"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.