14. Chanice
Chanice
It’s been almost three weeks since I’ve seen Alex.
I think the back-to-back availability made him think I was chock-full of time, but this gap in being around each other is a stark reminder of how little I’m actually free.
We text, we call, and in the wee hours in between my little sleep and getting off work, I think about him.
More than I should, honestly. More than I thought I would.
I’ve only known the guy for a month, and in that time, it seems like something has shifted inside of me.
I find myself wishing that I were more available.
Not just for the kids but for myself as well as for him, and the moments of reprieve he offers me.
When I’m with him, I feel my age. Like I’m young and full of possibilities.
Like, I have more of a life than I actually do.
Somehow, that has lifted some of the weight that usually sits on my shoulders.
Which is why I have picked up more shifts, therefore preventing me from seeing him. Because of that, sitting in the back of the café scarfing down yesterday’s pain du chocolate before work is the only respite I have, or so I thought.
Arjun, the other waiter, pops his head in to tell me that someone is asking for me. I roll my eyes and wipe the crumbs off my lips and shirt. Taking in a big breath, I walk back onto the floor.
Expecting a regular or particularly fussy customer, my mouth pops open when I see that it’s him. Alex.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper when I walk up to his table.
He leans back in this chair and links his hands on his lap. Offering me that same dazzling smile, it knocks me back a little.
“I decided I’m going to work from here, so I can see you.”
“What?”
He gestures to his laptop as if to make it clear, and then holds up his iced latte.
“I have to work,” I say.
“I know, but you have breaks, and there will be slow moments. And even if you can’t talk to me, maybe I can give you a ride home, and we can talk then.”
Putting my hands on my hips, I press my tray against my side. I stare at him, trying to understand why he would do all of this just for a chance at a conversation.
“This is not fuck buddy behavior,” I say.
“I’ve always wanted to make out in a cooler. We can do that, too, if you want.” He takes a slow sip of his drink, the smirk not leaving his mouth the entire time.
I throw my hands up and walk away from him, having already spent too much time at his table.
When I get behind the counter, I look at him to see he is still watching me. I don’t know if he plans on doing that for the next six hours that I work, but it’s going to get distracting.
For the first half of my shift, I can’t keep my eyes from looking at him.
They dart in his direction every time I have a free second.
Sometimes he is on the phone, or typing away, and then other moments he is already looking at me when I check.
Each time I do, he offers me a smile and a wave.
It keeps drawing people’s attention, including my co-workers.
“Who’s that?” Arjun asks when we have a moment to restock the display case.
“Um, a friend.”
“I wish I had friends that looked like that,” he says.
Stifling a laugh, I mutter, “If only you knew,” under my breath.
“It’s your lunch time. Why don’t you go bring your friend a panini?”
I look at the brioche bun filled with chicken, brie, and cranberry sauce that we have on special and grab two, sure he will like it as well. While they heat up, I take off my apron and name tag. Tucking a water under my arm, I grab our food and walk over to him.
As soon as he sees me carrying the two plates, he hops up and takes them from my hand.
“Oh, look at that. You have some time,” he says, delighted with himself.
I stop myself from rolling my eyes and just sit across from him. He closes his laptop and slips it into his bag, freeing up space.
“What are you working on?” I ask, sure I’ll have no idea what he is doing.
“Projections. I’ve made some deals recently, and I want to see what the fiscal year is going to look like with that included. See if it improves our profit margins.”
Having understood more than I thought, I nod. “Is that frustrating?” I ask since he seemed to cover his face with his hands every once in a while.
“No, just annoying. I would rather assign the work to someone else, but I don’t trust anyone yet.”
That’s a very odd thing to say. “Wait, what do you do?”
He hesitates and then rubs the back of his neck. For a moment, I wonder if I’m sitting across from someone in the mafia. When he answers, I have to wonder if it would be better if he were a mob boss.
“I’m the CEO of the Whitmore Group.”
I promptly choke on the bite I took before spitting it into a napkin.
“You’re the CEO of a company?” I knew he had money, but not that much damn money.
Before he can answer, I google the net worth of the company and gasp. Throwing my phone down like that will erase it from my memory, I use both hands to cover my mouth.
“Before you freak out—”
“Before I freak out? I’m beyond freaking out. Your company is worth billions. Are you worth billions?” I don’t know why I asked; I don’t want to know the answer.
“No, and if I were ever close, I would donate a bunch of money.”
He can get close!
I start to stand up and realize I am already making a scene. Sitting back down, I cover my eyes and breathe out.
Who did I think I was going out with? Obviously, if he was at that party, he had to be somewhat of a big deal. I just didn’t think I would be with the person who is in charge of everyone else.
“You knew I was rich.”
Yes, I knew he had money. Maybe a couple of million. No way did I think I was sitting with someone who could be a billionaire if they wanted. It only further adds to the question of why in hell he wants to date me.
At a loss for what to say, I just take another bite of my food.
“Hopefully, this doesn’t change anything,” he says, frowning.
He has to be the first person I met who is ashamed of how much money they have. And here I am, afraid for anyone to find out how little I make. We are not the same.
“Alex,” I say, and then stop, still unsure of what my response is going to be.
It shouldn’t matter that he is richer than I thought. I mean, it’s still the same dynamic and weird pairing. But it does, doesn’t it?
I shake my head, trying to clear the fog in my mind. Even though he has more money, at the end of the day, it doesn’t affect what I want from him. It doesn’t alter where I am in life and what I can offer.
He may not be what I thought, but he is the same guy who has been sitting in this café just in case he might be able to talk to me. So that means he is still the person I have been getting to know.
“It doesn’t change anything,” I finally say.
He still doesn’t eat his food as we sit in silence. It takes me a minute to meet his eyes, but when I do, I offer a smile.
“I probably should have asked you sooner,” I say.
“I’ve kind of been avoiding it myself.”
“Well, it is what it is.”
He laughs at that and then finally eats a little. Closing his eyes, he licks the cranberry sauce off his lips, causing my mouth to water. I don’t think he knows what he does to me.
“I like watching you work,” he says, interrupting my dirty thoughts.
“Why?”
“It is almost like watching a dance. It’s graceful.”
I blow out a laugh and finish off the last of my meal. “I’m glad it looks easier than it is. My feet are killing me, and my cheeks hurt from all the fake smiling. But only three more hours and then I’m done.”
“What are you doing after?” he asks.
Contemplating if I want to answer honestly, I look past him. If I say I’m free, I know what he’ll say, which goes directly against keeping this purely sexual. But if I lie, then that means I miss out on more time with him. And damn, I really want more time with him.
“I was going to hang around here for a couple of hours until my catering shift. Got a better offer?”
“Do you like sushi?”
“I’ve never had it.”
He seems shocked before it looks like he remembers that, until a couple of weeks ago, my favorite food was Taco Bell. Gathering himself, he offers to take me to a late lunch. I’m about to point out that we just ate, but be damned if I turn down free food. So instead, I agree and get back to work.