The Millionaire Myth (3 page)

             
“Great.  Do you live nearby?”

             
“Pretty close, why?”

             
“I thought we could go drop your car off, then when we're done I can just drop you at home.  I don't like the idea of bringing you back to a dark parking lot to get your car.”

             
I hated to admit it, but I was starting to have those feelings again.  Those feelings that made me want to call him Mick.  Could it be possible that I'd read him wrong all this time?  Even if he was only trying to get me to buy a house, would he be this considerate?  I decided it didn't matter.  Either way, I was still up for a night out with an attractive man.  I figured that even if he was a jerk deep down, he was pretending to be a great guy.  So, I chose to look at it as a night out with a great guy.  I'll take it.

             
I dropped my car off and slid into the black leather seat of his Mercedes.  I noticed as I pulled my feet in, the letters AMG on a gleaming stainless steel casing in the opening of the door.  I wondered how he kept the steel so clean on the floorboards.  I looked over at him with raised eyebrows.  “AMG?  What's that?”

             
I could see he was thrilled to have the opportunity to brag about his car.  “Oh, this is a Mercedes S 65 AMG.  I
love
this car.”

             
I could see why.  It was beautiful.  I didn't want to imagine what he shelled out for it.  “Well, I'm sure it impresses the
ladies
.”

             
He shrugged as he pulled out into traffic.  “I won't deny that.  That's not why I bought it though.  I've always dreamed of owning a Mercedes, so when I was finally able to afford it, I got all the bells and whistles.”

             
I jumped, then glared at him as he burst out laughing.  “You weren't kidding!  Heated seats?”

             
He nodded.  “Yep.  I told you, I spared no expense.”

             
I shook my head, amazed.  “Well Mick, if you ever decide you need to trade up to something a little fancier, I'll take this baby off your hands.”

             
He laughed again.  “I'll keep that in mind.  Alright, are you ready to check out the first place?”

             
I nodded as I relaxed into the magical warming seat.  “I'm ready.  But I wouldn't mind if it takes us a while to get there.”

             
“It wont take us long.” Slick laughed, “I didn't buy this model just for the seats, I bought it for the power.”

             
I felt myself be pushed back into the seat as he punched the accelerator.

              We walked up the wide front steps of the first home on the list.  I was in awe as I looked up at the Mediterranean home.  The massive double doors opened into a marble tiled palace.  It was an open floor plan, and to the left was the chef's kitchen.  I walked in and ran my hand over the stunning granite counters and admired the custom cherry cabinets. 

             
After viewing the kitchen we went up the staircase, complete with wrought iron banisters, to the master suite.  It was something out of a designer magazine, with it's tray ceiling and ebony hardwood floors.  The bathroom was done in the same gleaming, cream marble that covered the entry way.  I looked from the over-sized jacuzzi tub to the enormous steam shower, with it's thousands of adjustable heads and started to feel a little faint.

             
Slick brought me out of my trance, “I can see that you're in heaven here, but there's a lot more of this house to see.”

             
I shook my head and noticed the two separate walk-in closets, both looking like you could park a car in them.  “Who cares about the rest of the place?  Why would anyone ever leave this room?  It's perfect.”  I whispered as I looked over at Slick, “How much is this place listed for anyway?”

             
He let out a long, low whistle.  “It ain't cheap, baby.”  And don't think I didn't notice that he called me baby.  He ran his hand over the wide door casing.  “This place is listed at just over seven hundred thousand.”  He grinned when he heard me gasp, and elaborated, “Bear in mind though, it's almost four thousand square feet, four bedroom, four bath.  Plus you've got the finished basement, three car garage, pool and spa.  Besides, we do live in California, and this is the life people want to live.”

             
“Yeah, but you're still talking about close to a million dollars for a pile of bricks.”

             
He winced and grabbed his chest.  “Ouch.  Pile of bricks?  Aren't you the woman who just said this room was perfect?”

             
I shrugged.  “Well, yeah.  But still, I didn't know Mr. and Mrs. Moneybags were clients of yours.”

             
He shook his head.  “It's not Mrs. Moneybags, it's Ms. Bennett.  She and her boyfriend are looking for a place.  She gave me their wish list and budget, so either she or the boyfriend must be doing okay.”

             
I grunted.  “This is way better than okay.  Are they the modern Brady Bunch?”

             
“What do you mean?”

             
“I mean, do they have a ton of kids?”

             
He shook his head. “Nope. No kids, just the two of them.”             

             
“Wow. All this for two people?”

             
“I guess so. Come on, let's finish looking around.”

             
After we'd looked through the entire house Mick led the way back down the hall, switching the lights off as we went.  We ended up back in the marble entryway, barely illuminated by the porch light shining through the glass doors.  It was so quiet and cozy, for a moment it felt like a date.  It felt like the perfect moment for a kiss.

             
But since it wasn't a date, instead of slowly leaning in, Slick just filled me in a little more about Ms. Bennett, “She told me that they're going to be engaged pretty soon, and she wants to get a jump start on the house hunt.”

             
“Really?”  I chuckled, “Someone's in for a rude awakening.”

             
Slick opened the door for me, then put the keys back in the lock box before leading me back to his car.  “Who's that?”

             
“Ms. Bennett.  She thinks they're getting engaged pretty soon.  Sounds like she's starting to get impatient.  I wouldn't spend too much time looking for houses for this couple, my friend.”

             
In a smug tone I hadn't heard from him since before the inheritance rumor, he said, “You're pretty insightful for a receptionist, aren't you?”

             
I turned and looked at him.  He looked down quickly, knowing he'd slipped up.  I kept staring at his head, since he refused to meet my eyes.  “Yeah, I guess I am.  Though I know that shocks you, that an idiot receptionist can do anything other than lace up her own shoes correctly.”

             
He lamented, “I'm sorry.  I didn't mean it like that, honestly.”  He paused and I could tell he was trying to spin it.  “I meant it as a compliment...like uh, you could do more than answer phones.”

             
It wasn't even close to a good save.  He meant it just like I took it; like he thought I was an idiot.  I didn't push it though; I still wanted dinner.

             
I sighed and smiled.  “It's okay.  Sorry I took it wrong.”  And because I couldn't resist, I added, “I know you respect me and value my opinions.  Otherwise you wouldn't have brought me to look at houses, right?”

             
I saw his face go blank, and instead of making him think of something to say, I turned and headed toward his car.  “I'm starving, where are you taking me to dinner?”

             
When Slick asked me where I wanted to eat, I told him to take me where he takes his clients.  I could go to a regular diner anytime.  I wanted to see his idea of impressive.

             
It was a fun show. We pulled up to a tiny building with valet parking. I wasn't surprised about the valet, but I was a little shocked that Slick allowed someone else to drive his car/first born/reason for living.

             
Slick led me through a set of plain double doors. I noticed that there was no sign on the building or the doors. “What's the name of this place?”

             
He shook his head. “It isn't named. I call it Sticks.”

             
I looked over my shoulder at him as we walked through a narrow hallway. “Why Sticks?”

             
“Because the owner and I used to be in a band, and he was the drummer. Sticks.”

             
“What's this guy's name?”

             
“Brian.”

             
I shook my head. “Well then why not call it Brian's?”

             
He shrugged and nodded at a very tall, very thin blonde. She smiled and wordlessly turned to lead us through a minuscule, albeit packed dining area. Instantly I felt like an amazon as I followed our waif of a hostess. Every table sat incredibly low to the ground. The patrons were sitting on what looked like couch cushions.

             
Noticing the women, I began to feel even worse; like an under-dressed amazon. Every one of them sat with their legs to one side, appearing uncomfortable, but perfectly groomed in their pencil skirts and heels. 

             
Blondie stopped at a table in the corner of the room. I sat my purse down on the floor, unsure of how to proceed. Thank goodness I'd worn my black pants to work, I wouldn't want to imagine this experience in a short skirt. I watched as Slick sat down. He crossed his legs as though it was perfectly normal to sit on the floor while dining, then looked up at me expectantly.  “Aren't you going to sit?”

             
“Uh, absolutely.  Criss-cross-applesauce it is then.”  I dropped onto the cushion, manually pulling my feet into position.

             
Blondie looked at me timidly, as though I'd just challenged her to a pillow fight. (Which I wouldn't have dared to do, by the way. My pillow was the only thing keeping my ass off the hard concrete floor). She then looked over a Slick, her smile instantly reappearing.  She handed both menus to Slick, which I thought was incredibly rude, then asked what we'd like to drink.  I took a breath to speak, but Slick beat me to it, ordering a bottle of red wine.

             
I was on the verge of telling him how rude it was to just assume my drink order, but thought better of it.  I knew I had to pretend to be in awe of him, otherwise my little charade wouldn't last long.

             
He smiled at me and handed over a menu.  At least he was going to let me choose my meal.

             
I looked around taking in the room, then I remembered what we were talking about before the awkward sitting exercise.  “Explain this one to me, why don't you call this place Brian's?”

             
He shook his head and chuckled.  With a tone that was better suited for addressing a three year old, he explained, “The food is incredible here, but the name Brian doesn't really conjure up the image of fine cuisine.”

             
Luckily, the menu was large and I was able to roll my eyes without him catching me.  I took a minute and read over the dishes.  “Mick?  This is the place with the incredible food?”  I read from the menu, “Back to Basics:  meatloaf and garlic mashed potatoes, open faced turkey or roast beef sandwich, chicken and dumplings?”  I looked at him in disbelief.  “Fine cuisine?  I can make this stuff...I
do
make this stuff.”

             
He shook his head firmly.  “Just wait until you taste it.  Brian is a genius in the kitchen.  After tonight you wont be able to go a week without eating here.”

             
Still mystified, I took a second look at the menu.  In addition to more home style choices, I caught a glimpse of the prices.  Again I was thankful for the oversized menu, because my mouth fell open.  Forty-five dollars for chicken pot pie?  Possibly this food made you lose weight as you ate it?  Why else would it be worth so much?  Slick didn't even open his menu.  He took out his phone while he waited for me to decide.  I watched as he busily texted back and forth with someone. 

             
When a very tall, very thin brunette came to take our order I chose the barbecued chicken and mashed potatoes.  Mick asked for his usual, which turned out to be the chicken and dumplings.

             
Slick was right, the food was delicious, but I had a hard time enjoying it.  It had been a long time since I'd been in circle time, and after forty-five minutes of sitting, my right foot was completely numb.  I tried to adjust, but in order to sit differently I needed more legroom, and with a man sitting four inches behind me at his own smurf table, it wasn't going to happen.