by Rye Hart
“Because you're like a super-hot – err I mean, rich – guy,” I said. “And I'm, well, a cocktail waitress. No one important. Don't get me wrong, I'm thankful for dinner and all, but we don't exactly move in the same social or economic circles.”
He chuckled and finally took a bite from his burger, the juices dripping from his lips. Yes, I stared and licked my own lips, imagining what his might taste like. As if on command, Malcolm licked his lips, and even that movement was slow, seductive, and sexy. I felt a flutter in my belly, like the wings of a butterfly battering my insides, and a warmth down below took me by surprise.
I adjusted in my seat, trying to compose myself and ignore growing heat inside of me. I'm sure it was written all over my face though. I'm sure it was as obvious as a neon sign on my forehead or something, announcing that watching Malcolm Crane eat a cheeseburger was the epitome of sexiness.
I could only imagine what he'd look like eating something else,and my cheeks burned bright red at the thought.
“What?” he asked.
That crooked smile was back on his face and showcased a dimple in his cheek.
“Nothing – it's just –”
Think of something, Casey, I mentally demanded of myself. Say something that isn't stupid. Something that doesn't make you sound like a totally vapid bimbo.
“Well, it's just, I have no idea what to talk about with someone like you,” I said.
“Someone like me?” He cocked a thick, sandy brown eyebrow at me. “I'm not Tom Cruise or Brad Pitt or anything like that. I'm just a normal guy. What do you talk about with normal guys?”
Nah, you're hotter than both those men combined,I thought to myself. Instead, I shot him a look.
“Please, you? Normal?” I scoffed. “There's nothing about you that's even remotely normal.”
“Oh yeah?” he responded. “Well, what do you consider normal, Casey?”
I thought about that for a moment, and finally said, “Normal people have problems,” I said. “Not like – what car I'm going to drive today? Or, what exotic location I'm going to visit next? Like real problems. Things like, how am I going to pay the rent this month? Or, what the hell am I going to do now that I lost my job?”
“Is that what you’re worried about, how you’re going to pay your rent?” he asked, looking at me thoughtfully.
“You don’t think I can take care of myself?” I challenged.
He didn't answer me. Wisely. He probably knew there wasn't a right answer to that question that wasn't going to piss me off. He was obviously, a smart man. Malcolm seemed to read me better than other people. He knew how to avoid getting under my skin. Which meant, I was starting to like him.
Bad idea, Casey. Very bad idea, I thought.
Still, I found it hard to keep quiet. I opened my mouth and had a bad case of verbal and emotional diarrhea. I couldn't help it. Everything just flew out like the flaming pile of shit it was.
“Okay, fine, you got me,” I said. “Yeah, I'm freaked out because I just lost my job, and I'm not sure how I'll pay the bills this month.”
Malcolm looked at me with an inscrutable expression his face, and once I'd realized what I'd said, I felt the heat rising in my cheeks once more.
“I'm sorry,” I added quickly. “It's not your fault. And it's not like you want to hear about my struggles.”
“Talk to me, Casey,” he said, his voice soft and gentle. “I have all night and nowhere to go. Especially, since my former best friend hates me, and I don't have a girlfriend I need to check in with since she cheated on me and I kicked her to the curb.”
He smiled and tried to play it off like he was making a joke, but that last bit hit me like a truck and stuck with me. I gaped at him, my jaw nearly on the table. I was floored by the admission. “Your girlfriend cheated on you?” I asked in stunned disbelief.
“Hey, we're talking about you, not me.”
“Sure, it's none of my business, but seriously – what a bitch,” I said. “A really stupid bitch.”
I found it hard to believe someone would cheat on a guy like Malcolm. Maybe if he had the personality of Greg, okay. That would make sense. But, Malcolm was hot, successful, and from the little I knew of him, I thought he seemed to be a nice guy. What psychotic bitch would cheat on him?
Malcolm chuckled. “That she is,” he said. “But I'm here to talk to you. I want to find out what made you snap tonight.”
“Why? Are you a shrink?”
“No,” he scoffed. “It's just that I don't like seeing good people upset.”
“How do you know I'm a good person?”
A rueful smile touched his lips. “I'm good at reading people.”
“How very noble of you, Malcolm,” I said. “But, I don't need a white knight to come in and save the day. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“I know that, and it's one reason I enjoy talking to you,” he admitted and took a sip of his water, though his eyes remained glued to me. “You're so different from other women I've known.”
I rolled my eyes. “Because all women are just the same, and I'm the unicorn amongst them,” I said and laughed. “Come on, Malcolm, you can do better than that.”
“Fine,” he said. “I like that you aren't afraid to speak your mind and don't take crap from anyone. Including me.”
“Thank you. I think,” I said, a shy smile touching my lips.
“You're welcome,” he replied. “And yes, I meant it as a compliment.”
We finished with our meal, and I was a little embarrassed that I'd cleaned my plate off completely. Even more so, because Malcolm only ate about half his fries and a few bites of the burger. It made me think either he didn't care for the food or wasn't even hungry in the first place. “So, were you really looking at Tinder earlier?” I asked. “Because honestly, I find that hard to believe.”
“Not Tinder, no, but something similar,” he laughed. “Even I have standards.”
“Please, of course you do,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Just the idea that you'd have to use a dating app to find a girl is crazy to me. I'd imagine that women throw themselves at you, Mr. Malcolm Crane, wealthy and attractive as you are.”
I meant it as sarcasm, but I realized too late that it came out more as a statement of fact. It was true though, even if I didn't mean to sound so smitten with the guy. Malcolm wasn't the type that would have any trouble getting a date.
“I'm not looking to date, actually,” he said as he frowned down at his empty water glass, swirling the ice around with the straw. “I'm not ready to date again. Not so soon, anyway.”
“Then why would you be on a dating app – unless –” my cheeks flushed and I didn't bother finishing my statement, since the answer was more than obvious. “Oh well, I guess there's other things you could be doing with women that doesn’t involve dating.”
He shook his head and gave me that crooked little grin of his. “Not looking for a hookup either,” he said. “In case you were wondering.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You're a really confusing man, Malcolm Crane,” I said. “I hope you know that.”
“Maybe I'm just a normal guy in a confusing situation,” he said, looking up at me.
His face was serious, his jaw tight. He wasn't smiling, nor happy about this conversation. That much was clear. Why, though? The contradictions and confusion about him left me reeling, and completely curious.
“I told you my predicament,” I said. “Now it's your turn.”
“I can't,” he said.
“Because then you'd have to kill me?”
He chuckled. “Something like that, yeah.”
The waitress cleared our table and didn't bother to refill our water glasses. There was no reason for us to stick around, but I could see that Malcolm wasn't in a hurry to leave. Neither was I. As rough a start as our evening got off to, I was enjoying spending a little time and getting to know Malcolm a little bit better. Which surprised me. A lot.
Plus, it helped take my
mind off the fact that I now had no job and no idea what I was going to do. Anything that would help take my mind off the current clusterfuck that was my life was a welcome distraction.
“Would you like a ride home?” he asked.
“I'll be fine,” I said, a little disappointed that our evening was coming to an end. “The train takes me right down the street from my place.”
“No, no train for you tonight,” he said, putting a wad of cash in the little black book with the bill.
It was more cash than it possibly took to pay the damn bill and yet, he'd tossed it in without even thinking about it. I don't even know that he actually looked at the bill. Our waitress was getting one hell of a tip.
Not that I was going to complain about it. Someone who tipped well always got brownie points in my book. When you work in the service industry, you get it. Too many people don't. Especially those like Malcolm who were born into a life of luxury and who never had to work for anything in their lives. They never really saw people like me for the hard workers we were. They never took the time to appreciate us or understand how much a decent tip meant.
It sometimes literally did mean the difference between paying the light bill or putting food in the fridge. A generous tip sometimes allowed us to do both.
He smiled at me. “What is it?”
“Just – nothing,” I said.
“My car is parked at the club,” he said. “Think they'll let me retrieve it?”
A devious grin spread across his face.
“We might have to steal it,” I teased.
“Stealing back my own car,” he said. “Sounds exciting.”
“Life is always an adventure when you hang with me.”
I winked at him as we stood up. I couldn't help but smile as Malcolm continued chuckling. Most people don't appreciate my dry, sardonic sense of humor, but Malcolm was an exception.
He seemed to be an exception to a lot of things. He certainly wasn't the man I had thought he was.
As we walked out of the diner, I thought that for how shitty the night had started, it didn't turn out all that bad.
~ooo000ooo~
We didn't have to steal his car back, thankfully. The valet was happy to retrieve it for him. When a black luxury sedan pulled to a stop at the valet station, I groaned.
“You drive a BMW,” I said. “Why am I not surprised?”
Malcolm opened the car door for me, an amused smile on his face. “What do you have against BMW?”
“Just that every rich asshole seems to have one,” I said.
He closed the door and walked to the other side, climbing into the driver's seat. When he was buckled in, he looked at me with that mischievous little smirk on his face.
“Do you think I'm an asshole?” he asked.
I shot him a sideways look, my own smile pulling at my lips.
“The jury is still out on that one,” I answered. “I hardly know anything about you, to be honest. Except that you like punching pricks in the face as much as I do.”
“Oh look, something else we have in common,” he said. “Careful, we may end up best friends before I get you home.”
“That's probably all we have in common, you know,” I said. “We come from two entirely different worlds. I'm not even sure our worlds are in the same universe.”
Malcolm put the address I'd given to him in the GPS and eased out into the road, turning left out of the nightclub's parking lot at the automated voice's request.
“You might be surprised, Casey,” he said. “If you actually knew me, you'd know I come with my own share of problems, and that maybe, just maybe, I'm not the snooty prick you think I am.”
“You may not be a snooty prick,” I said. “But, you never have to worry about ending up on the street or without a job, I'm sure. You never have to worry about having to scrounge up money to feed your siblings and help keep the house afloat.”
“Wanna bet?”
We were stopped at a red light, and he looked over at me. He seriously seemed to believe we had similar problems in life. How – well – I would say cute, but I didn't exactly find it endearing that he didn't recognize his privileged life. Hhe actually thought he could relate to me. I didn't bother arguing with him though. It would have been utterly pointless. Sometimes, you just couldn't get through to guys like him, because he'd never had to go without before. He'd never wanted for anything. He'd never had to choose between paying rent and feeding the kids. He couldn't possibly understand my life and the idea that he thought it could pissed me off.
“Maybe it's not the same thing,” he continued, “but what if I told you I might lose everything in a few months if I don't complete an impossible task my father requires of me.”
“What? Like find some ancient, oriental rug to decorate one of your eight bedrooms with?”
“No, something that's actually impossible,” he said, pressing the accelerator and shooting through the intersection once the light changed from red to green. “It's something that isn't just up to me, but my entire future rests upon it. If I don't do as my father says, I lose everything. I'll have to find a regular job, get some shitty apartment somewhere, and actually live like those ‘normal people’ you talk about.”
“Oh, poor you.” I wiped away fake tears from my eyes. “I'm sure you'll still have a contingency plan, plus your Stanford education, to back you up. Most of us don't even have that.”
“You're right,” he sighed. “This entire time, I thought I had it bad. But, you're right. I was being a snooty prick. You've made me understand that I'll still be okay, even if I can't complete this ridiculous task. It's just – ”
He looked over at me, as if he was trying to decide whether or not to keep talking and trust me enough to open up to me. That, of course, only deepened my curiosity. What deep dark secrets could rich boy Malcolm Crane be locking away in the bowels of his heart? What horrendously impossible task could daddy dearest possibly be requiring of him?
Honestly, I was surprised he'd told me as much and opened up as far as he had. It seemed to be pretty personal information for him to just rattle on and on about. I wasn't going to lie though, I was fascinated.
With a small nod to himself, he continued speaking – much to my surprise.
“I've worked so hard my entire life. I did everything required of me as I got myself ready to take over my father's company. This has been my entire life's purpose for as long as I can remember, I'm not sure what I'd do without it,” he said. “But, it's more than that. I don't want to disappoint my father. This is his dying wish, and I don't want to fail him. I'm afraid that I'm going to though. I don't see any way to avoid it.”
“What's his wish?”
Malcolm tensed up, grabbing the steering wheel with both hands as he stared straight ahead. His eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched. I was treading in some very dangerous, personal ground and I could feel Malcolm starting to withdraw.
“Oh, so now you're going to clam up on me? No fair,” I said.
I turned and looked out the window, watching the streets of Hollywood passing us by. The homeless people sleeping on the streets and in doorways. As bad as things sucked, at least I had a bed to go home to; for now anyway. “It's very personal,” he said.
“And telling me your lifelong dream and your desire to not let your father down isn't?” I said.
I turned back to him and could see the way his eyes were focused on the road. He was deep in thought. Even still, he looked so handsome and sexy. Malcolm had leading man good looks and could have been a star if he'd pursued acting. He looked almost too good to be real. I yearned to reach out and touch him, just to make sure this wasn't all a dream. But, I didn't. I just stared until he caught me looking – and then turned away, thankful the darkness of the car's interior hid the fact that my face was turning a shade of red not found in nature.
“It's just that – it's stupid and crazy, but I was thinking maybe you could help me with what I need to do,” he said. “I'm just not sur
e how to ask. It would be a win-win for both of us.”
“Us?”
“Yes,” he said quietly. “You just lost your job, and I'd be willing to pay for your help. I'd pay you very well, in fact.”
That piqued my interest, though there was a nervous flutter in my belly. What could he possibly be wanting to ask me to do that he would pay me “very well” for?
“Go on,” I said, my voice a little uneasy.
“Well, see – my father only has nine months to a year until his mind starts going. He'll be dead within two years, apparently,” he said. “And his last wish – his last requirement for me to receive my inheritance, actually, is –”
Malcolm hesitated as the GPS spoke up, telling us both that we were approaching our destination.
“You can park here,” I said. “My apartment is right over there.”
Malcolm pulled to the curb and stopped, shutting the engine off and started to get out of the car.
“No, you don't need to walk me in,” I said.
“I know I don't have to, but –”
“Seriously, no. You'll come back to find all your tires missing and your windows broken,” I said. “Just – trust me, okay?”
The real reason I didn't want Malcolm walking me in was my dad. I couldn't let Malcolm meet him. The humiliation of it would kill me, for sure. I stared down at my hands, hoping Malcolm would continue with what he was saying. But he fell silent, so I urged him along.
“So, anyway, what were you talking about before?” I asked. “About me helping you?”
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “That.”
I could tell he was nervous – which wasn't an emotion I'd commonly associate with him. He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath before continuing.
“There's really no easy way to put it,” he said. “But, basically, my father's last request was for me to give him a grandchild. My inheritance, and my stake in the company, rests on my ability to do that.”
I raised my eyebrows, not sure I liked where this was going. I had an idea what he was going to ask me, and it was starting to freak me out a bit.
Malcolm rushed through the next part. “And while I'm not looking for a relationship or anything,” he said. “I am looking for someone to – well – have my child. As in a surrogate.”