When I sold my Bitcoin and became a billionaire, I thought my life was made. I had no idea it would lead to such a lack of purpose. Or such loneliness. And then I meet this beautiful woman who has her shit together, and she doesn’t want me for my money, not even when I try to give it to her. She’s so full of passion, and I have such respect for her determination… not just because she’s got it, but because it’s something I’m profoundly lacking. The irony of our situation is that she has the passion and drive, but limited resources. I have unlimited resources, but no passion or drive.
Damn, we’d make one hell of a couple.
I’m not giving up.
I get dressed and head over to Gabby’s Rooster to see Aspen.
An hour later, I’m sitting in the second-to-last booth in the back of the bistro, scanning the menu. Aspen saunters up to my table, wearing tight jeans and a tight, cotton-candy pink T-shirt under her leopard-print apron. I smile and shift in my seat. Her shiny, blond hair is in a high ponytail, which I want to yank her head back with and kiss her shiny, suckable lips. They’re cherry-red. Like always.
I gotta make this happen.
“What can I get you, Ryker?” she asks, only mildly annoyed I’m here. I think.
“You,” I say, in my sexiest voice and flash my eyebrows. She’s laughs. I see she’s not completely immune to my charms. He shoots, he scores.
“I mean, what can I get you to eat?”
Oh, she’s making this too easy. I lean forward and whisper, “You.”
And for the first time, I see her face infuse the same color as her lips… from something I said! She taps one of her red canvas sneakers on the floor nervously, like she’s had three espressos.
“OK then, quiche it is,” she says, and floats away.
I pull out my phone and scroll through my email. Patrick is moving forward with the Kauai house renovations, which pleases me. And Sax emailed about setting up another round of golf. He also said we need to go out bar hopping. There’s only one reason he wants to do that—for girls. But I’m not interested in meeting girls. I’ve already set my sights on one.
Aspen brings the quiche over to me, with a glass of chocolate milk. Cute.
“Would you like to go out tonight?” I ask her.
“Nope,” she says and walks away. I grab my fork and take a bite of the quiche.
Her mother, Gabby, comes out of the kitchen. Her platinum blond hair is as bright as Aspen’s, and she leans against the counter talking to one of the regulars. I overhear her telling the customer a story, “… and then I see that my seat on the airplane is in the emergency row! So, I stood up and said to everybody around me, ‘Look I’ve been married four times! I’ve been through a lot in my life! I can handle this emergency door.’” Gabby and the customer bust out laughing, and I smile.
The customer, still laughing, says, “Gabby, you are too much!”
“That’s what all of my husbands said,” Gabby replies, her laughter following her back into the kitchen.
I hold up a finger to get Aspen’s attention, and she comes over.
“Yes?”
“Aspen, my offer still stands. I’m serious. I want to invest.” She doesn’t smile. “Come on, let me do this, I want to.”
“I already told you, Ryker, absolutely not. I don’t want to get tangled up with you. In a romantic way, or in a business way.” Her words are one thing, but her eyes tell me otherwise. Even when she’s trying to ignore me or scold me, they smile. She can try to cover it up all she wants. She’s not fooling anyone. She’s just stubborn.
“I don’t see what the big deal is. It’s pocket change to me. I need to find places to put money, or it just sits there, doing nothing. You have a hotel you want to buy. I have no doubt that you’ll make it a success. We can keep it professional.”
“No, we can’t. You’re already a distraction.” She turns to walk away, but I’ve got another trick up my sleeve. A big one.
“Wait,” I say, and she turns back to me. I narrow my eyes at her, and then I raise my eyebrows as high as they go, which makes her giggle and shake her head at me. I’ll charm my way into her heart after all.
“Yes?” she asks and crosses her arms over her chest. But before I answer, I drink in the site of her for a moment, and I can’t help but admire her dedication. But enough is enough. It’s time to close this deal. When she hears what I’m planning to say next, I’ll have her.
“Aspen, I need to tell you something. You are responsible for me becoming wealthy. Indirectly, at least. But I still owe it all to you.”
She uncrosses her arms and puts her hands on her hips. Then she adds a sassy tilt to her head for good measure. “What are you talking about?”
I shrug with ease. “When my parents divorced, I avoided people, spent a lot of time in the basement, pissed. I dove into the Internet, and one of the things I got involved with was mining Bitcoin, and here I am.”
She just looks at me, like she’s waiting for the finale to my story.
I continue, “Had you not said that to me in the cafeteria, back in high school, I never would’ve raised the issue with my parents.” I shrug again, to maintain my air of “what I’m about to say is truth and no big deal,” but I pause for effect before finishing. “They would’ve still divorced, but it would’ve happened later. After I was an insecure high school student who cares what clique he belongs to. After I left for college and had other ways to occupy myself. And most of all… after the early
