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"Olivia," I say, rolling down my window and bellowing at her. "Right here," I wave.
I notice the surprise in her eyes. She crosses the road, and I step out, helping her into the passenger seat.
"I didn't know you owned a Honda," she says.
"It's my baby," I grin and start driving. "This was the first car I ever bought. I grew up poor, very poor. No food in the fridge poor. When I turned sixteen, I needed a better job and a car to get there because I needed to get my mom and me out of that shit hole away from my father. I used all the money I had saved up from working at the diner nearby and bought this - secondhand. I call her Pluck. She's got me through rough times and good times."
My eyes are on the road, so I can't read her face, but her sigh tells me everything. "I never knew that," she whispered. "I thought you ..."
"Grew up rich?" I asked.
"Something like that."
"No, my father beat the living crap out of Ma and me. I grew up desperate ... and hungry. I was born here, in Texas, but moved out the minute I turned eighteen. I won a full-ride scholarship to Virginia Tech, then my work took me around the world, before bringing me to settle down in New York. But when my daughter was born, I knew I needed to plan to move back. New York is no place for a kid. When my ex and I finally separated, I started tying the loose ends for my daughter and me to shift base here. I want my little girl to grow up in a safe community, with humble values, so she could one day know the value of hard work. I think hunger makes people better. Kids born into comfort and privilege often struggle to hold their own when they’re older, you know?"
"I'm not too sure about that, but I see what you mean," she says. "Is it better raising your daughter here?”
I nod, “Yes, we’ve bought a small house in a safe neighborhood. It’s strange, but I want to keep the fact that I’m rich from my daughter for however long I can. I want her to go to public school, so I chose a neighborhood with one of the best public schools out here. She’s settling in well. She’s making good friends, from all backgrounds. It’s what I want.”
“She’s lucky to have you,” says Olivia. “It’s thoughtful of you not to spoil her.”
“I want her to be independent and not a slave to her someday inheritance. What if something bad happened tomorrow, for argument’s sake? What if I lose everything? She needs to be able to survive on her own when she’s older.”
“More parents should think like you,” says Olivia. “I would want to raise my future kids that way too.”
I smile. Olivia doesn’t know, but it wasn’t my intention to share my deepest, darkest secrets with her. For some reason, it just spilled out of me. She brings out the vulnerable side I forgot I had.
We soon reach the diner I carefully picked out for tonight’s dinner. As we step out of the car, she looks around in surprise.
"I thought, why not? For old times’ sake," I say as I eye the nostalgic exterior of the diner. The faded yellow walls, the old-fashioned sign with neon lights, and the cracked window frames all reveal its age and time gone by.
"This place has its own character," Olivia says as we stepped onto its creaky wooden floor. I grin. I now know I made the right choice bringing her here.
We make our way to one of the booths near the back of the diner and settle in to get comfortable before looking at the menus on hand. The menu is simple. My eyes light up when I see my favorite - a Reuben sandwich smothered with melted cheese, sauerkraut, and thousand island dressing. I order that, and Olivia orders a burger and fries.
"Want to share a shake?" she asks. I nod, my eyes trained on her lips as she licks them. She's always so tempting, even when she's just ordering food.
As we wait for our orders, I can't help but think about how much she excites me. Before I met her, I was content with my life as a tech mogul, going from meeting to meeting with little room for anything except my private home life and an occasional one-night stand. But now, with her by my side, I felt more challenged. Olivia Miller keeps me on my toes. She makes me think twice, do a double-take, and wonder if I’m wrong. Over the past few years, being surrounded by sycophants of sorts has left me with little experience to self-reflect on since no one points out my weaknesses. Olivia, on the other hand, challenges me to be a better man. Because of her, my need to self-reflect has only grown greater. This is a welcomed change.
"I never thought I'd say this, but I'm having fun tonight," Olivia says, breaking me out of my thoughts.
I arch an eyebrow at her, "What, you don't have fun when you're working for me?"
She rolls her eyes. "You know what I mean. It's just nice to let loose and not worry about deadlines or contracts for once. Also, when Iwasworking with you," she corrects me, instantly.
I can't help but admire how easily Olivia fits into my world. Most women would be intimidated by my wealth or put off by my aloofness, but Olivia is different. She stands up to me, corrects me, and never backs down from an argument. She glides through a fundraiser dressed like a million bucks and sits back at a diner with her hair in a ponytail, and never loses sight of who she is.
The waitress comes and sets down our plates. We dig in, and a few minutes into it, it's clear that Olivia hasn’t lost sight of why we’re here. "So, why did you bring me here, Adrian?" Olivia asks. Her blue eyes are wide and innocent-looking. I take a deep breath before answering her question.
"Well, I wanted to show you that I understand why you felt like our relationship couldn't go any further than a professional one. It's not because you don't want it; it's because you don't want your accomplishments to be ruined for what they are. You don't want to taint them with ... whatever it was we shared."
Olivia looks at me skeptically. "And how is this diner supposed to change that?" She crosses her arms over her chest, a move that does nothing to hide her curves or the flush that is spreading across her cheeks.
I smile wryly, "I may be a billionaire, but I didn't always come from money, Olivia. I know what it's like to build your own path in life. I had to crawl my way out of a home full of alcohol and no food, a home where it was more common to find bruises on my mother's face than it was to find a peanut butter sandwich."
Olivia's eyes soften a bit, and I can tell that she's beginning to understand. "So, what you're saying is that you want to show me that you're not just some entitled, rich guy who thinks he can buy his way into anything he wants?"
"Exactly," I reply. "I want you to see that I'm just a regular guy who happens to have a lot of money. And that I appreciate you for who you are, not just because I anticipate you would be a great asset to my team in the coming months nor-" I wonder if I should say it and decide I should, given the context of this conversation -"because fucking you is a dream come true."
