Her Billionaire Toy Boy

“Strictly fiction, frivolous, and fun,” said Mira. “I do enough dry reading during the day. In the morning and at night, I like to read something that makes me feel young and fresh, that makes me laugh, that makes me genuinely want to turn the pages instead of literally thinking about the money flowing in that compels me to do so.”
“Right,” said Sam. “No, that makes sense. What books, then?”

“Well, right now I’m going through The Lord of the Rings trilogy,” she said. “Before that, it was Harry Potter. Next, I’m thinking about the Chronicles of Narnia or Alice in Wonderland. Again, just very fun.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” Sam smiled. “In fact, you might be the one who has it right. In a world where everyone zones to bed in front of terrible comedy television.”

“Oh, I like that, too, don’t get me wrong,” Mira said, smiling as well. “I just—I know myself well enough to know that I’ll usually live my day the way I start my day. So if I start it with a sitcom binge, I’ll end it slumped on a couch somewhere, doing other sorts of binges. But if I get up and I drink my coffee, and I write my morning pages like a good girl, the rest of the day just sort of seems to fall in line.”

Sam paused. “I’ll have to think about doing that, then,” he said.

“Oh, don’t. It’s terribly grown-up.”

Sam grinned. “And you think I’m a child?”

“Oh, no,” said Mira. “I just think you have your life stretching out before you. There is plenty of time to instill good habits in the future; no need to worry about that now—at your age.”

“There you go again, making me feel like I’m about seven,” said Sam lightly.

“Well,” said Mira, and then she took a large swig of wine.

Sam drank as well. She really hadn’t said anything, so he couldn’t quite think of a relevant response.

“Your turn,” said Mira abruptly, after a comfortable shared moment of silence.

“My turn for what?” Sam took the stainless steel spoon and smoothed a layer of bruschetta over a crusty piece of baguette, and then lobbed the entire thing into his mouth. The basil-y, balsamic-y flavors exploded on his tongue and he smiled. It tasted like summer.

“Your day,” said Mira, joining Sam with a piece of bruschetta and baguette. “Your ideal day,” she clarified. “How does it begin?”

Sam paused meditatively. “I think it’s got to begin outdoors,” he said, looking out the window and then back at Mira.

“Outdoors,” said Mira. She slanted her eyes out the window to see what he was looking at. “There? In the urban jungle?”

“Not so much the urban one,” he said quietly. “I think I’d like to wake up at the crack of dawn in a tent—or better yet, in a sleeping bag where I had spent a somniferous night under the stars. The crack of dawn—perhaps with my sleepy dog waking up next to me. And then I would watch the sunrise while coaxing a fire into life and boiling water for coffee in a tin. Then I would make breakfast—eggs, and sausages–over the same fire. Food never tastes better than when you’re camping, you know.”

“Oh,” said Mira. “So it’d have to be officially camping, then? You couldn’t just do this on, I don’t know, the rooftop of your building?” She pointed upward.

Sam shrugged. “I suppose. I’ve never tried it.”

“Don’t knock it til,” said Mira, and then she laughed and sized him up with a skilled eye. “So you’re outdoorsy?”

“Yeah, I’d say so. And you?”

“Strictly indoorsy.”
“Aha.”

“Know thyself and all that. I’ve come to accept it.”

“Right,” said Sam. “Well, are you enjoying these particular indoors?”
Mira looked around. The ambiance was very fine and the company not too shabby. She took another sip of her wine. It also fairly passed the inspection.

“I’ve seen worse,” she said.

“Helpful,” said Sam.

“What, is this a customer experience survey?”

“When you run a business, every interaction is a customer experience survey,” said Sam. He piled some salami, a white soft cheese, and a briny olive onto a cracker, and then popped it into his mouth.

“Wow, and you’re an olive person,” said Mira. “Olives and camping!”

“You’re not an olive person.”

“Not at all. Though I like the oil. And tapenade.”

“A woman of mysteries, you are,” said Sam. “Cheese?”

“Love it.”

“What’s not to, really. Particularly when you have good wine. Which we do.”

“Ah. You fancy yourself a sommelier?”

“I believe myself to be someone who makes fine wine; because I do,” said Sam. “And you have to know a bit about it to make it.”

“Is what we’re drinking one of your vintages?”

“It is.”

Mira looked at her glass and smiled. She found this impressive. “Well, Sam the sommelier,” she said. “This has been a profoundly enjoyable evening, but I think it is in the best interest of all concerned that I cut it short.”

“How on earth would that be in my best interests?” Sam asked.

“I get distinctly uninteresting after three drinks,” said Mira.

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“It’s as true as your calling as a sommelier,” said Mira, and winked. “Thanks for dinner and drinks, though. This was lovely.”

Sam stood to see her go and studied her for a moment. “Did you enjoy yourself tonight?”
“Immensely. I wasn’t lying a moment ago.”

“I wasn’t calling you a liar,” Sam said, chuckling. He picked up his coat. Mira stared at him.

“Are you leaving, too,” she said.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “The prettiest girl in the place just left, so….” He gave her an exaggerated shrug and a wink.

Mira rolled her eyes, but she was pleased nonetheless. She was even more surprised and pleased when, a moment later, Sam insisted on walking her to her car.

They strolled together through the golden hour to Mira’s convertible. Sam let out a low whistle when he saw it: powder blue, top down, black leather interior. “This is a fantastic car,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Um, yeah,” Sam confirmed. He studied her. “Who are you?”

“I’m a very successful lawyer with extremely good taste,” said Mira, laughing.

“Well, there you go, then,” said Sam, bemused. “It was fantastic to meet you, Mira. I hope you enjoyed yourself as well.”

“I did, Sam. I did,” said Mira. She threw her things in her car and then glanced back up at him quizzically. Was this to be the last time they ever spent time together? Had this just been a convivial one-off? What—”

“I’d love to see you again,” said Sam.

“Really?” asked Mira.

“Really really,” said Sam, laughing. “Can I have your phone number?”
Mira smiled tentatively and then gave it to him. She felt–different. She hadn’t gone through this ritual in a very long time—giving her digits to a young, happy, good-looking guy—particularly a white guy. She tended to date black men, as black women tended to do. She brushed her hair behind her ear and finished tapping her number into his phone. She then took a deep breath. “I look forward to hearing from you, then,” she said.

“Yeah,” said Sam. “I’ll call you later this week. Sounds good?”

“Sounds very good,” said Mira, a little flustered. Where before Sam had seemed completely out of his depth—now she was feeling out of hers.

“Bye, then, safe driving and all that,” beamed Sam.

Mira got into her car and drove away. Had she been a cartoon character, question marks would have been popping out of her head the entire way home.

*****

Sam walked slowly back into the bar. He sat at the table he and Mira had just been occupying. A waiter had already removed the remains of their meal.

Sam smiled for a moment and then dug in his pocket. Pulling out his phone again, he looked at her phone number and then entered a reminder into his phone: Call Mira. Two days hence.

He then dialed another number and put the phone to his ear.

“Damien,” he said. “Ten points to me. You’re going to have to step up your act if you want to win the game.”