The Billionaire's Swipe

I chose lunchtime because the waiting would kill me if I’d opted for a dinner date. Before I manage to slip the phone back in my pocket, it’s buzzing. The notification is only three words. Three wonderful words that fill me with equal parts hope and anxiety:

See you there.

Chapter 4

Michael

Despite the fact that her text said 12:30, it’s not like I have a busy schedule I have to rearrange to make it to the Coffee Bean on time. So I arrive a whole hour early, parking in the little strip mall that also houses a Pilates studio, a Chinese restaurant, and a space that looked to once house a Radio Shack. After ordering a coffee, I busy myself reading over the contract my father has been insisting I sign for the past week. I’ve been putting off even opening it because I already know the gist; and what I know is enough to tell me that there’s no way I’m signing on the dotted line.

Still, in order to take my mind off the unusual social circumstance I find myself in, I pull the contract out from my backpack and read through it from the first page. Right off the bat, alarm bells go off, telling me this is exactly what I expected. My father, in his infinite wisdom, expects me to follow in his footsteps. It’s not enough that I attended his alma mater and got an MBA that I have zero interest in; now he wants me to take over the company with Matthew when the time comes.

I have nothing against the company itself. It’s no more evil than any other monolithic corporation. In fact, it’s actually beneficial in a lot of ways. I mean, he’s on the leading edge of solar technology, making it an easy sell to convince myself that I’d be doing my part to save the Earth. But taking on the reins once he retires would also mean leaving our manor in the outskirts of Washington state and taking up residence in Seattle. No matter what this contract promises in the way of compensation, stock options, company housing, and all the rest of it, I can never see myself living in the city.

Despite inheriting my father’s wits and bad sense of humor (according to my mother), I’m not the city mouse he is. Every night I dream of taking off, leaving behind my name and fortune. I could take my boat and find a nice strip of beach on the other side of the world. Or just keep sailing until I get tired of the endless ocean. Which I doubt would ever happen.

Sometimes I feel like I was born a couple hundred years too late. How I envy the great explorers of the past, making their way through jungles, seeing no living souls for months, stepping foot in news places every moment of every day. But I’m stuck with the concrete jungle and company politics and a father who expects me to make him proud.

Why don’t I just leave? I don’t know. Maybe I’m scared and I can’t even admit it in my own subconscious. Maybe I’m waiting for something.

I stuff the contract back in my backpack. Try to clear my mind of these negative thoughts. Focus on the here and the now. I flick through my phone to her profile again. Read through it for the third time since I’ve been sitting here. Memorize the smiling face looking out from my screen. The same one that’s just walked into the coffee shop early.

As I watch the girl who I’ve only been able to observe through a phone screen up to now, the first thing I notice is that her hair is lighter than the picture portrayed. It’s a lovely red with natural waves. It’s also shorter. I wonder how recently she’s had it cut. Instead of hanging past her shoulders, it bounces right above them, framing her lovely face.

And god is it lovely. It’s clear that she’s never had any work done, which is such a rarity with the girls I usually meet. They’ve all had at least a nose job or their lips puffed out.

Then there’s the rest of her, hidden under a loose-t-shirt and tight jeans. Jeans that I can’t help imagine ripping off of her.

Her eyes scan the other patrons’ faces. When she gets to mine, she pauses. Even from this distance I can see the deep breath she takes. Imagine how her legs quake as she approaches my table. Hear the tremble in her voice as she says, “Hi. I’m Liz.”

Her hands are folded in front of her, a small handbag dangling from her fingers. I hate that I notice it’s not a name brand, but after years of trailing behind my mother while she shopped for her next Louis Vuitton or Gucci, it’s something my eyes are attuned to catch without thinking.

“Michael,” I say and stand. She looks at me strangely, and that’s when I realize this might be a bit too formal, but it’s the way I was brought up. I stick my hand out to balance out this formality with something a little more down to earth. I’m expecting a soft hand, but her palms are as calloused as mine. Maybe more so.

“Liz,” she says as w

e shake. “But I guess I already said that.”

We both pause, and it’s at this exact moment that it strikes me. That push I’ve been waiting for to do something different, to break out of my routine. It’s at my back right now, pushing me to take a leap of faith. I can’t sit in this stifling little coffee shop a second longer. Not with this urge to hurdle ahead. So without thinking of how Liz will react to my bizarre request, I just blurt it out:

“Let’s go.”

Her eyebrows scrunch together. She wasn’t expecting this. “Where?”

“How are you with boats?”

Chapter 5

Liz

Michael’s not like any guy I’ve ever met before. The few dates I’ve been on in the past have been filled with the guy boasting about what he’s done, what he’s about to do, or a combination of the two. Michael has an air of mystery about him, which is only amplified when he explains our destination as we exit the cookie-cutter café.

“Where are we going?” I ask a second time.

“The water.”

“The water?”

“I…My friend has a boat that he lets me take out sometimes. It’s supposed to warm up a bit this afternoon, so as nice as that café was, I’d rather spend the afternoon out on the waves. So are you in?”