanted her to come. And he wanted to make her comfortable, hence his hesitation in sending a dress to wear for the event like he normally would for his female guest. He could pretty much guess her size, but that could freak her out.
He had already made the mistake of perso
nalizing the invitation card and the gift box card, which was most likely freaking her out. He couldn't risk a situation where she became so uncomfortable she simply did not show up. He truly wanted to be in her presence again, but within his own controlled environment. It was much easier to make a woman his when he was in control.
He flipped through the pages of the file and another picture of her fell to the floor. He picked it up. It was his favorite. She had been out on a morning run. He could see her curves - her breasts held tightly but spilling from within what he assumed was her sports bra, and her firm ass rounded against the shorts she wore. Her legs caught in the running motion seemed all muscle. She was wearing an arm band and had ear phones on. She seemed oblivious to the world - so innocent and pure.
He continued flipping through the file, a little slower than he did the files of the people who worked directly under him. Damn, she had applied for a job in his company a few years ago, but his staff had been assholes and declined application for employment. If he weren't being subtle, he would have fired the employee who hadn’t given her a chance to be an asset to his company. He flipped through a couple more pages. Nothing in there was new to him; he had perused it a few hundred times. But one thing that unsettled him was that she had spent eight weeks as an intern with his company and he had never set eyes on her. He had been gallivanting around Europe with his girlfriend, Amanda, who had readily left him when she found someone a tad bit richer than him.