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at the money, not sure if I should take it but he pushed the money into my hands.
"You actually carry that much money around?"
He shrugged. "I went to the bank today to get money out for the week. If you can't get a cashier's check by Monday, I can front the rest to you. Worse comes to worst? You can stay here. I'll okay it with the owner first, of course," he said. "I'm sure he'd be pleased to think he was helping you out."
"My rent is five thousand dollars."
"I could probably get that together."
"You have five thousand dollars just lying around?"
He shrugged. "I have some savings, shall we say. Interest is pretty lousy these days, so I won't miss out if I don't have it in the bank for a couple of weeks until you can get things back to normal and get that bank draft."
I shook my head and looked at him, the money still in my hand. "Why are you being so nice?"
He shrugged. "Maybe I'm just a nice person?"
"I think you are," I said, and finally put the money away in my sweater pocket. "Seriously. Thank you so much."
"You can start paying me back by coming for a drink and meal after your first day at work. How does that sound?"
"It sounds perfect." I turned around one last time. "Well, I better go to my office or I'll be late for my meeting." I went to the elevator, feeling slightly better now that I had a cell and some cash.
"Hey," he said when I got inside the elevator. "Nice to meet you, Ella. Hope you're have a better rest of the day."
"Thanks, Josh," I said as the doors were closing. Through the door, I heard him shout, "Message me later. We can go to the pub down the street for supper."
"Okay," I replied, but I had no idea if he heard me.
So, Josh's boss owned the penthouse floor and let him use it to store his bike and get changed in the morning. Josh himself was willing to front me money instead of me having to ask my boss. Part of me thought the offer was too good to be true, but maybe he was just a super nice guy.
I rode down the elevator, a skip in my heart rate at the thought of how nice he was to offer financial help. It skipped a little more at the prospect of going out for a drink and food with him after work.
Hell, even just talking to him was more than I had done with a handsome man in – well, since Jerkface.
It felt nice.
Chapter Ten
Joshua
Getting trapped in the elevator had never been so enjoyable. A pretty woman named Ella. Five four, one hundred and twenty pounds, long auburn hair and a light spray of freckles over her nose, big green eyes that I could imagine closing in the throes of passion while I made her orgasm for the third time...
Yeah.
Even with the troll pencil and Iron Man notebook – hell, because of them – she was someone I would definitely do.
I should have told her the truth about who I was, but for some reason, it tickled my fancy for her to think I was a bike courier. I was used to the women I met knowing I was one of the richest men in Manhattan, and it did something to them. They saw dollar signs.
I didn't blame them – I would, too. But it meant I could never just meet a woman as myself – plain old Josh. Not the Joshua Macintyre Jr. – son of MBC's Joshua Macintyre. If she had known who I really was, she would have probably acted differently. She was, after all, just a bright-eyed young woman in Manhattan for the first time, working at her first real job. Sure, it was an unpaid internship, but it showed she was more interested in getting skills and making connections than money. At least, long enough to make an impression.
A lot of people started off by volunteering or doing unpaid internships, impressing their superiors, then getting in with the companies as paid employees. I respected that kind of initiative.
I also felt bad for her – robbed of all her money, ID, and electronics on her third day in Manhattan. She said she was from New Hampshire, which wasn't anything like Manhattan, either in population or the pace at which life took place. She was inexperienced in the ways of the city and its dangers. She didn't know that you had to watch for bike couriers – and cyclists and skateboarders – threading through the narrow channels between cars in the heavy traffic. She didn't know not to leave her backpack unattended, even if only for a few moments while she examined a map to help an innocent-looking old woman in the subway station. Now she was facing the prospect of starting over, getting all her ID re-issued, and getting access to her bank accounts so she could pay for her apartment.
It was daunting.
I felt sympathy for her plight and was happy I could help. In fact, helping her made me feel useful. Handing her a couple of hundred bucks was nothing – pocket change for me. Fronting her the money for her rent was also nothing. It was a rounding error in my account books. I wouldn't miss it if she didn't pay it back – but I was sure she would. She had that air of conscientiousness about her. She'd probably get the money right away and the five grand would be back in my bank account in no time flat.
