Her Billionaire Toy Boy

So she drew a deep breath, she pulled out her phone, and she began to type.

Hey, Sam, she wrote. I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I’d like to talk. When you have time. We can Skype or call. Just let me know whenever you’re ready.

She sent the text out into the universe and sat on her chair. Her very blood seemed to be prickling. She was more nervous than she had ever been in her life—she could not remember a time that she had been more nervous, more anticipative of her phone buzzing and it being Sam on the other end of it. She checked her phone three times in five minutes and then decided that it would behoove her to act like a normal person and try to distract herself. Anyway, she thought, it would be best if she didn’t hang all of her hope and joy and happiness on a man. She needed to grow up. She needed to be more mature than that. She needed —

Her phone rang. It was Sam. He was calling her. She froze. It was the middle of the night in America. As much as she had hoped for an immediate response, she hadn’t thought that she’d actually get an immediate response. She stood, frozen, for a moment, before getting up, putting money on the table to cover her bill, and walking into the street, down the sidewalk, and bringing her phone to her ear after pressing ‘accept call’.

“Hey,” she said, a bit uncertainly.

“Mira,” said Sam’s voice. She thrilled to it—to her name being spoken by the man whom she had spent the past week mourning—and here he was, speaking her name and sounding just as relieved as she was. “Mira, I’m so glad you called.”

“Well,” said Mira, her voice breaking, “Technically, you called. I texted you.”

She was never quite sure why her knee-jerk reaction to emotional moments was to get caught up in pedantic details. She supposed it was a defense mechanism of some sort. She shook her head. “Sorry. Reflex.”

“No big deal. So. You’re ready to talk?”

“Um, yeah, I think so.”

“Would you rather we speak over the phone? Or should we speak face to face?”

Mira considered. The fact that she had him on the phone now was attractive. But if they could speak in person—or even just over Skype—she could read his facial cues. She’d have a better chance of knowing whether he was being completely truthful or not. Face to face would be better. She cleared her throat. “Well—I’d love to see you—that might be better. I can Skype you when I get back home. How late will you be up?”

“Never mind that,” said Sam. She could hear him typing away at his phone. “How late will you be up? What if I took you out to dinner?”

“You’re going to fly all the way over here?” Mira gasped, and then she considered. She’d momentarily forgotten that Sam was a billionaire. He probably had a jet at his disposal.

“Something like that,” he said. “Where is ‘here’, by the way?”

“Paris. I can text you the specifics.”

“Do that. I’ll let you know when I’m close.” He paused. “Mira, I can’t wait to see you.”
“And I’m really looking forward to talking to you,” she managed. Now that a reunion and a potential reconciliation was so close, she found herself to be more nervous than anything. She walked slowly down the street and bought a baguette and a bottle of wine, and she went to sit in the wide grassy field just outside her apartment to devour them with some cheese she had bought the previous day which was still in her tiny Parisian fridge.

After a glass of wine, she pulled out her phone. She brought up Sam’s conversation and texted him. I’m sitting in a field in the Champs d’Elysees, she said. It’s beautiful.

She imagined that he was currently trying to find a plane which would fly him out at the late hour. She half-smiled. If there was one thing she appreciated about Sam, it was the way in which—come hell or high water—he always seemed to be all in on something. Once he decided that something was the right way to go, or it was the best choice for him, or that he was going to do something simply for the sheer joy of doing that thing, nothing would stop him. It thrilled her heart to know that if there was a way to drive overnight from New York to Paris, he’d be in his car already. If there were a way to run, he would have left without putting on his sneakers. In which case, of course, she was very glad that there was no way to run. That probably would have proven fatal for his feet.

Mira lay down in the grass and closed her eyes, watching as the fiery red sun set over the horizon and the Eiffel tower lit up, as it was wont to do every now and again. It was more than beautiful. It felt like home. Mira made a resolution. She wanted to come back here. She felt more like herself here than in any city she’d ever inhabited. In fact—she thought—she might just consider moving here. If things went well with Sam, she thought that she might try to figure out a way to move here part-time. Perhaps they could get a house on one of the banks of the Seine! She stretched out into the grass, feeling the first cool breeze of the night on her cheeks. Imagine, she thought. Imagine living in a place where she could get up every day, lace her sneakers, and then go for her morning run along the Seine. She could make that happen. She could make anything happen. And then, after that morning run, she could go, every day if she wanted, and get a pain au chocolat from one of the bakeries she’d pass every morning. She could get two, one for her and one for Sam. And they could begin every day together, here in France, smiling at each other over the news, laughing and bickering together as they loved to do, once everything was better, once Sam had come—

“Hey,” said a voice from above her. It was deep and hesitant and about to crack, and Mira felt fifty emotions at once as she sat up and saw Sam standing above her.

Immediately she was on her feet. “Hey,” she said, and she started to cry.

She felt his arms go around her. She closed her eyes and buried her head into his shoulder, then looked up at him and started to say something.

“Why—”

She felt she could go no further. She heard him take a quick breath. “Mira, if you want me to go, I’ll go,” he said huskily. “But I want to stay. And I need to tell you that I’m so sorry—for everything that happened—it’s my fault, and it’s done now. That will never happen again. And I’m just so happy you’re letting me hug you.”

Mira looked up at him and smiled. “I am, too,” she said, and she kissed him; and they watched the sunset behind the Eiffel Tower.

The end.