11. A Force To Be Reckoned With （Ryan）
Chapter eleven
A Force To Be Reckoned With (Ryan)
I stood patiently outside her apartment, my eyes on my Rolex, waiting for six o’clock.
All throughout the week I had acted with a devil-may-care-nonchalance, only greeting Melissa whenever she passed by in the corridor and not engaging in any kind of small talk.
I wanted her to know that I meant what I had said about taking things slow.
This did not mean that I wouldn’t keep an eye on her. I knew what she was going through. I had been through the motions of losing a parent. It was tough business. Whether you were older or younger didn’t make their passing any easier.
I had Stacy keep an eye on her and make sure she wasn’t experiencing any spontaneous breakdowns in the file room or anywhere else, for that matter. Stacy never reported anything anomalous, so I kept my distance. It wasn’t easy, but what worthwhile thing was ever easy?
At long last, the clock struck six. Melissa’s apartment door swung open, leaving me feeling breathless at the sight of her in her elegant emerald dress. She wore matching heels and held a dark green clutch.
“So Jade,” I said and wolf-whistled as she came down the steps slowly, turning several heads as she did so. I didn’t blame people for looking: the dress was backless and ended just above her knees. She could be on a runway or red carpet in this dress.
“Not bad yourself, there,” she said. She smiled as she walked up to me and took a good look. As this was our first proper date, I’d calibrated everything with the perfect amount of thoughtfulness, including my attire. It was a navy blue suit straight out of Brioni’s fall catalog.
“Now is that all you wanna say?” I asked as I opened the car door for her.
“Where’s the Mercedes?” she asked, eyeing the Aventador with intrigue. From afar, the Lamborghini looked nothing short of the Bat Mobile.
“So nothing about my Italian leather shoes, then?”
“You said nothing about mine! These are bespoke Jimmy Choos!” Melissa gleamed at me, posing her feet forward for me to get a better look.
“Sweet Jesus, are those diamonds?”
“Hush now, don’t be crass,” she said as she took my arm and got in the car. “Of course, they’re all diamonds.”
“I thought we were going to go on a date, not make Cinderella jealous.”
“Uh, if that fairy godmother had some fashion sense, she’d have made better shoes for her,” Melissa said, rolling her eyes. “So, what happened with the Mercedes? Did you like yeet it off a cliff or something?”
“Nothing as dramatic as that,” I said. We were both in the car; the inside resembled a cockpit more than the Bat Mobile.
“You know how people have got weird sculptures in their living rooms, or like strange Tibetan balls they bought on that one trip to India? Conversation pieces! That’s the term I was thinking of.
Yeah, so, for me, it’s not some fertility goddess sculpture from Maui or a pair of ornamental balls from some Buddhist monastery, it’s cars.
I think cars are excellent conversation pieces.
To their credit, look at the conversation we’re having right now. ”
“Hey, man, I just asked about the Mercedes. You’re prattling on about them being conversation pieces,” she uttered. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that she was grinning, and so I let her have her moment.
“You’re absolutely right. Now I feel awkward about the Rolls Royce I’ve got parked in my lounge,” I said, grinning back and enjoying the sight of her clapping her hands and laughing freely. It felt good to see her laugh.
“Seriously though, nice wheels. I always wanted to buy a Lambo, but Dad was all against it. Maybe I’ll buy one now,” she said.
“Or we can honor his memory and not buy one,” I said a little solemnly.
“Puhleez. He didn’t want me eating candied peaches 'cause they’d give me cavities. Are you implying that I throw away the jar in my fridge?”
“I mean, you do have a lot of holes in your teeth.”
“Shut up!” she shouted, grinning, slapping me playfully on the shoulder. I could already tell that we were going to have a good time.
“I like this new thing you’ve got going, the whole lean-into-your-billionaire status thing. I liked the old Melissa, but I’m digging your entire vibe,” I said, making sure that she saw me taking a good look.
I wanted her to know that I was being genuine in my praise. I was actually enjoying spending time with her rather than fulfilling an obligation.
“You mean you like the vapid version of myself that I’m becoming now that I’m coming into all this money?” I could tell that it was more than just banter. I parked the car at the side of the road and turned to give her all my attention.
“You’re not new money,” I stated. “Your dad was rich well before you were born. You had a good life. A very well-maintained one, at that, I am assuming. The reason I say this is because I get it. The appeal of wanting to be just like everybody else so that the world doesn’t treat us different.
It’s not vapid at all. Flaunt it if you’ve got it, that’s what I say. ”
“So you approve of who I am now or did you like me better before?”
I didn’t know whether it would be overstepping my bounds or not, but I took my hand off the steering wheel and gently put it on her cheek as I said, “You are a force to be reckoned with. And not for one second should you shy away from it. I love who you are now, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t like you before. ”
Suddenly, the air inside the car had gotten very hot and stiff. It wasn’t just my imagination; fog was beginning to creep up along the edge of the windows. I was very aware of how hot my body had gotten, just as I was very aware of the warmth emanating from her cheek.
“Um…” Melissa whispered. “Thank you?”
I resisted the impulse of overcorrecting and ruffling up her hair and saying, “It’s no sweat, Boba Fett.”
Instead, I slowly pulled my hand back and managed a polite smile.
“Right,” I said, coughing loudly and putting my hands back on the steering wheel. “Where were we?”
“I like this side of you,” she breathed, her voice barely audible.
“Then you’re going to love what I have in store for you.”
“I’m guessing this isn’t one of those dinner and a movie kind of dates.”
“Two billionaires are going out for the first time and you think it’d be a dinner and a movie kind of date?”
It wasn’t my intention to give her pause or make her stutter.
In hindsight, I should have chosen my words better.
I kept on driving toward the Verrazzano-Narrows bridge, hoping to reach the harbor shortly.
Was I overcorrecting, being this careful around her?
Or was it just me being extra sensitive on account of Hoffa’s death?
“I’m not technically a billionaire just yet,” she corrected, stopping me from spiraling into self-doubt. This wasn’t about me. This was about her. I hadn’t done anything wrong. No lines crossed, no toes stepped on.
“What do you mean?” I asked. I checked the time as I drove across the bridge and was dismayed to see that it was already six thirty.
I had wanted her to look at the dusky sky from the yacht.
Now, we’d be lucky to see any streak of color in the sky.
The sun had gone down and the sky was just one big black canvas specked with stars that, surprise surprise, you couldn’t see anymore because of all the lights of the city.
Maybe if we sailed far, far away, out in the sea, leaving the city behind. Hmm, now there was a thought.
“The lawyer said that Dad was very meticulous with the way he left me his wealth. It’s tied in this fund and I can only access some of it. So, I am not a billionaire. Just a regular old millionaire.”
“And do you think that all billionaires have like billions in their bank accounts, just waiting to be withdrawn?”
“I never really thought about it.” From the naivete in her voice, it was evident that she had indeed never really thought about it.
Even though this was supposed to be a romantic night out, I wasn’t going to let an opportunity to share some financial wisdom slip past me.
Hoffa had assigned me the task of taking care of his daughter.
Telling her the right thing would be a start.
“Take Elon Musk. Heck, take a traditional billionaire. Bill Gates. Warren Buffet. You know what these guys do? They have their money tied up in places. Stocks. Shares. Investments. You get the idea. They make their money work for them rather than work for their money. That’s the difference between a billionaire and a regular rich person. It sets me apart from everybody else.
What set Hoffa apart? Another useful tactic that we billionaires deploy is to take out these massive loans from banks against the value of our assets.
Then, being mindful of the fact that it is a loan, we spend it wisely, turn a profit, and then use that profit to pay back the loan, thereby restrengthening our relationship with the bank, while all our previous money remains safe and risk-free.
So, Hoffa did you a big favor there. I am sure there’s some secretive clause that lets you have all the money. I’m sure of it. That’s another thing we billionaires have in common. We like our paperwork complex.”
While I was explaining all this, we had arrived at the harbor. Specifically, at the closed-off part that I’d bought some years ago so I could park my yacht in peace without having to see it parked alongside other vessels.
If I could buy a boat that cost a billion dollars, I could afford to keep it moored apart. I got out of the car and walked over to her side to do the gentlemanly thing and open the door for her. I took her arm and helped her out of the car.
“Hey, now. Where’s this? I thought we were going someplace where I could flaunt my dress!” Melissa said, looking around at the emptiness.
“Tonight, I want you all to myself,” I affirmed. It gave me some deep satisfaction when she stifled an anticipatory moan.