by Alexa Davis
“Oh,” I say. “Yeah, hey, I know I wasn’t exactly fair to you the last time you asked me out,” I tell him. “I was wondering if you might like to give it another shot.”
Wait. How did I end up being the one to ask him to go out again?
He gives me a pristine, though brief smile and says, “That sounds great. If you leave me your number, I can give you a call when it’s not so hectic around here.”
“I know what you mean,” I say. “All those people waiting out front, I didn’t think I was going to get halfway into the lobby, much less actually—”
His head cocks to one side, and he raises an eyebrow. “What people are waiting out front?” he asks.
“I think they’re all waiting for a job,” I tell him. “At least, that’s what—“
“They think I’m in here hiring?” he asks. “We’re a long way away from staffing. Give me just a second.” He grabs his phone and dials a number. “Yeah, how many people are out there?”
He’s nodding, but not speaking. Nick lifts his head toward me and makes a writing motion with his hand. It takes me a second to get it, but a moment later, I’m grabbing a pen from his desk and writing my number on Nikolai Scipio’s open palm.
Nick smiles, and as he looks up at me, I let my defenses drop for a moment. He hasn’t given me any reason to think he’s playing me, but at the same time, what would he want with someone like me? I’m just the chick who works at the junk shop.
I catch Nick’s gaze and for six or seven heartbeats—it’s going too fast for an accurate count—and he parts his full lips, taking a quick breath of air. As he looks me in the eyes, he covers the phone with the palm on which I wrote my number, and he says, “Hey, this is probably going to be a minute. I’m going to have to talk her through this. Do you think you can get out all right? If not, I can have one of my guys—”
“No,” I say. In that brief, forgotten moment, I was almost ready to say yes to just about anything that came out of his mouth. “Besides, if they’re going to turn hostile, I’m pretty sure you’re the one who should be worried about the torches and pitchforks.”
“Okay,” he says. “If we’re going to stay here much longer, I’m going to insist they put in a few more exit doors—yeah,” he says, uncovering the phone, speaking into it. “Well, tell them that we’ll be happy to take their applications once we’ve gotten the forms back from the printers or something. They’re not responding when you tell them we’re not hiring yet?”
I guess that’s my cue.
Slowly, I turn and walk back to the door of the conference room. I glance back toward Nick. He notices my look and smiles before turning his attention back to the phone call.
It’s no secret, no matter how much I wanted it to be. I might be able to fool Naomi, but I wouldn’t be so worried that Nick might turn out to be one of those guys if I didn’t get a shot of adrenaline like a baseball bat to the chest every time I think about him.
This is dangerous territory, and I’m gladly signing up for it. I just have to be careful; that’s all. I’ve just got to keep my eyes open, and I’ll be okay.
It’s a bit exciting, going out with a billionaire. I’ll never admit it, but I’ve had the fantasies of the wealthy nobleman who might save me from my life of serfdom. Maybe I haven’t exactly fantasized about it in those terms, but the general concept is there.
I still don’t know why he’s interested in me, but he did give me space when I told him I wasn’t ready to go out with him. Either it’s a long con, or there could be a chance that even as one of the richest men in the country, Nick Scipio just might be an okay guy.
It looks like I’m going to find out.
I hardly notice I’m looking at the floor smiling until I notice the complete lack of noise from the rabble and look up. There at the end of the hall, where the corridor leads out into the main foyer, are a few dozen scarlet faces with narrow eyes staring at me.
They all think I’m the reason they’re not getting jobs today.
Chapter Four
Dinner on the Beach
Nick
It’s taken a few days, but my schedule is finally pliable enough that I can take Ellie to one of my favorite spots, Kola Kitanabu. She was very impressed with the name, but I could see she’d never heard of the place. No matter, we’ll be there soon enough.
The best part so far is when we pull up to the airport and my driver stops the car. She’s sitting on the other side of the backseat, and she grabs my arm as she looks out the window.
“Why are we at the airport?” she asks.
“We’re going to Kola Kitanabu,” I answer.
My driver, Brent—hardly the old-money kind of name I was hoping for in a driver, but you work with what you can get—opens Ellie’s door and she’s leaning into me.
“We can go somewhere closer if you like,” I tell her. “When I called and asked where you’d like to get some dinner, though, you said—”
“Surprise me,” she interrupts. “This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
“Why’d you think I asked if you had a passport?” I respond.
Ellie looks up at me, eyes gaping either from surprise or some deathly fear of poor Brent, who’s still standing there, holding his hand out for Ellie to take.
“Your call,” I tell her.
She’s still staring at Brent like he’s an alien come to abduct her, but she says, “Tell me about it, where we’re going.”
It’s hard to contain my amusement when she realizes we’re not flying commercial.
Over the clouds now and somewhere over the vast, swallowing ocean, I don’t think Ellie’s stopped looking out her window for longer than a couple of seconds. That only seems to happen when we hit some unexpected turbulence.
“Is this your first time on a plane?” I ask.
“I went to New Jersey once,” she says. “I don’t know. I was little, though.”
“Mind if I ask why the passport then?” I ask.
She looks over at me and, after a quick glance back to the window; she sits back in her chair. “I don’t know,” she says. “I guess I just never wanted to be one of those people who dies twenty miles from where they were born, you know?”
“Did you have a destination in mind?” I ask. “I’m still working on our second date, and I’m open to ideas.”
Her lower eyelids come up a little, and she peers at me, saying, “What makes you think there’s going to be a second date?”
When she lets herself relax, she’s a lot of fun to talk to, but I guess the suspiciousness is going to hang around a while. “Just thought I’d put it out there,” I tell her. “I suppose you can call it an airing of hope.”
Her eyes unclench a little, and she faces forward. “Ah,” she says. “Well, the plane’s nice and everything, but it does seem a bit wasteful just for the two of us to go out on a date.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“That’s a lot of jet fuel,” she says and starts shaking her head. “Look at me. Here I am riding on your plane, but is that going to stop me from chastising you for doing the same thing?”
“You care,” I say. “I don’t think that’s a bad thing. You’re right that you don’t have a leg to stand on here, but you know, it’s a nice thought.”
For the very first time, I think since she realized who I was when she started talking to me in her store, Ellie seems to know that I’m joking. I don’t get a laugh out of her, but her face goes that same dark red it was when she came to on the floor. This time, though, she’s smiling.
“Maybe next time we can do a date without all the jet fuel?” she asks. “I’m not going to lie and say I’m not impressed, though,” she says, looking around the interior of the plane. “You seem like you’ve done all right for yourself.”
“I get by,” I smile. “We’re all paycheck to paycheck, though.”
“Yeah, but your paychecks are a little bigger, and if you’re going through the money that fast, you should probabl
y have them turn the plane around,” she says. “It sounds like you can’t afford me.”
I’m not sure whether I’m coming or going with Ellie most of the time, but she’s here. I keep telling myself to wait until we get to know each other again before telling her, but it already feels like I missed my shot to do that if I was going to be totally upfront with her.
Right now, I’m just kind of glad she doesn’t recognize me.
“So,” she says, “I have to ask.”
“What would you like to know?” I respond.
“Your first name is Nikolai, which is Russian, but your last name is Scipio, which is Italian,” she starts.
“You're kind of good at that. Yeah,” I answer. “Mom was from Minsk. Dad was from—well, actually, he was from the Bronx, but his grandfather was from a small village in Italy.”
“I didn’t mean to pry,” she says. “I’ve just always wondered about that. You see someone on the cover of a magazine, and you never think you’re going ever to see them, much less talk to them …”
She’s still talking, but as she does, her face is growing ever redder.
“Is something wrong?” I ask.
“Oh, thank god,” she says. “I don’t know, sometimes when I’m nervous, I just start rambling, and I don’t even know what I’m talking about, and then I get all embarrassed and because I get all embarrassed, I feel like I have to keep talking which, I know, doesn’t make any sense, but—”
“Ellie?” I interrupt again.
“Yeah?” she asks.
“There’s nothing to be nervous about, all right?” I ask. “We’re just two people trying to get to know each other. That’s all.”
“Yeah?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I answer.
She looks out the window, murmuring, “I don’t know. I’d say a trip on a private jet to someplace I can’t pronounce just for dinner seems pretty dangerous to me.”
“We’ve got pizza in the back,” I tell her.
* * *
By the time we arrive in Kola Kitanabu, both of us are ready to be done traveling. Maybe I did go a little overboard, but you don’t usually get two shots at a first date. What can I say? I shot the moon.
Ellie and I got to talk a bit on the flight, but after I let slip that there’s a small library in the back, I didn’t see her very much until we landed. As we’re finally coming through the trees into the village itself, I can’t help but wonder if it was a good idea to tell her she could keep anything she wanted.
Along with a stack half the height of my upper body and nearly as wide, Ellie’s still reading as we drive down the old dirt roads toward the boardwalk.
I should have mentioned we could keep the books on the plane, but she looked so excited when she enlisted me to help her carry her stack of preliminary choices.
It could be a nod toward the two of us finding something over which to bond, but I can’t help getting the feeling she’s trying to keep me at a distance. That particular suspicion is only strengthened by the fact the book she’s reading as we come to a stop is The Bell Jar.
Don’t get me wrong; I like Sylvia Plath as much as anyone, but her work doesn’t inspire much in the way of creating a romantic mood.
Brent opens Ellie’s door, and I can hear a couple of books falling out of the car and onto the ground. This time, Ellie doesn’t recoil in fear and confusion but instead decides just to keep reading. As I come to think about it, though, I haven’t noticed her turn the page in quite a while.
“I’m going to make sure everything’s prepared,” I tell her. “Just let Brent know when you’re ready.”
“Sounds good,” Ellie says into the book.
I get out of the car and start walking toward the beach where I had a friend of mine, a local restaurant owner, set up a couple of chairs.
On the one hand, I’m glad she doesn’t recognize me because I don’t want the impression of who I was back then to be the only thing in her head about me. On the other hand, I haven’t felt this kind of engrossing uncertainty since my roommate and I dropped out of college to start Stingray.
That turned out well enough, I guess.
“Hey!” Ellie’s voice comes from behind me. I stop and wait for her. When she catches up, she doesn’t say much, only, “It’s so beautiful here.”
We start walking, and I answer, “It is my favorite spot. You know, that’s rainforest surrounding the village.”
“I know,” she says. “While I was in the plane’s library, I might have taken the liberty of looking it up.”
“Wait until you meet the locals,” he says. “The first guy you’re going to meet is named Amin—”
“Would you mind if we just walk around for a little while before we start—you know,” she says. “I’d just like to walk around for a little bit if that’s all right with you.”
“Of course,” I tell her.
We get to the boardwalk, and when she catches her first sight of the beach, I let her get a few steps ahead so I can send a quick text to Amin to let him know dinner’s going to be delayed a little while. The phone’s back in my pocket before Ellie turns around, saying, “This is incredible. The beach, the ocean—that is the ocean, right?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say, nodding.
“And then I turn back around to tell you how beautiful that is and I see the rainforest on this side,” she says. “It is something. Thanks for—you know, for bringing me.”
“You’re welcome,” I tell her. “Did you want to walk around a little more or are you starting to get hungry?”
“I don’t think I’m quite ready to, you know,” she says.
“That’s the second time with the ‘you know’ thing,” I say. “Just like last time, all I’m asking for is dinner.”
“No,” she says, “I mean, yeah, I know. I just meant I’m not quite ready to …” she’s trapped mid-incomprehensible gesture, and she lets her hands drop. “You know,” she says.
“Okay,” I answer and smile. I still have no idea what she’s going on about.
So we walk for a while. The village isn’t large. It’s not the kind of place you’d put a hotel unless you wanted to ruin everything.
The sad thing about places like this is that they’re so unique, so special you want to tell everyone about it. When that happens, though, tourists descend, and the place loses its authenticity and ends up just another tourist spot, like any other.
I’ve been here enough the locals recognize me, but they don’t know Ellie, so they’re a bit wary. A lot of people have had the idea to turn this place into a tourist spot, and although I’ve been coming here for a few years now, it doesn’t seem like too many of the townspeople are past the fact I’m precisely the kind of guy who lays waste to places like this.
Well, I’m not that type, myself, but I’ve got the kind of bank account that’ll raise this sort of distrust.
The sun’s starting to go down and Ellie’s walking a little closer to me now. She says, “Thank you for bringing me here. It really is something.”
“I’m glad you think so,” I respond. “Are you getting hungry, or are you still full from the last meal on the plane?”
“I’m getting tired, though,” she says. “Could we maybe have our big dinner after I’ve had a chance to get a nap? The jetlag is killing me.”
“Sure,” I tell her. “That won’t be a problem.”
It looks like I’ve got a long night of apologizing to Amin ahead of me. I’m going to have to make it good, too. Otherwise, I might have to make other arrangements for when Ellie’s up and ready for something to eat.
We’re walking back in the general direction of the car and Ellie stops.
“Oh no,” she says.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“It’s my boss,” she says. “When you picked me up, I didn’t think we were going to be leaving the country—”
“I did tell you to bring your passport,” I interrupt.
She glares at me and my mouth
conveniently shuts on its own.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “What were you telling me?”
“Work,” she says. “I have work in the morning.”
“Which morning?” I ask.
“Thursday,” she says.
Teeth together, I take a slow breath through my mouth.
“It’s not the end of the world,” she says. “I’ll call him, and I’m sure it’ll be all right. Actually, it won’t be all right, but I don’t think he’ll fire me so long as I can still get the call in before my shift.”
“Yeah, it’s Thursday night in Mulholland,” I say. “We crossed the international dateline. Don’t worry; everyone loses a bit of time figuring out the difference. Unless you’re working the graveyard shift, I’d say you missed it.”
“Oh my god!” she responds, startling a nearby older local woman almost into the side of a building. “Could I use your phone?” she asks.
I pull my cellphone out of my pocket and hand it to her.
“This works here?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I tell her. “I’m on a different kind of plan.”
Actually, when you’re rich, companies will often give you stuff so people will see you with it. It’s funny: Before I had money, everything was so incredibly expensive. Just living from week to week was a gut-wrenching experience. Now that I couldn’t run out unless I worked at it, I get all sorts of things for free. Like Stingray’s tax bill. That one’s especially useful.
Ellie takes the phone and frantically dials. “Do I need a country code or anything?” she asks.
“The number’s based in the US,” I tell her. “You’ll just need the area code.”
“This is an excellent phone,” she says before putting it up to her ear.
“The software’s all ours,” I start, but now’s not the time.
“Yeah, Troy?” she says. “Hey … No, what time is it?”
I look at my watch. It’s eight o’clock here, so that means it would be about five in the morning in Mulholland. If the guy can’t handle a call at five AM, he has no business owning, well, a business.
“That doesn’t seem proportional at all,” she says. “When was the last time I was late for a shift, much less missed one?”