At the gas station, she’s got me spun around her finger, tugging on my jacket pocket, begging for one of those festive bags of candy hearts.
“No, sweetie,” I say. “Another time. We have to get that puppy.”
I glance out the window, watching as a vintage 1967 Chevy station wagon rolls behind my car. The bumper sticker catches my eyes: I’m a teacher. What’s your superpower?
It’s been a ruthless year for business. And I mean ruthless. Between the multi-million dollar magazine deals, rentals, and other strong investments, I’d say my superpower is turning a dollar into ten billion.
Sammy twists her mouth and pouts, but I’m doing my best to ignore it. I spoil her enough as it is, and she doesn’t realize she’s about to get a new dog.
It’s not a cat. She better cheer up, regardless.
Nodding at the gas station clerk, I put forty on the table and give an awkward smile. “Give me thirty on pump number nine.”
Samantha yanks on the fabric of my new suit. “Dad...”
A pathetic sigh falls from my mouth. “And I’ll take a couple bags of those candy hearts,” I say.
I have all the money in the world. I own over thirty percent of the magazine business, a dying relic that surprisingly still makes a ton of ad revenue. Stuff that should amount to some real power. Yet, this little eight year old girl controls me.
Where did I go wrong?
The young, starry-eyed, pimply clerk stares back at me. “Be mine, Valentine.”
I’m halfway to Tacoma. Get me out of here. “Just give me the gas and candy, please.”
As he bags the candy and hands me a receipt, I lift my eyes and stare past him, through the glass. Back to that station wagon. Normally, I don’t focus on the peripheral. I’ve got meetings on the mind, and everything is a delicate balance.
It’s not the car that keeps me staring. It’s who’s inside it.
The door opens, lights reflecting off the chipped brown paint. A woman’s heel hits the ground. A long leg leads to the inside of the car where a slim figure with a set of heart shaped hips sits, poised to pounce. She’s wearing a skirt short enough to show off the tops of her thighs, but it’s not an intentional, vain sort of way. No, this is someone who is different from any other woman I usually associate with. Someone who doesn’t concern herself with the bullshit.
She’s perfect...
I need to find out more.
Entranced, I take my receipt and head for the exit. Shoulders hunched, eyes wide, and breath heavy, I force my body through the door.
Samantha taps my hand. Her mouth is full of candy. “Thank you, dad.”
“What?” I ask, stunned. “Oh, yeah. Sure thing, kiddo.”
As the entrance jingle resounds like wedding bells over my head, the clerk calls out to me. I’m barely even listening. “Thank you, sir!”
I’m in love…
Bending forward, she slides her card into the machine. An error message comes up on the screen. I watch as her muscles tighten with irritation, and my eyes drop to her ass, staring as those creamy thighs form a perfect line to my cock.
I’m not always a maniac. But it’s almost Valentine’s Day, and I’m feeling a little… lonely. And despite the fact that I’ll probably never marry, I’m entertaining the idea of doing it a different way.
Starting over and living a normal life in a smaller, cozier house. Vacations to San Diego. Family dinners. Celebrating her tenure at whatever university she works for. All the stuff I’ve sort’ve botched to get a firm financial hold on my life.
Seeing this woman makes me wonder if I’m even living.
Samantha fidgets, jumping to get my attention. Grabbing my keys, she unlocks my Mercedes. “Dad, I’ll race you to the car.”
I’m practically floating. “Anything you say, sweetie.”
Another error message flashes on the pump’s screen, increasing her irritation. She slides the card again, growing more and more frantic as a series of error signs flash. I’m close enough to read the screen. Declined.
She doesn’t have the funds to pay for it, but I’ve got my hand in my pocket, fingers sliding around my leather wallet. I feel the metallic edges of my card, and before I know it, I’m acting bolder than I ought to around a woman I don’t even know.
I have all the best intentions in the world as I slide my card into the slot before she can destroy it with her heels. A pleasant green light flashes back at me. A soft perfume flows through my nostrils, and I sniff extra hard to feel the unexpected hit of endorphins.
“Regular or diesel,” I ask.
Her auburn hair whips near my face as she turns to see which intruder reached near her neck. The smell of her, perfect. I don’t want to think I’m some asshole who doesn’t understand a woman’s boundaries, so I take a step back and awkwardly loosen my tie.
Though they are covered by a thick set of lenses, her eyes are a warm, golden brown, making the sun look pathetic in comparison. Her eyebrows are thick, unkempt, but strangely reminiscent of some calm I felt a lifetime ago but forgot about. Her clothes are nothing fantastic or memorable, but they fit her well, to the T. I probably look like a crazy person, gawking, but she’s absolutely gorgeous.
Those thick brows crease with confusion. “Regular.”
I press the button and nod, drumming up all the excuses I could use to get her number. Turning, I see my daughter in the front seat, bouncing to the radio. Could I use her as my wing-man? No, that would be wrong. My money and status? That usually works, but I don’t have a clue where I am or where she’s from. Not to mention, billionaire CEO isn’t the most loved job in the world, especially in the Pacific
