Mister Moneybags(8)

“How about Ethiopian food?”

“Done.” I leaned in closer. “Anything else you want?”

Her eyes drop to my lips.

Right answer.

Just as I was about to bring my mouth down to finally meet hers, something caught her attention behind me. I turned and watched an elderly woman attempting to get out from the cab.

“That’s Mrs. Axinger,” Bianca said. “She lives across the hall from me.”

I wanted to ignore the woman getting out of the car and go back to what I was about to do, but I couldn’t. She looked like she might fall, and the damn cabbie wasn’t about to help. I groaned, but headed to help the woman. Bianca followed right behind me.

“Hi, Mrs. A. This is my friend, Jay.”

I took the woman’s arm and helped her out of the cab and up the tall curb. Once she was steady, I lifted her grocery bag from the seat and carried it behind her and Bianca as they walked to the door.

“Bianca, dear, do you think you can give me a hand getting a box from the top of my closet? I’m afraid to climb up on a chair, and I want to ship some pictures to my son out in California.”

“Sure, of course. I told you to knock anytime you need anything. I’ll help you put these groceries away and get whatever you need down.”

After I opened the door and we were all standing in the lobby, Bianca gave me an apologetic look. “Call me?” she asked.

Begrudgingly, I dug my phone out of my pocket and handed her my cell so she could put in her number. When she was done, we swapped the phone for the small bag of groceries I was still carrying.

I couldn’t very well suck her face while Mrs. A. was watching, so when the elevator door opened, I leaned in and kissed her cheek. “It was very nice meeting you, Bianca. I’ll call you.”

“I look forward to it.”

I waited until the elevator doors closed before heading back to my bike. As I walked, I looked down at the phone number she’d typed in. She had also left me a message.



Bianca: Whittle me something small and you’ll get that kiss you were screwed out of next time.



Great. Just f*cking great. After I rode my bicycle back to my multi-million-dollar company, I was going to have to learn how to whittle.





I settled into bed that night in a particularly good mood thinking about Jay. But my mood was sullied when I scrolled through my email and found one from the man who’d blown me off—Mister Moneybags.

Dear Ms. George,

Please accept my apologies for cancelling our meeting on such short notice. I’m afraid it was a personal emergency that couldn’t be helped.

Best,

Dexter Truitt

Really? “Best?” He wasn’t even going to propose a rain check? Did he have any clue how much his “emergency” set me back? I had a deadline, and the magazine was currently without its feature story. While it surprised me that someone like him even bothered to offer an apology, this was not okay. I decided to write back.

Mr. Truitt,

I’m afraid your “personal emergency” has put me in a very difficult position. We are running on a firm deadline. If the interview isn’t conducted soon, we are going to have to cancel the entire feature. When might you be able to reschedule?

A notification sounded within thirty seconds, signifying I’d received a new email. Dexter Truitt had written me back.

Ms. George,

How about right now?

Now? Was he nuts? He had some nerve expecting me to meet him at this time of night.

Mr. Truitt,

It’s eleven o’clock at night. I’m not able to meet you this late. When might you have availability during working hours this week?

Bouncing my knee anxiously, I waited for his response.

Ms. George,

I’m available now. We can conduct the interview via email. I would prefer written documentation of my answers in any case, so as to avoid my words being misinterpreted.

He couldn’t be serious. I typed.

Mr. Truitt,

Your agreement with the magazine was for an in-person interview. I was under the impression that the entire purpose of this feature was so that you could “go public.” An interview conducted over email would defeat the purpose.

Biting my nails, I stared at the screen.

Ms. George,

What agreement are you referring to? I never signed anything with your magazine. Therefore, there is no contractual obligation. I simply expressed interest in being interviewed. I’ve since thought better of doing it in person. If you’d like to conduct the interview with me now via email, I am more than happy to offer you that opportunity.

The keys of my laptop clicked loudly as I typed even faster this time.

Mr. Truitt,

Are you saying there was no actual personal emergency? You lied and cancelled our interview because you decided not to show your face after all?

Letting out a frustrated breath, I repositioned myself in bed as I waited for his response.

Ms. George,

I did experience an emergency, but I don’t believe I am under any obligation to offer an explanation into my personal affairs. As for showing my face, well, if you want the honest truth, my unexpected change of plans afforded me the time to think twice about such a life-altering decision. I’ve decided that I prefer to continue keeping my identity private.