My Grumpy Billionaire

The man starts walking away. “Wait!” I call out. I slide around Todd and trot after him.

“Lady, I gotta go.” He keeps on walking without sparing a glance in my direction. “Got money to make.” He jumps into his black Camry and speeds away.

“Argh! No!” I stamp my foot, then turn around and glare at Todd, who’s managed to stand, leaning against the doorway. “What is wrong with you? Why didn’t you go home?”

He moves his head, his eyes bleary but angry. “Wrong with me?” He slurs the words. “The fuck’s wrong with you? Humiliated me. In fronna everyone…”

“I haven’t seen you since you left yesterday.” But really, I shouldn’t be talking to him. I should be getting Linda to take her precious nephew away. I get my phone out.

–Me: Todd’s at my place, drunk as a skunk. Come get him or I’m calling 911 for trespassing.

“Now everyone knows ’bout the divorce,” he mutters.

I huff an impatient breath. “It wasn’t exactly a national secret.”

“All my plans. All my dreams. Ru—ru—ruined because of you.” He sways, wagging a finger, then pointing it at me accusingly. “People quit respecting me. Now they’re laughin’ at me…” His already red face is getting redder. Is he going to have a heart attack? Or keel over from alcohol poisoning?

I don’t care which, but I hope he does it once he’s off my porch. Unlike lawn gnomes, corpses don’t enhance the décor.

“It’s your fault for being rude to your coworkers,” I say, remembering what Griffin said. Although I haven’t witnessed it firsthand, knowing how Todd treated people at Silicone Dream, I can picture it.

“They don’t deserve my respect!”

“I’m sure they disagree.”

“Are you mocking me?” He lurches off the doorframe toward me. I take a step back in the yard, not wanting to let him get close.

“You bitch! I’m supposed to be important. Respected!” he yells as he tacks left and right toward me. How much did he drink?

“You have to earn respect!” I say, taking another step back.

“I already earned it! You ruined it!”

“Oh for God’s sake, stop blaming other people!” My heel hits the cinder block. I step over it, then position myself so the crabapple tree is between me and Todd.

“Bitch! Come here!” He lunges, swinging his fists wildly.

Is he trying to punch me? He’s never hit me before, but then he’s never swung his fists either.

On the other hand, he’s drunk, so he could just be flailing around for better balance. It’s hard to tell which, since he’s not the most coordinated guy.

He’s coming around the tree when his foot gets caught on the block. He pitches forward. His face smacks into the tree and blood spurts from his nose. “Fuck!”

I watch, speechless, as he slowly folds onto himself, his hands over his face.

“What happened?”

I turn and see Griffin. He looks at me, then Todd, then me again.

“He tried to punch the tree and lost.” I take a deep breath and try to settle myself. It isn’t every day I’m confronted by a raging drunk on my own property.

“Are you all right?”

“Oh, sure.” I give him a smile to alleviate any worries.

Griffin leans over and smells Todd, who has now crumpled over onto his side on the grass. Maybe the combination of pain and alcohol made him pass out. “How did he get here?”

“He must’ve given this address to Uber or something. A driver dropped him off.”