"They really want to pay me this much for one, simple photoshoot?" I could hardly believe it still, even after reading it three times.
Dave laughed, practically giddy with excitement as he thought about his percentage of the take and what it would mean for him to have another successful client to put on his wall of fame.
"This is more than just an ad page in a magazine, or even a magazine cover," he said. "This photoshoot will be the center of the ad campaign for their whole brand. You will be the Revving Engine Bike's girl. Your face will appear on billboards, magazine ads, and if everything goes well, maybe even television commercials."
"But I can't act." I felt like this job was way out of my league, but Dave wouldn't hear of it.
"You wouldn't have to. Just sit on their bikes looking sexy and sweet they way that you do, and let the camera do all the work. A little editing, a little Photoshop, a little voiceover work, and you're an instant television star."
"The people in my hometown would flip out. I wish I could see the looks on their faces when a huge picture of me appeared on the side of the motorcycle store on the corner of Wilson Street," I mused wistfully.
"You can. With the kind of money they're offering, you could fly home every week and see them all. You could buy the motorcycle shop if you wanted to."
"Forget buying a shop. I could finally move into a decent apartment and buy a car that actually runs. I could even pay off my parents’ mortgage on their house. I'm sure they only have about five years left on it, but saving them from having to make those payments any more would be a huge help to them, and my way to repay them for always being there for me, even when I didn't deserve it."
"There you go. That's every kid's dream. I'll call Jay Wendt at R.E.B and tell him to draw up the contracts. This is the best decision you've ever made. Your career is going to skyrocket with this job. Congratulations."
Dave's excitement was contagious, and I felt happy and energized as I took the bus home to my tiny apartment. Ethan's driver had offered to wait outside Dave Dynamo's office for me, but I didn't feel right about that. He wasn't my employee, and it wasn't my car. It would have been taking advantage of Ethan's generosity to monopolize them that way.
The ride home on the bus only reinforced how right it was to accept this job. So, what if it was for my boyfriend's biggest competitor? Love was love, but business was business. I was certain Ethan would understand.
Besides, he's the one who encouraged me to soar with my career. He wouldn't want me to give up an opportunity like this. He'd be proud of me, I was sure. I sent him a text, saying, “Got big news.”
He texted me back right away, saying, “Me 2, Can't wait 2 C U. Meet me 4 dinner at my place tonight.”
It made my heart flutter with happiness. Tonight, when we saw each other, I would ask him what had been bothering him lately. I didn't know what to expect, but whatever it was, I wanted him to know I was there for him. Then I could share with him my happy news about the job and we could celebrate by making love.
It seemed like up until now, sex was the only thing we shared. I was ready to go deeper now and take our intimacy to a new level, one where we trusted each other with our hopes and fears, joys and miseries — a level that transcended sex into love.
When I got to my crappy apartment, it looked even smaller and dingier after having spent so much time in lavish hotels and Ethan's glorious mansion. I had been getting spoiled by so much luxury and it was time I reminded myself what the real world was like. Just because I was the girlfriend of a billionaire didn't mean I could shirk my life.
It was good to be reminded where I stood in the grand scheme of things. It would keep me from losing my motivation to keep climbing until I was a success in my own right. I wanted to make
everyone proud of me: my parents, Ethan, and most of all, myself.
I put a load of laundry in the washing machine in the complex’s utility room, went to the market for a few groceries, and picked up the mail from my overstuffed P.O. box. There was nothing there but bills, only this time I actually had the money to pay them. It felt wonderful not to have to struggle over which bills I could pay and which ones to have to risk becoming delinquent. I'd have even more money once I did the R.E.B. job. I vacuumed the scraggly living room carpet and then I returned to the laundry room to fetch my clean clothes.
I carried the basket back to my apartment, sat on the couch, and flipped on the television so I had something to watch while I folded.
A local news reporter was standing out front the corporate headquarters for Speed Motorcycles with a man I thought I recognized from the launch party. He had a creepy quality that was hard to forget. He was standing beside a heavy-set man in an expensive suit with an orange mustache, and the reporter was speaking to them. Curious, I turned up the volume and watched intently.
"So, Mr. Miles Schultz, you are the attorney representing Mr. Charles Dorsey in this case?"
"Yes, Becky, I am," the mustached man agreed while his creepy sidekick nodded mutely beside him. "Big corporation owners like Ethan Colson think they can get away with taking advantage of average men, like my client. I'm here to make sure that doesn't happen and regain justice for Mr. Dorsey. Get results with Miles Schultz."
"On what grounds are you suing Ethan Colson?" the reporter asked the creepy man, but his portly attorney grabbed the microphone and answered on his behalf.
"Mr. Colson went to college with my client, during which time they developed the idea for Speed Motorcycles together. Have you ever noticed how Mr. Colson refuses to say how he came up with the name of his company and the motorcycle designs? That's because he wasn't the one who did it: my client was.
“In the years since, Mr. Colson had denied my client his rightful share of proceeds from the company he named, so Mr. Dorsey has finally been forced to taking him to court."
I couldn't believe it. No wonder Ethan refused to talk about naming the company.
Why hadn't he at least told me he'd developed the idea with a friend from college? This dispute and impending lawsuit must have been what was weighing so heavily on his mind. I felt hurt that he hadn't confided in me about it. This was big deal, and could cost him half his company and a lot of money. No wonder he'd seemed stressed and distracted. I was just glad I'd been there to help him let off some tension.
His former college buddy looked like a pathetic junkie, and it made me wonder if Ethan had ever done drugs in college. From the looks of this guy, he was hooked on speed. Is that the addiction Gwyneth had tried to warn me about? Was Ethan on speed?
Oh my God, Speed Motorcycles — using speed. It all made sense to me now, but I had to know if my hunches were right.