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“Do you think I'm an asshole?” he asked.
I shot him a sideways look, my own smile pulling at my lips.
“The jury is still out on that one,” I answered. “I hardly know anything about you, to be honest. Except that you like punching pricks in the face as much as I do.”
“Oh look, something else we have in common,” he said. “Careful, we may end up best friends before I get you home.”
“That's probably all we have in common, you know,” I said. “We come from two entirely different worlds. I'm not even sure our worlds are in the same universe.”
Malcolm put the address I'd given to him in the GPS and eased out into the road, turning left out of the nightclub's parking lot at the automated voice's request.
“You might be surprised, Casey,” he said. “If you actually knew me, you'd know I come with my own share of problems, and that maybe, just maybe, I'm not the snooty prick you think I am.”
“You may not be a snooty prick,” I said. “But, you never have to worry about ending up on the street or without a job, I'm sure. You never have to worry about having to scrounge up money to feed your siblings and help keep the house afloat.”
“Wanna bet?”
We were stopped at a red light, and he looked over at me. He seriously seemed to believe we had similar problems in life. How – well – I would say cute, but I didn't exactly find it endearing that he didn't recognize his privileged life. Hhe actually thought he could relate to me. I didn't bother arguing with him though. It would have been utterly pointless. Sometimes, you just couldn't get through to guys like him, because he'd never had to go without before. He'd never wanted for anything. He'd never had to choose between paying rent and feeding the kids. He couldn't possibly understand my life and the idea that he thought it could pissed me off.
“Maybe it's not the same thing,” he continued, “but what if I told you I might lose everything in a few months if I don't complete an impossible task my father requires of me.”
“What? Like find some ancient, oriental rug to decorate one of your eight bedrooms with?”
“No, something that's actually impossible,” he said, pressing the accelerator and shooting through the intersection once the light changed from red to green. “It's something that isn't just up to me, but my entire future rests upon it. If I don't do as my father says, I lose everything. I'll have to find a regular job, get some shitty apartment somewhere, and actually live like those ‘normal people’ you talk about.”
“Oh, poor you.” I wiped away fake tears from my eyes. “I'm sure you'll still have a contingency plan, plus your Stanford education, to back you up. Most of us don't even have that.”
“You're right,” he sighed. “This entire time, I thought I had it bad. But, you're right. I was being a snooty prick. You've made me understand that I'll still be okay, even if I can't complete this ridiculous task. It's just – ”
He looked over at me, as if he was trying to decide whether or not to keep talking and trust me enough to open up to me. That, of course, only deepened my curiosity. What deep dark secrets could rich boy Malcolm Crane be locking away in the bowels of his heart? What horrendously impossible task could daddy dearest possibly be requiring of him?
Honestly, I was surprised he'd told me as much and opened up as far as he had. It seemed to be pretty personal information for him to just rattle on and on about. I wasn't going to lie though, I was fascinated.
With a small nod to himself, he continued speaking – much to my surprise.
“I've worked so hard my entire life. I did everything required of me as I got myself ready to take over my father's company. This has been my entire life's purpose for as long as I can remember, I'm not sure what I'd do without it,” he said. “But, it's more than that. I don't want to disappoint my father. This is his dying wish, and I don't want to fail him. I'm afraid that I'm going to though. I don't see any way to avoid it.”
“What's his wish?”
Malcolm tensed up, grabbing the steering wheel with both hands as he stared straight ahead. His eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched. I was treading in some very dangerous, personal ground and I could feel Malcolm starting to withdraw.
“Oh, so now you're going to clam up on me? No fair,” I said.
I turned and looked out the window, watching the streets of Hollywood passing us by. The homeless people sleeping on the streets and in doorways. As bad as things sucked, at least I had a bed to go home to; for now anyway. “It's very personal,” he said.
“And telling me your lifelong dream and your desire to not let your father down isn't?” I said.
I turned back to him and could see the way his eyes were focused on the road. He was deep in thought. Even still, he looked so han
dsome and sexy. Malcolm had leading man good looks and could have been a star if he'd pursued acting. He looked almost too good to be real. I yearned to reach out and touch him, just to make sure this wasn't all a dream. But, I didn't. I just stared until he caught me looking – and then turned away, thankful the darkness of the car's interior hid the fact that my face was turning a shade of red not found in nature.
“It's just that – it's stupid and crazy, but I was thinking maybe you could help me with what I need to do,” he said. “I'm just not sure how to ask. It would be a win-win for both of us.”
“Us?”
“Yes,” he said quietly. “You just lost your job, and I'd be willing to pay for your help. I'd pay you very well, in fact.”
That piqued my interest, though there was a nervous flutter in my belly. What could he possibly be wanting to ask me to do that he would pay me “very well” for?
