CHAPTER SIX
KP
I woke the next morning after seeing Caitlyn’s paintings, desperate to find a way to capture her. I certainly wouldn’t resort to kidnapping, but I had to do something bold to get her attention. I needed to decode her allure and understand why she held such power over me. She was a waitress in a shit diner. She was an intriguing artist with enough sex appeal to hook me with a look, and enough self-confidence to throw me back into the ocean.
Plenty of fish indeed… but there will only be one for her when I’m done.
The prospect of wooing and capturing her intrigued me. Devising plans to entice her into my life had me tossing and turning all night. I felt like I’d gone twenty rounds in the ring. I had to get a grip. I could not let someone I barely knew hold that much power over my sanity.
The day seemed like a blur. I was busy delivering the bad news about the director’s cut to the director, which of course made him irate. I had to play therapist to talk him back down off the ledge. I then barked at the editor to make sure she stood up to the director and followed my advice and not his. Should this little dance of egos go as planned, the horror-slasher, piece of shit dressed as a poignant tale of terror might be a mega hit.
I moved through my day in an almost robot manner as I was still gripped by my need to see Caitlyn again. I was a smart man, why couldn’t I untangle this? By the end of the day, I had come up with nothing original or amazing to ensnare her. I slumped into my own uninspired resolve. I had made up my mind to simply revisit the diner. As unimaginative as that sounded, it was all I had. I had my assistant call and confirm that the little waitress would be there. I was in luck, she was working until midnight.
I stopped at Dean & DeLuca and picked up an excellent dinner for two which included a cheese board, seared salmon, Veuve Cliquot, and truffles for dessert. I drove myself the two and a half hours it took to get to the shitty little diner. I didn’t want my driver along in case I was able to successfully woo the waitress. I wanted the freedom to drive my car to a lodging of some sort, where I could finally fuck her little pussy raw.
“I would like a table, please,” I said to the mousy waitress with badly dyed hair and a road map face, standing next to Caitlyn.
I only wished I’d taken out my phone to snap her picture as she saw me walk in. It was wonderful watching the shock and amazement on that gorgeous face. So far, so good.
I walked in carrying my very large bag from Dean and DeLuca, which I’m sure was quite the curiosity as onlookers gawked. Unfortunately, I was taken to a table that was still sticky with maple syrup or some other kind of tacky substance that stirred up a feeling of nausea I had to swallow down. I looked to the woman who seated me, hoping to God that she would not be my server. There were only a few patrons in the restaurant, but I was the main attraction. Surely, they would assume I was here to see Caitlyn and not this withered crone.
First order of business was to get rid of the assailing substance that had my jacket sleeve adhering to the table. I didn’t want to ask Caitlyn to do it, that would get us off on the wrong foot.
“I’m afraid this table needs washing, it’s rather dirty,” I said, trying to look as sincere and kind as I could.
I didn’t think I did a very good job of hiding my disgust though because the woman turned and shouted, “Cait, this one’s yours,” before huffing off.
“Thanks, Linda,” Caitlyn grumbled under her breath.
I recognized a few of the other patrons from the other night, and they were gaping at me in astonishment. I guess people never ate at home these days. I usually handled situations like these with an authoritative ease. No one normally bothered me or threw me off my game. I was a master at this, except now, I felt small.
I watched Caitlyn seem to arm herself with an “I don’t give a fuck about your attitude” attitude. While I expected it, I was sorry to see her take that approach.
“Hello, it’s nice to see you back, Mr. Preston,” she said with a plastic grin. “I wanted to thank you for the outrageous amount of money you left the other day. I shared it with my coworkers. We’re all very grateful for your generosity.”
Damn, I wanted her to have the money for herself. Of course she shared it. It was so like her. The darned woman defied me at every turn.
“That money was for you.” I caught her eye, spearing her with my gaze so she knew I was looking at her, only her. That she was everything.
“Thank you, but I wasn’t the only one who helped you that night. It takes a village,” she said with a note of sarcasm.
“Hmmm. I see.”
She was fidgety and unable to remain still, and that knowledge made me grin. In spite of herself, she was attracted to me and wasn’t doing a very good job hiding it.
“You know you’re crazy for spending that kind of money on a meal you didn’t even like,” she added, jutting her hip out for her hand to land upon.
“It’s my money, I can spend it how I please,” I corrected as I continued to look at her, trying not to break our eye contact, which was making her squirm.
Good. I licked my lips, moistening the bottom one slightly, giving her the put your pussy on me vibe.
“Besides,” I added, my eyes boring a hole into her soul. “I didn’t spend the money on the meal, I spent it on the view.”
She took a deep breath. “I already told you that the view is not for sale.”
“Okay, let’s call a truce. All I came here to do was to ask if you’d join me for dinner and take a selfie with me.” I tried to say this with a straight face.
“A selfie?” She looked as confused as I assumed she would.
I gave her my most earnest smile. “For a friend.”
Her head cocked again. “No.”
I sighed. “Alright, this is embarrassing, but my accountant wants to see a picture of you to prove that you were the one I gave the money to. I told him I spent the money on a tip for a waitress, and he didn’t believe me. It’s my money, but he doesn’t want me doing stupid things with it. Our family has used his services for some time. He is hyper vigilant and believes the money had to have been embezzled by someone in the company. Just one tiny photo with me to prove that you are in fact the waitress I dropped 15K on.” I flashed another earnest smile.
“Fine,” she grumbled.
She inched her way into the booth, and I wrapped an arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer. She was trembling, which excited me. I did affect her. She certainly affected me. Being so near was piquing my arousal. Even though I barely grazed her perfect body, it was exciting enough to have my dick ready to rock her world. She smelled like lemon and coconut, it was all exquisitely stimulating.
I positioned the phone above our heads.
“Okay, smile,” I instructed.
She gave a half-hearted, bewildered smile, which made her look more alluring I discovered when I inspected the photo.
“Are you going to order anything?” she asked politely as she slid out from under my arm, grabbing her pad as she exited the booth.
“Not this time,” I said, using my businesslike tone.
I busted the bottle of champagne out of its insulated bag, presenting it to her like I was the waiter.
“I have one more favor to ask you,” I added.
She gave me the side eye. “What is it?”
“I’d like you to share this bottle of champagne and a meal with me.” I made a valiant attempt to look innocent.
“Why?”
This wasn’t going to be easy. “Because I think you’re beautiful, and I’d like to get to know you better,” I confessed.
“By get to know you better, you mean…?” She lifted an auburn brow.
I leaned forward, just enough for her to feel my interest but not enough to scare her away. “I mean talk with you and share a meal, that’s all.”
Her eyes widened. Shit, I scared her after all. “No, I’m sorry, I’m not comfortable with that.”
“You’re not comfortable with eating?” I teased, trying to lighten her up a bit.
No woman had ever made this so hard. It was just a meal.
“Oh, I like eating just fine,” she said, scorching me.
I wanted to pull her over my lap and spank her sweet bottom, then kiss it and make it all better.
I took a deep breath. “Caitlyn, I don’t know why you seem to hate me so much. After our little misunderstanding, I tried to make it up to you with a hefty tip. Of course, that doesn’t obligate you to join me, but I’m hoping you’ll give me a chance. I drove a long way, hoping for a do-over. Can you find it in your heart to grant me that chance?” I must admit, I was even impressed with the sincerity I was able to pull off.
I felt her soften. “Fine, on one condition.”
Holy fuck, she agreed!
“Your condition?” This should be fascinating.
“You have to pay the restaurant for two meals and tip the waitress. Your server tonight is Linda.” She pointed to the mousy woman pouting in the corner.
Those were certainly easy terms to accommodate. “Agreed.”
“And… I only have a half hour break, so after that, I have to go back to work.”
I looked around. “There aren’t many people here. Do you think we might get some wiggle room on the length of your break?”
She didn’t even consider it. “Nope.”
“Such a good employee,” I mocked as I patted the seat beside me.
She opted to sit across from me. So stubborn.
“Ma! I’m taking my break,” she yelled across the room.
Ma waved her hand, brushing Caitlyn off.
I grinned at the old woman. “She’s a salty sort, isn’t she?”
Actually, I wasn’t too different than Ma. I could be pretty abrasive at times as well. Note to self: be more personable to my assistant and others in my world.
Caitlyn lifted her shoulder. “It’s just Ma, no one expects her to be nice. So what do you want to know?”
Mmm, so impetuous.
“Well, first of all, why do you work here? I am sure there are more upscale restaurants or possibly better jobs a woman with your intellect might choose.” Well, that didn’t come out exactly as I wanted it to.
The ball was in her court.
Her eyes widened. “Um… yeah, okay. I’m not sure how to answer that since you basically just insulted me.”
“I was going for flattery, one fail for KP.” I attempted to look remorseful. “I mean to ask, is being a server at this location your life’s ambition?”
She laughed at me outright.
“I think I prefer the insult. But to answer your question, I work here because it’s near my house and is open all night. I have a day job that pays shit, so I have to work extra.”
I waited for more, but that was all she was going to give me.
“Ever entertain the idea of getting a higher paying job? Just so you didn’t have to work so much?”
I was trying to keep this light, communicative, but what I really wanted to do was whisk her out of here, bridal style, drive her to some secluded hill and kiss her succulent mouth, which still had a faint glossy pink on it from an earlier application of lip tint.
“I work with at risk kids. Their families can’t pay a lot, so it’s worth it. There’s more to life than money.” She eyed me hard.
“That’s noble,” was all I could muster since I was lost in the thought of her lips.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “And you? Did you always have too much money or did you rob a bank or something?”
“Always had it,” I answered as I poured two glasses of champagne and took out our dinner.
Dean & DeLuca never disappointed. I brought out some arugula salad with mandarin oranges and goat cheese, seared salmon with tarragon truffles, handcrafted bread with cheeses, and an assortment of Belgian chocolate truffles for dessert. She seemed impressed by the spread.
“Must be nice to be able to afford this,” she said absentmindedly as she glanced at the food.
“It’s very nice, but rich people have problems too. Do you eat fish?”
I hadn’t thought about it, that she may have been a vegetarian or some kind of animal rights activist. I panicked for a moment.
“Fish is fine. Rich people problems? What do you mean? What could they possibly have problems with?”
“Um, dating feisty waitresses.” Oh god, that was a slip. “But it’s a conversation for another day.” I blew off her inquiry because I was absolutely not ready to go there, not tonight.
Tonight was about getting into her pants. Wait? No, um, tonight was about getting to know her. I was horrible at this. As I brought out the food, the mousy waitress placed chipped, dingy plates and utensils on the still disturbingly tacky table. This was almost as rough as camping, but I brushed it off, I had a larger purpose to focus on.
“Pass me your plate,” I ordered, and she did so cautiously.
“So,” I continued our conversation, “what do you want to be when you grow up?”
“Are you seriously asking me this?” She seemed exasperated with me.
“I want to get to know you.” Why was I being so awkward?
“Why do you want to know me so badly? Just because you think I’m beautiful? There are plenty of beautiful people in the world.”
I leaned forward, wanting to touch her so damn bad I nearly had to sit on my hands to keep from reaching for her. “Well, you are exceptionally so.”
“Is this a date?” she asked point blank.
“Maybe.” I stared in her gorgeous brown eyes and waited for what that fiery mouth might shoot back at me.
“Or maybe it’s what?” She hadn’t even tasted her food, and she seemed ready to bolt. I had to snag her.
“Or maybe it’s something more casual. It doesn’t have to be anything as formal as a date per se.” Well, I said what I wanted to say, and yet… wow, it came out all wrong.
Damn!
“Casual as in…?” she goaded me.
“As in whatever you might want it to be. I have plenty of money, we can do whatever you fancy in any way you fancy it. I’m good at a lot of things. You’re sure to enjoy yourself. I’m quite a skilled lover, I think you will be well satisfied. I’ll pay for everything and make sure that your every need is taken care of.”
I needed to just shut the fuck up right now.
I was letting my lust do the talking, and I instantly regretted it. Why couldn’t I be sincere? What was holding the part of my heart that knew how to be a gentleman captive? Was I only capable of seducing women?
Tears welled in her eyes, and she threw her napkin on the table. “No, thank you, Mr. Preston.”
“Call me KP.” What was I doing? “Listen, I just want to talk.”
Wow, I sounded so desperate.
“You want to talk about ‘what I fancy and how I fancy it,’ well, here it goes. I fancy world peace and fairness for all people, not just people like you who already have too much. I fancy a man who doesn’t ask me why I would want to work in a dump like this. I fancy a world where a person can do their job without some megalomaniac coming in and ruining their day. What I don’t fancy is being propositioned, for a second time. And… Mr. Preston, do you know what I fancy most of all? I fancy a man who can see me as a human being, not just a walking vagina. I want a man who doesn’t think a few thousand dollars, a bottle of champagne, and some wild caught salmon is enough to get me on my back, ready for you to give me ‘something I’m sure to enjoy.’”
When she stood and turned to walk away, I reached out and grabbed her arm. I hoped it wasn’t too rough, but this was my last chance. “How can I make this better? I came all this way just to…” I faltered, unsure how to go on without making this worse.
She wrenched her arm out of my grip. “You came all this way to get what you weren’t able to get last time.” She took off her apron and walked away, then grabbed her coat on the rack near the door. I moved to follow her, but she turned and held her palm out as I approached.
“It’s not like that at all,” I was nearly begging.
She looked at me dead on, her gorgeous face stern, strong, and so fucking sexy.
“Everyone in the restaurant has googled your name, they know who you are. Your reputation as a producer of big movies is well documented. Bravo. So too is the fact that you are a womanizing scumbag with a mean temper. I don’t need that in my life, and believe it or not, your money doesn’t change my view on this one little bit. Shocking as this may seem, Mr. Preston, there are some people in the world money can’t buy. Ma, I’m leaving for the night. Fire me if you want.”
She didn’t wait for an answer, just turned and pushed the door open. She paused and looked back at me. “Don’t follow me, and please, don’t ever come back.” Then she was gone, the glass door slamming behind her.
Ma waved her hand in the air with disdain. “Hotheaded kid,” she scoffed then looked at me with her snaggletoothed grin, “come back whenever you want.”
The gristly, half-drunk man sitting at the bar next to me angled his face toward mine. “Modern women, ain’t no way to snag ‘em these days,” he said earnestly.
He smelled of cheap booze and looked as if he was due for a new razor as his facial hair was unevenly shaved.
“I guess,” I grumbled.
“I’ve been trying to get this girl into the sheets for fifty years now, and she ain’t havin’ me,” he said as he lovingly caressed Ma’s wrinkled and liver-spotted hand, which was the same hand Ma used to bat him away from her.
“Shut up and eat your Salisbury steak, Ed,” she yelled, and he sheepishly went back to his meal without saying anything else.
Oddly, there were uncanny parallels in the scene playing out before me. I shuddered to think I would be Ed one day. Through the glass door, I watched Caitlyn leave. She looked rattled to her core. She was crying, and it was a punch in the gut to watch her get in a dilapidated old car that appeared to be on its last leg.
I felt horrible. I had upset her to such a degree, she had to leave. She was in no state of mind to be driving such a dangerous vehicle. As I watched her pull out of the parking lot, I felt all eyes on me. I wanted to say something, but I didn’t know what, so I turned to the mousy waitress who was leaning on a wall in the corner. “Do you mind getting my bill?” I asked as gently as I could.
“Ya ain’t got no bill,” she barked.
“I’d like to pay for two meals. Whatever you think is appropriate.”
“Ya want your stuff?” she asked coarsely.
I just shook my head.
There was a twinkle in her eye as she glanced at the table. “Not even that good champagne? It’s hardly been drunk.”
“You can have it,” I said as she handed me the bill.
I gave her my credit card and ignored the stares, thinking about what Caitlyn had said. Was my reputation really so bad? I blew out a breath. Of course it was. I was exactly that man.
And I hated it.
Maybe with someone as fresh and honest as Caitlyn in my life, I could… Could what? Change? I scoffed at the idea, but somewhere inside my head, the thought loomed.
“Here’s your card back, sir,” the mousy waitress said as she handed me the slip to sign.
I signed, giving her a one-hundred-dollar tip.
The drive back to New York was a long and sad one for me as I replayed my conversation with Caitlyn over and over again in my head. It was torture. By the time I had sufficiently horrified myself with my own words, I emphatically understood how wrong I’d been. The words. The actions. The intent. Everything.
The problem was… I had no idea what else I could have said. I tried to think of something else, something more heartfelt and human, but anything I could come up with sounded even shittier. I didn’t have it in me to be thoughtful or heartfelt. I was a coldhearted monster.
I had another fitful night of sleep. This time, I dreamed of making love with Caitlyn, and instead of enjoying my talents as a lover, she was cutting off pieces of my flesh with a butter knife. When I woke, I was even more frustrated. Her cutting me as easily as one cut butter was a metaphor if I’d ever heard one. Maybe that was why I was so attracted to her. I hadn’t the skills to woo her, so I wanted her more.
My rescheduled weekly sparring match with Lucas was in the early afternoon. I needed it badly. I had to vent my anger and aggression as soon as possible. Also, since he was more successful in love than I was at the moment, I wanted to kick the shit out of him for it, then begrudgingly ask him for advice. I hated to ask for help, but I was hitting a brick wall on this. I was possibly out of my league. I was loath to admit it, and would only do so under duress, but the little waitress had gotten me.
To my credit, I was a bit more conscious of my dealings with people in the office as I tried not to be so short-tempered. I used more “pleases” and “thank yous” than I ever had, and I actually stopped and talked pleasantly with my assistant about nothing of true importance before I attacked the pile of work on my desk. I checked my tone and practiced making it sound pleasant and caring. This took an immense amount of mental effort on my part, which nearly caused me to have a stroke, but the practice was worth it. My attempts at civility were noted by Sandra, who gave me a warm and gracious smile.
“Someone must have had a good night,” she teased.
Shit. If she only knew how not good it was.
I grinned. “I’m turning over a new leaf.”
“Really?” She seemed shocked.
“Don’t get your hopes up though,” I warned, “I might not be able to pull this off.”
“I won’t.” She seemed a little deflated by the prospect of me returning to my usual state of unpleasantness.
“You let me know if I slip,” I said with a wink. “I’m in a twelve-step program for assholes.”
I closed my door on her confused laugh, needing to escape people. I didn’t want to “people” longer than I had to today. Ironic how my assistant teased me, assuming something wonderful happened last night. She would probably have a good laugh knowing that my ass had been handed to me by a fucking waitress. Shit. I mean server — I think that’s what she called the mousy woman… Linda. Whatever, it was all hard.
What I really needed right now was my brother, but I wasn’t willing to confess my sins to him yet. He wouldn’t understand, and he was my harshest and most honest critic.
I owed him his weekly picture, so I sent off the selfie with Caitlyn, guilt riding my back as I did so. As expected, he loved the photo because, moments later, he returned my message with hearts and smiles bursting all over the page. Each one was like a stab to my gut. I sent him back only one smile. He seemed disappointed.
Smile, smile, he texted, but sadly, one was all I could manage.
Lucas showed up at exactly four-thirty. I was ready for this. He was his usual jovial self, and I was ready to hit the mat and kick his balls to the moon. How could someone always be so happy?
“Ready to go down?” I asked in a jokingly aggressive manner.
“I’m ready to watch you go down,” he threw back at me. “You know you always lose.”
“Not this time,” I said, giving him a hard punch to the shoulder.
He eyed me. “Save it for the ring, my friend.”
“I’m ready,” I said as I danced around him, positioning another punch which I held tight, not wanting to hurt him.
“To kill someone, it seems. Ease up on the reins, buddy,” he playfully knocked me back.
He was right. I was ready to kill somebody and sincerely hoped it wouldn’t be my best friend. Outside of my brother, he was my only friend except Rachel, but I assumed I would lose her soon. Since I saw her last week, I’d been thinking about calling our affair off, and if I did, I assumed our friendship would be over since the only thing between us was sex. People only liked me for three things — power, sex, and money. Well, except Lucas and my little brother.
I didn’t want to give up the sex, exactly. We had our good days, and I always needed the physical release she gave me. My hand wasn’t better than her pussy, but her pussy wasn’t worth risking a chance with Caitlyn.
And I really wanted a chance with Caitlyn.
Lucas and I entered the ring. We started with some light jabs and footwork, which only inflamed my sense of shame and anger. I wanted real action. I didn’t want to dance around wearing boxing gloves. Without warning, I started hitting Lucas with all of the bottled-up anger inside me. I felt like my arms and legs were made of steel. Power flooded my system with adrenaline as I went after Lucas hard. To his credit, he was keeping up with my punches and only let a few land. One got him right in the gut.
“What the hell bro? Lighten up,” he said, winded.
“Sorry,” I apologized as I came at him again from the left side.
He blocked my punch to his face, and I started to seeth. I was going after an invisible enemy, punching, jabbing, throwing hits with incredible force. I was going after the demon within me, intent on knocking him out cold. I rushed at Lucas, delivering punch after punch. Fuck the rules. I wasn’t fighting a fair fight. I wanted blood. I wanted death. I wanted to kill the thing that was hounding me and prove that might was right.
I could see Lucas was getting tired, but his manhood was being challenged, so he kept fighting. Not one to back down, he became just as aggressive as I was. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t being fueled by embarrassment, humiliation, and shame like I was. I laid a punch so hard to Lucas’s face, he lost his footing and crumbled to the floor.
“What the fuck, KP?” he said, clutching his temple as blood poured out of him.
I just stared down at him, not even making a move. I watched him lay there, bleeding all over the mat. He was breathing heavily, and so was I. I was like a man completely possessed. It scared me, so I waited for his cue.
“Help me up, motherfucker,” he choked as he tried to get up from the floor.
I bent over and pulled him up, still feeling the sting of anger and revenge in my psyche.
“Where the fuck are you tonight?” he asked as he walked out of the ring to grab his towel from a chair nearby.
I just stood there as he attended his injury. He looked over while holding the towel to his head, and his expression changed from irritated anger to genuine concern.
“Let’s get out of here.” He motioned for me to follow him and we went to the men’s locker room.
He took off his clothes, wincing with pain as he pulled his bloodied shirt over his head.
“Don’t you ever do that again. You have some shit you can’t take care of, then you talk to me, but you don’t ever fucking use your fists on me like that. I’m not your enemy, and I’m not someone you can mess with. You don’t have many friends. Don’t screw up the friendships you do have.”
There was definitely a running theme coursing through my life. I was an asshole. He was right. I should never have taken my aggression out on him. To my horror, emotion hit me in the face, packing a serious punch. For a moment, I thought I might cry. What the hell was wrong with me?
The concern was back on Lucas’s face. “What’s happening? What kind of trouble are you in?”
“I messed up, I’m sorry,” was all I could manage.
“No, you’re going through something deep. What’s going on?” He was unrelenting.
“I need a minute. I’ll tell you, but I’m not ready.”
He looked like he was going to argue, then clapped me on the back. “Come on, let’s hit the showers. I’m taking you out for a beer.”
Fifteen minutes later, we walked to the pub near the gym and found a table in the corner. The place was dark, dank, and smelled of rotting beer. The perfect watering hole for my sorry ass. A place where no one would notice Lucas’ wound, nor would they ask questions. His left eye had started to turn black-and-blue, and the gash on his forehead was gnarly and deep.
“You should probably get that looked at,” I grunted.
“I will, and I’ll be sending you the bill. If I need plastic surgery, it’s all gonna be on you, bro.” He was trying not to be angry, but he was pretty pissed at me.
“Sure, whatever you need.”
“I’ll be fine, scars add character.” He popped a peanut in his mouth. “So you want to fill me in on what the hell happened back there?”
He watched me closely as the bartender came over to take our drink order. “Whatya having?”
“Cold IPA, whatever you got,” Lucas said, still eying me, “and some more peanuts or something, I’m starving.”
“We have a special on meat-loaded potato skins.”
“Yeah those.” Lucas nodded to me. “You?”
“I’ll have Macallan 18, neat,” I said and watched the bartender’s eyes grow wide.
“I think we have some in the back. I’ll check,” he offered eagerly.
“Find it,” I barked.
“Right.”
“I’m really sorry,” I told Lucas again.
He snorted. “You fucking better be.”
“It won’t happen again,” I promised.
He snorted again. “No, it won’t. Did you lose a big project? One of your films tank? You get diagnosed with something terminal, what?” He was being real with me, it was time for me to come out of my bastard closet and let him in.
I exhaled a long breath. “That girl, the one I told you about.”
“The chic from that dive diner?”
“Yes.”
He waved his hand. “Go on.”
“She refused me a second time.”
“Again?” he asked, astonished.
I gave him a feral glance.
“So you’re pissed off enough to kill someone, namely your best friend, because some chick in a shit restaurant won’t suck your cock,” he reasoned.
I was growing agitated again. “I said I’m sorry.”
He simply pointed to his head.
“You got into the boxing ring. You knew there was a risk.” I was only half joking.
“Boxing as exercise is a thing these days,” he reminded me.
“It’s only a scratch.” Well, it was a little more than that, but why buy into the theatrics.
“A scratch?” He barked out a laugh. “Really? You can see my brain, it’s so deep.”
“You can’t see your brain, you moron.” I thought we may have been good again. “Yeah, so um, I need your help,” I confessed.
He leaned back in his chair. “Okay. So how can I help you get into your little waitress’s pants?” he asked as the bartender brought our drinks.
“Found some,” the bartender said as he placed my glass before me.
“Goody,” I mocked.
The bartender looked at me and smiled. I could tell he recognized me after coming back with our drinks — must be an aspiring actor. New York was crawling with them. I waited for him to leave, and I took a sip, hoping to calm my nerves.
“Did you fuck the embalmer?” It was a crude way of asking, but I needed to know.
His smile lit up the planet. “She’s amazing. But we aren’t talking about me, we’re talking about you.”
I slumped forward and took another drink. “She thinks I’m this stalker, rapist, asshole megalomaniac. I’m so screwed.”
He chuckled. “Ah, I get it, you were being you.”
“Pretty much.” I felt like shit.
“Well, this is one of those times when you have to ask yourself, what would Prince Charming do?”
Was he serious? “What?”
“Well, it’s obvious that money doesn’t drive her, but what does? Do you know anything about her?”
I tossed back more drink. “She has paintings at an auction house and is working for a community outreach center for at-risk kids. Then there’s the shit diner, and, oh… she hates me!”
“She hates you now, she won’t always. At-risk kids, an art gallery full of paintings. Hello, you’ve so got this. Donate money, like heaps of it to the place with the kids and buy all of her paintings at an outrageous price. Problem solved, you’ll be her hero.”
Hmm… maybe Lucas was onto something.
“I can definitely donate to the community outreach center, but the art gallery won’t let me have her paintings.”
“Well, did you tell them how much you were willing to offer for the paintings? They get a percentage of that shit. If the number is high enough, they’ll convince her to sell.”
My friend was a fucking genius.
“I didn’t name a price, just said I wanted them. Do you think a million would do it?”
He laughed. “A million would probably, most likely, definitely do it. Remember though, it has to be anonymous. She can’t know it’s you.”
Okay, maybe not so genius.
“Well, then how does that help me?”
“Trust me, if you make the donation to the center in your waitress’s name from an admirer and buy all of her paintings, don’t you think she’ll know who it is?”
He had a point.
“And I’ll add a note to her with the donation, like a confession or an apology.”
“A little less anonymous. It’s a bit riskier, but very Prince Charming. It’s perfect.” He raised his beer to me, and we clinked.