The Millionaire Myth

by Jennifer Taylor

  He collapsed against the wall with one hand over his face, the other hanging at his side. His suit jacket was open and I could see his chest moving up and down. Once again, my feelings for him had switched; from loathing to longing in ten seconds flat. Impressive.

  He turned his head and stared at me. “I need you,” he begged.

  I was about to throw myself on him when he finished his sentence, “to help me with this guy. Please come with me tomorrow to show them some more listings?”

  Oh, that kind of need.

  I wasn't sure what kind of help I could be. Other than helping to kick this Drew guy in the shins, when he rolled his eyes because the laundry room didn't have surround sound. “I'll be there if it helps Mick, but I'm not sure if it will.”

  He nodded gratefully. “It will Estelle, trust me. You should see yourself when you look at these houses. You always look like you can't believe they exist. That's just what he needs to see; someone who's completely envious. It has to work.”

  Is there anything more satisfying than when your talents are recognized at work?

  I really wouldn't know.

  As I got dressed the next morning I couldn't figure out what was wrong with me. It was Saturday. Was I salaried? No. Did I get any kind of overtime for this? No. Was I truly concerned with Mick's success? Definitely no. So why was I spending one of my cherished-and rare-days off trolling around with him? I'd have been looking forward to it if I were looking at the houses for enjoyment. That's not what this was. I was just muscle; helping Mick lift a gigantic crowbar that would hopefully pry open a wallet.

  Yes, I was just a tool. But, a willing one. I knew the reason I'd agreed to go along; it was relief. I was so grateful for a reprieve that I would have agreed to anything. At least one truth had surfaced; I could never let anyone else know I'd made up the inheritance. Those few seconds when I thought Mick had found me out were enough to make me certain of that.

  I was just pulling on my boots when Mick knocked on my door. I grabbed my purse and opened the door, stepping out as he moved to step inside. As I was locking the door Mick said, “Wow, you're not going to show me your place?”

  “No. I thought we were meeting your clients in a few minutes?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. We're not meeting them for another twenty minutes. I always get to the houses before my clients. Show me your place.”

  I slid my keys into my purse and started toward the parking lot. “No, let's just go. I don't want to worry about being late, besides, the place is a mess.” My apartment was perfectly clean. I just didn't need him in there, frowning at my lack of cabinetry, my dingy carpet, my thin walls.

  “Okay, maybe when I drop you off you'll show me around?”

  “We'll see, let's just get going, I can't wait to see these houses,” I said, hoping the excitement in my voice was believable.

  We arrived at the first house fifteen minutes early. It was way too over the top. After Mick punched in a code on a keypad, we drove though a large automatic gate that opened to a mile long driveway, that led to the stone walled home. It felt more like a compound than a private residence.

  Mick shut the large double doors behind us as I stared up at a gigantic chandelier. It looked like something you'd see in a mansion. It must have had hundreds of cut crystals hanging from the metal frame, and it was lit by those lights that are made to look like candles. I disliked it instantly. “I'm guessing this shack has everything on their if-it's-not-here-you-may-as-well-torch-the-place-list?”

  He followed my eyes to the lighting monstrosity. “Oh yeah, and them some. From this grand entrance to the lush gardens, this place has custom everything, including the lighting, imported from Europe. Impressive, isn't it?”

  “I suppose so, if this is your taste. I just can't understand wanting such a big...house. Can you technically call this a house? Especially for two people...do they even like each other?”

  “What are you talking about?” He asked with a confused face.

  I chuckled. “Mick, think about it, how would two people even find each other in here? Are tracking devices included?”

  He wasn't amused. “Estelle, don't say things like that, alright? You're supposed to be impressed by this place. You sound worse than Drew.” Again he said the name with distaste.

  “Well maybe he likes more modern places. Maybe something more current...and livable,” I suggested.

  He mocked, “Oh, really? Maybe you're right...hmm, something modern, I'd never thought of that. God, Estelle, do you think I'm new to this? I've shown him modern, I've shown him lofts, I've shown him craftsman, mid-century, nothing works for this guy!”

  Okay, someone was tense. All I could think was that maybe Mick needed to show Drew a different agent, but I valued my hide, so I kept that to myself.

  After a quick tour of the house to ensure that everything was in order, we sat at the island. I noted the counter top, it was a two inch thick layer of glass. It had a pale aqua color running though it and it looked like ice. It was gorgeous. Now this I could understand paying lots of money for. Instantly I put it on my list of must-haves in a home. If I ever had any money that wasn't imaginary, that is.

  My admiration of the counter was disrupted by a sharp buzzing. Automatically, I searched for signs of smoke, assuming that the annoying sound was a smoke alarm. Mick calmly hopped up and pressed a button that was built into the wall beside the phone. The buzzing ceased.

  “What did you just do?” I asked.

  “Trina is here. That was the gate buzzer.” Not noticing my bewildered look, he turned toward the front of the house instructing, “Let's get a move on Estelle, they'll be pulling up in a second.”

  I rolled my eyes as I slid off the stool mumbling, “Gate buzzer, how stupid. What ever happened to a doorbell?” I grudgingly followed Mick to the “grand entrance”. Simply calling it the front door would probably knock fifty grand off the price.

  Mick was about to open the door when I grabbed his arm. “Wait! What am I doing here? Who am I supposed to be?” I asked, suddenly panicked.

  He peeled my fingers from his arm and responded calmly, “You are Estelle. You are my assistant. Relax, you're acting like this is illegal. If they ask you any questions, just say that you aren't sure of the answer, and relay them to me. All you have to do is be fascinated by this place, think you can handle that?”

  Without waiting for an answer, Mick plastered on his winning grin and opened the doors wide. Peeking out from behind him I saw a big truck pulling up the drive. I was surprised; I'd expected to see a car more like Mick's. Though the truck looked new, it was covered in dirt, and had a diamond plate toolbox attached to the bed. You could tell it was actually useful, not just for show.

  The truck came to a stop and a tall man in jeans and work boots jumped down from the cab. Just like his truck, he was in good shape and was clearly familiar with hard work. I watched with interest as he went around the the passenger side and helped a woman down from the cab.

  She could have possibly been the thinnest woman I'd ever seen. And unlike her escort, in stiletto heels and a perfectly tailored suit, she was exactly what I'd expected. In fact, she and Mick looked like a matched set.

  Mick rushed down the front steps with his arms extended. “Trina! I am so glad to see you! Isn't this place incredible? I just know you-you both,” He nodded at Drew before finishing, “are going to love it.”

  Trina beamed, and to my shock-and more than a little admiration-hopped up and down in her five inch heels. “Mick! I could not believe how breathtaking the drive was!” She turned to paw at Drew. “Sweetie! Wasn't it beautiful?”

  He grinned slightly and shrugged. “Yeah, it was a very impressive driveway.” I was surprised again; he didn't strike me as rude or picky. From his tone, it seemed like he thought the place was as ludicrous as I did. Don't get me wrong, I hated his girlfriend on sight, but Drew, he might be tolerable. Possibly agreeable?

  Mick started talking about property lines wh
en Drew interrupted him, “Excuse me,” he addressed me, “Mick didn't introduce us. Must be the sheer excitement of the property,” he teased. I noticed Mick's glare aimed at the back of Drew's head. “I'm Drew. This is Trina. And you are?”

  Drew's eyes were friendly. Trina's were...inspecting the hardware on the front door. I took Drew's hand. “Hi, I'm...I'm Stella. It's very nice to meet you...both.” I saw Mick raise his eyebrows, but before he could speak I added, “I'm here today to assist Mick.”

  I have no idea why I decided to call myself Stella, it just came out. Maybe it was Mick calling me his assistant. Possibly it was the fact that Trina found wrought iron more interesting that meeting me. Perhaps it was Drew's rapt expression? Whatever it was, I decided that I wasn't Estelle anymore; I wasn't a timid door mat. I was Stella; smart, vibrant, and ready for new experiences.

  Mick explained, “Forgive my rudeness, Stella is here to help show you around. We want to make sure you get to see every surprise this place holds.”

  Trina grabbed Drew's hand and pulled him toward the entry. “We can't wait to see it Mick, it looks perfect.”

  After thirty minutes Drew was finished. Ignoring Trina's whines, he told Mick and I that it just wasn't right. I had to give Mick credit; he nodded with understanding and we moved on to the next home.

  Three hours later the perfect home was a distant memory. We had just said goodbye to Drew and a pouting Trina after viewing four more homes. None of which were, “quite right.”

  As soon as Drew's truck turned the corner and disappeared, Mick exploded, “God Dammit! Do you see what I've been talking about? That imbecile is a waste of time!!”

  Surprised, I took a step back to avoid his flailing arms. “Mick, calm down! If this is frustrating you this much, then maybe you shouldn't work with them anymore.”

  Disgusted, he shook his head. “No way. He's buying a house. I just have to find the right one. I've put in too much time to give up now.”

  I looked around for a minute, searching for the right words. I knew my best choice was to agree with Mick, but I didn't. Drew hadn't come off as a stuck up jerk. He'd been very nice the entire day, nicer than Mick had been. I'd watched his face while he looked at the homes, he didn't seem unimpressed, just uninterested. I had a feeling that he was just along for the ride, and that Trina was at the wheel. But, I couldn't say any of that to Mick. “Well, there's no point in hanging around here...take me home?”

  Without looking at me, he nodded and we made our way to his car.

  Mick stopped in front of my apartment and turned off the ignition. Though I tried to hurry, he was still able to exit the car before me. Regretfully, I asked if he'd like to come inside.

  Of course he had plenty of time to come in. As pathetic as it was, I knew he wasn't thinking about sleeping with me. He was thinking about working me. There was no way getting me into bed would be more important than a potential commission.

  I opened the door for him and tossed my bag on the couch. I hoped he wouldn't remember my lie from earlier about it being a mess; aside from a few dirty dishes in the sink, the place was in good shape.

  He didn't seem to notice the lack of mess as he assessed the apartment. “So, just the one bedroom then?” He asked with just a hint of disapproval.

  Ignoring his inference I responded, “The one is all I need.”

  He shrugged and followed me into the kitchen. “True enough. I've just gotten so used to having a spare bedroom and an office, it feels like I couldn't live without them now.”

  “Luckily for me, I don't bring my work home, so I've never needed an office. Thirsty?” I asked, and handed him a soda before he could answer me.

  Taking the soda from me, he took stock of my kitchen. “I can't believe how small this place feels to me...I've owned my house for so long I can barely remember apartment life.” He sat down at my tiny dining table and added, “I always had to live upstairs; I couldn't take hearing people stomping around above me.”

  I angled one ear toward the ceiling while I stared at him. “Don't hear a thing.” Which was completely atypical. Normally my upstairs neighbors, Bob and Alan, sounded like they were practicing River Dance moves. “Besides,” I added, “I would hate dragging groceries upstairs all the time.”

  “I'll give you that, the stairs were a pain.” I gave myself an internal high five. So far I was knocking down every argument. If he wanted to get me on board as a client, he was going to have to ask me directly. He continued, “I think that's why I love having my garage. I just pull right in and it's simple to unload everything.”

  Persistent Bastard.

  I resisted the urge to chuck my soda can at him. “Well, we all have different things that work for us, don't we?

  He nodded but kept quiet for a minute. I hoped that he was giving up, but he was only changing tactics. He waved me over to him. I cautiously got closer and started to pull out the chair next to him when he took my arm and pulled me onto his lap. Naturally, I thought he was planning on a little foreplay, so I moved my face closer to kiss him.

  He leaned back a little and looked at me seriously. “I think it's time we continued the conversation we started last week.”

  “Which conversation is that?” I asked, knowing exactly what he was talking about.

  “You remember. You had finally started opening up about your grandpa, I was hoping you'd tell me more about him, and the situation.”

  “Mick, I'm not sure I'm comfortable with this.” What I was really uncomfortable with was our sitting position. I was never all that comfortable sitting on his lap when we were making out, but trying to converse while wondering how heavy I felt, was like trying to solve and algebra equation in my head while singing Row Row Row Your Boat.

  I started to get up but he wrapped his arms around me in a way that could have been romantic, had it not felt claustrophobic. “You don't have to be afraid to tell me things, Es- Stella. What happened there, by the way?”

  “I really don't know,” I answered honestly. “I just feel like things have changed lately, and Stella just seems to fit me better now.”

  “Well, I like Stella, but I didn't mind Estelle either. Now, let's get back to your grandpa. You can trust me you know.”

  I took a deep breath and shut my eyes. I pictured all the qualities that I associated with my new name: confidence, intelligence, youth, courage, and most valuable; strength. I opened my eyes and looked at Mick. “Trusting you has nothing to do with it. It's not about you Mick. You know what happened; my grandpa died and I inherited some money. I don't want to talk about it anymore right now.”

  He shook his head and started to argue with me, but I interrupted, “I appreciate you worrying about me and wanting me to be open with you. But I don't appreciate you constantly bringing this up when I have made my feelings clear. So, here's what we'll do: if I want to talk about it, then I know you're willing to listen. But if I don't bring it up, then you know I'm not interested in talking about it. Does that work for you?”

  I could see the surprise in his eyes. I was pretty surprised myself; I'd never been so direct with him before. I don't think I'd ever been that direct with anyone. I was typically so concerned that people would think badly of me, I kept my mouth shut so they wouldn't think anything.

  Mick conceded, “Fair enough.” He rubbed my back and leaned closer. “Since we're not going to talk...”

  I stood up and smiled sweetly. “I'd love to have you stay for a while Mick, but I've got plans with Kami.”

  “Kami?”

  “Yes Mick, Kami. You've met her.”

  He followed me into the living room. “I have?”

  Amused, but not at all surprised, I explained, “Yep. She worked at Lawson & Stone for two years. She's the woman who fetched you things before I did. She got increasingly large for roughly nine months, then she left and I showed up.” I watched his face show zero recognition. “Still nothing, huh? Well, that's okay Mick. I get it, it took you almost that long to notice me too.”
Just for kicks I added, “I guess if my grandfather hadn't died, and you hadn't so been sensitive to my pain, you still wouldn't know I exist, huh?”

  Flummoxed, he said, “Estelle I knew who you were.” I handed him his jacket and opened the door. Before he stepped out he turned to me and insisted, “I knew who you were. I'm sorry if I didn't show it.”

  I waved my hand dismissively. “Don't sweat it. See you Monday.” He started toward his car, but turned back when I said, “Oh and Mick? Call me Stella.”

  Chapter 18

  I can hardly believe I'm going to say this, but I like going to work every day. It had been three weeks since I rushed Mick out of my apartment and it finally felt like I was reaping the rewards of my pretend reality. My new name, Stella had finally caught on, Mick had finally backed off, and everyone was still sucking up just enough to make the days pleasurable.

  It was almost noon, so when my phone beeped I knew who was calling. “Hey Gina,” I answered. “Give me five?”

  I set the office phone to voice mail, shut down the computer, delivered a listing sheet, then headed for the parking lot. I was sifting through my bag in search of a mirror when I heard a voice behind me.

  “Been a while Estelle.”

  My own name sounded foreign, but the voice was unmistakable. Charlie. I whipped around and hissed, “What are you doing here?”

  He shrugged and answered calmly, “I'm here to see you, of course. I know we didn't end things on the best note, but what can I say? I've missed you.”

  I quickly looked around for Gina. I was relieved to see that she hadn't come out of the building yet. If I was lucky I could get rid of him before she saw anything. I grabbed his forearm and dragged him across the parking lot. Once we were rounded the corner of the building and were out of view, I forced myself to look at him. Charlie.

  I hadn't seen him in almost a year. Hard to believe it had been that long. I took in his loose jeans and hoodie. I looked down, not surprised to see a pair of worn out DC shoes. I looked back up to see he still believed in the five o'clock shadow look. Two years ago I thought it was sexy. Two years ago I would have pointed at him and said, “See him? He's my soul mate.” But that was a while ago. Long before he stole money from me, spent it at a strip club, then came home drunk enough to admit all of it.