Sawyer #2
“His name’s Brady Johnson. His degree is something boring, though. Like…” I pretend to think. What would Duncan’s father find most appropriate? “Finance or economics or something like that.”
The kid reddens. His eyes dart to the bowl of nuts.
Right on the money.
He shrugs. “Yeah, I don’t know him.”
I hum an unspoken too bad and wait. Count to ten—slow, controlled, patient.
“So what’s your degree in?” he asks. My lips twitch with a subtle smile.
Thumbing the underside of my chin, I sweep my tongue over my bottom lip. “It’s kind of stupid actually, but… Astrobiology and Exoplanetary Studies.”
“Wow.” He raises his brows in mock amazement. “You really took our school’s motto to heart.”
I laugh, thumb slipping from my chin so I can splay my hand. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t born rich, so I had to be interesting.”
He snorts and picks up the drink Sherry sets in front of him. Before she can leave, I slide a credit card her way and hope she doesn’t ask for an ID.
“Could you close my tab, please?”
She swipes up the card. “Of course.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
Her smile flickers. If I didn’t have other plans, I’d ask for her number.
“Sometimes interesting can pay off,” I tell the kid. “Have you heard of StellarVista Innovations?”
He shakes his head. “Nope.”
“I’m the founder.”
I lift his jacket off the stool between us and hold it out to him as I move over. He glares but takes it and dumps it on the counter. Negligent, gross, rude.
I slide my drink and book in front of me to make it clear I’m here to stay, then pull up a bogus website that has my photo on the homescreen. Mostly me. My hair—combed back—my smile, green contacts, plastic-rimmed glasses, and a plaid shirt tucked inside slacks. I could beat my own ass.
“Check this out…” I tilt my screen toward him.
He raises his drink, lips pinched in a whoopty-fucking-do kind of way. “Impressive.”
“I’m so sorry, sir…”
I turn to Sherry, who has my card stuck out toward me. Her lips are pouted like she’s genuinely regretful. “Your card was declined.”
My mouth opens, but for a moment, I stay quiet. I let out a nervous laugh and toss the kid an embarrassed glance. “Could you run it again, please?”
She leans in close and lowers her voice. “I’m so sorry. I actually ran it four times.”
I blink as she pulls back, like I’m doing the math. Like I didn’t max out Richard Arnold’s credit card on booze and strippers last night.
I exhale sharply. “That’s not possible.”
“It’s probably just the card. Sometimes our reader doesn’t like American Express.” She shrugs and tries to smile. Poor girl. “Do you have another you’d like to try?”
“Yeah… Yes, of course.” I nod way too many times while pulling my wallet out. I let my thumb slip before I retrieve another maxed out card and hand it over. “This one should work.”
She slowly takes it and walks away, tense with vicarious embarrassment.
“Guess business isn’t going so good after all, huh?” the kid asks. I glance over to see him smirk before popping a piece of ice into his mouth. He chews with his mouth closed, not all etiquette being lost on him.
His life is so crystal clear in my mind that I have to suppress a frown.
He’s too young to hate for the crime of being white, rich, and straight, but he’s old enough for the world to root for punishment.
And it would be so easy. Buttons big as stepping stones I could hop across, make him feel small, stuck.
Question every aspect of his life, his worth.
But unlike much of the rest of the world, I believe in second chances. Duncan Thomas is desperate for one. He reeks of regret and forgotten dreams. He needs help. He needs guidance.
He’s lucky I’m here.
“Are you kidding me, man?” I huff.
Perfect timing, Sherry comes back with the second failed card. I rake my hand through my hair, fucking up the dorky combover, while Miserable Mike snickers.
My hand trembling (not an easy thing to fake), I pull out a third card and slap it on the bar. Sherry says nothing as she takes it and scurries away. I’m visibly agitated now, my neck cracking, my fingers drumming the tabletop.
When Kid laughs into his arm, I spin toward him, my eyes wide with a challenge I know he’ll accept. Because I’m the nerdy guy making a fool out of himself, and he’s the guy who will never fill his father’s shoes.
People like him will always need people like me (or at least like my character) to ease the strain in their neck from always looking up. It’s nice to look down every once in a while.
“Do you have something you’d like to say?”
He holds up his hands and doesn’t bother to hide his smirk.
“You think I’m broke?”
“I think your three declined cards think you’re broke.” He points at Sherry who hovers a few feet away, the rejected plastic clutched in her hands. Her face looks permanently twisted in remorse.
“Fuck you, asshole.” I yank my phone off the table and pull up my last screenshot. It’s a photo of an account with a hundred grand in it. “Here, look.” I jab the phone in his face. He blinks to focus his blurry vision on the photo.
“I could buy you,” I sneer.
He cackles as he shoves my phone away. “Is this a joke?”
“Do I look like I’m joking? I told you. I’m the owner of fucking StellarVista. If you can find one asshole in here with more money in their bank account, I’ll buy everyone’s drinks.”
“Oh really?” His brows shoot up. It’s too easy.
I check the time on my phone. Three minutes.