The Fine Print (Dreamland Billionaires #1)(27)

Zahra: I could make us dinner instead as a gesture of gratitude.





My response takes two seconds.

Me: No meeting up.

Zahra: Okay then. You’re shy. I get that.





I haven’t been called shy since I was a kid.

Zahra: That’s all right. Maybe one day.

Me: Are you this hopeful about everything?

Zahra: Sure. Why not?

Me: Because life isn’t always rainbows and sunshine.

Zahra: Of course not. But how can we appreciate the sun every morning if we don’t live through the dark?





What kind of drugs does she take?

My phone buzzes again as if the silence scares her.

Zahra: What’s your name? You know, so I can put a name to a face.





I’m experiencing my personal hell. Turns out Zahra is a back-to-back serial texter.

Me: Except you don’t have a face.





Good job stating the obvious. My poor attempt at a joke falls flat, and I’m reminded yet again why I don’t bother with them to begin with.

Zahra: Duh. But for now, I’ll just picture you as a young James Dean.





James fucking Dean? What kind of old-school shit does Zahra watch? James Dean was someone my grandpa used to talk about.

My fingers fly across the screen before I consider the repercussions of having a conversation that has nothing to do with work.

Me: I’m sorry. How old are you?

Zahra: HAHA.





I’m filled with some kind of warmth at the idea of making her laugh. I frown at the sensation.

Zahra: To be fair, my parents are into retro and iconic American things. It was their dream to move here when they were kids, so I’m afraid James Dean is only the tip of the iceberg. Don’t get me started on my love for vintage clothing stores and Elvis Presley.





That’s something I can relate to. My grandpa was the same way about American pop culture. He was always obsessed since he immigrated here from Ireland with nothing but a single suitcase and a dream to draw.

My chest pinches and I shove the memory out of my mind.

Zahra: I even taught myself to play the ukulele to impress my parents.

Zahra: I’m quite terrible though, much to my dad’s disappointment.





I come to the realization I’m entrusting my livelihood in the hands of someone who happens to be the most bizarre person I’ve ever met. Zahra is a risk as much as she’s an investment. Like putting a million dollars into penny stocks and hoping I don’t get fucked over in the end.

Zahra: …so do you plan on telling me your name now or do you want me to guess?

Zahra: I can pull up a baby-naming website and get cracking. We can even make it into a game.





God, no. Who knows what kind of messages I would open myself up to?

Me: You can call me Scott.





Scott? What the fuck are you doing?

I exit the conversation before I have a chance to say anything else. That was enough crazy for me. I’m not the kind of person who does something as spontaneous and asinine as creating an alter ego to speak to someone. Talk about pathetic.

But that’s all you’ve ever been. A disappointment who doesn’t deserve the Kane name in the first place.

I roll over and shove a pillow over my ear as if that can erase the voice from my past.

It’s been years. You’re not that same rejected kid anymore.

But no matter how many times I tell myself that, nothing is good enough in my eyes. Every time I accomplish a difficult task, I’m already searching for the next obstacle to overcome. To show my father and anyone who doubted me that I turned my weaknesses into strengths.

Shy? I choose my words wisely, turning them into a feared weapon.

Weak? I let thousands of useless employees go to improve our bottom line.

Pathetic? I built my own reputation in the corporate world that has nothing to do with my last name. It might not be a pretty one but it’s exclusively mine, and nothing my father says or does can take that away from me.

I’m not a disappointment anymore. Not today and certainly not ever again.

There’s only one loose end getting in my way of ensuring my time at Dreamland is smooth and scandal-free. And I plan on keeping a close eye on her.





I check my messages in the morning. I expected maybe one or two messages from Zahra but she surprised me again with a total of five.

Zahra: Scott. Okay. A bit basic but I like it.





The next text was sent ten minutes after the previous one.

Zahra: I see I might have scared you off. It’s okay. My mom taught me if you put food out for stray cats, they’ll keep coming back.

Zahra: Not that I think you’re a stray cat!





She includes a facepalm emoji next.

Zahra: Anyway, I pretty much solidified how weird I am and why I fail at online dating apps! So I don’t blame you for running away. The only positive of this entire conversation is that I have no idea what you look like. If you happen to meet someone with my name, pretend for my sake that you have no idea who I am. K thanks!