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What were you expecting?
Rolling my eyes, I moved to close it but stopped. What could it hurt to find out the one sorry bastard who wanted me?
“Holy shit,” I whispered when his image came up. It was like someone had taken the picture out of a GQ ad.
Name: Theodore J. Darcy.
Age: 31
Height: 6’3”
Hair: Black
Eyes: Green
And the kicker, the absolute cherry on top, his net worth: thirty-one billion.
Source of wealth: family money, film director, writer, producer, and CEO of Darcy Entertainment.
Attached to his profile was a message. “First, I wasn’t at the party. The party was at my house, courtesy of my annoying little brother. Secondly, don’t put yourself in positions where someone can mistake you. Thirdly, you’re an awful liar. I am your type. Meet me at Darcy Headquarters, 5420 W Avon St, Burbank, at 3:00 p.m.”
Oh, this son of a bitch.
Don’t put myself in positions where I could be mistaken? How about don’t fucking judge someone? Just as I was about to hit send, I erased it instead. I didn’t want him to know he’d gotten a rise out of me.
Instead I sent a much simpler and clearer message: “No.”
Smiling, I closed the laptop and placed it beside my bed.
God, I felt good.
3:01 p.m.
I grinned at my phone like I had won the lottery, and I had no idea why.
“Felicity. Felicity!”
“Huh?” I jumped off the counter and dropped the rag in my hand. My manager, Manny, an upcoming “actor,” glared at me as he handed me the coffeepot. I would like to note that the only credit he had was being a zombie in one episode of the The Walking Dead.
“Do you think you can stop daydreaming for a moment and serve the customers? You know, since it’s your job,” he snapped at me.
“My shift is over.”
“Not until Rosemary comes in.” He stomped off, grabbing his phone.
He must have gotten rejected for another part. Manny was usually an ass, but he only got really bitchy when he was overlooked for a part because of what he claimed to be the “unrealistic ideals of men in the media.” He was short, sl
im with no muscle definition despite his best efforts, and had bad vision. Not exactly your typical leading man.
“What can I get you?” I asked, not bothering to look up while I refilled the coffee cup.
“Why weren’t you this obedient when I messaged you?”
I nearly dropped the coffeepot onto the table. He took the sugar packets, pouring way too much into the cup while I stared at him. He wore a navy-blue fitted suit and a dark shirt with the top buttons undone. A smirk formed on his lips as he leaned back in the booth and glimpsed up at me, his green eyes all the more clearer in the daytime.
“What…? How?”
“What am I doing here? I came to see you. How did I know you worked here? Facebook.” He answered before I could even ask the questions or before he could put the coffee cup to his lips.
