Olivia And Mr Billionaire

Chapter Seven

“Hi,” I said. “Can I get a beer and a glass of Cîroc?” Thankfully, my trauma had not affected my ability to be cool and breezy in front of women, no matter how attractive they were.

“Coming right up,” she said with a warm smile and then turned away from me to pick up bottles, giving me a great view of that ass again.

She dropped the beer in front of me and a glass of Cîroc. The liquid sloshed, pouring on the table. I could not help but squint at the bottle and the glass she had placed before me. That beer was the same hue as foamy piss. Suddenly, I regretted my decision to order a drink I knew tasted like liquid waste. I looked up from the drink to hot lady and saw a tiny smile flicker across her face but it was gone immediately she saw me raise my head.

I clutched the bottle with both hands and forced back the beer and Cîroc. Despite my best efforts, my face contorted in disgust, yet I was determined to get it down.

“It’s pretty strong stuff, isn’t it?” she said and when I looked at her, she had a smile on her face like she knew I had been watching her since got here.

I shrugged my shoulders, or at least tried to but my coordination was shot. Nevertheless, I tipped the entire thing down my throat and immediately regretted it. It f*****g burned. I shook my head like a dog that was drenched in water and blinked again, hoping to clear my head. I did not even give a s**t how I looked to this hot lady. “Another round, please,” I said.

“Coming right up,” she said with a tilt of her head. She brought me another round and then another and another and watched me down them all without a word until after the fourth round when a worrying look spread across her face. She retrieved the glass from me and began wiping it down and discarded the bottle.

“Hey, I’m not done drinking,” I said. I could feel the buzz of the drinks rising with every word I said. An apologetic smile appeared on her face, so I let out a groan, already knowing what she was about to say.

“Maybe not tonight,” she said.

“I’m a paying customer. You should just sell me what I want,” I said and despite my state, even I could hear how much I sounded like a prick.

She didn’t seem to mind though. Her demeanor did not change as she spoke to me as calmly as possible. “Actually, customers have a four-round limit at this bar. We like to keep things somewhat classy otherwise we’re just like every rundown joint in this city.”

I scoffed. “Pretentious.”

“Says a man who walked into a bar in a tailored suit,” she quipped. “What is that; Armani?”

“Good eye,” I said with a chuckle which quickly turned into a frown as it dawned on me that that was my first real smile in weeks. I returned my attention to the beer that was left in front of me. Hot lady had not moved from where she was so I could sense her watching me.

“Are you okay?” she asked suddenly.

“I’m fine,” I said as I downed the last of my beer. I tried so hard to hide the fact that I didn’t find it easy to drink this beer but I knew I was failing. “Please, get me another round.”

She refused by pursing her lips and shaking her head firmly.

“I just want one more glass, Ms. Just one!” I held up a finger or two – maybe I was a little drunk. “And I’ll be on my way.”

She shook her head and repeated her earlier statement. “Not tonight. If you come in tomorrow, your first drink will be on the house,” she said.

“I could buy this bar,” I said suddenly. I had no idea where the thought came from but after I had said it, I looked around the bar and it felt like a good idea. “Then, you would have no choice but to serve me as much alcohol as I want.”

“Right,” she said slowly. Now, she was starting to look irritated. “Because throwing money at things solves all of your problems. What is the price of a small bar to a billionaire like you?”

“You don’t know me,” I said almost reflexively and her response came as quickly.

“I think I do. Rich boy with no true understanding of what it means to take risks because daddy’s money and daddy’s company are always there to bounce back on. I see men like you every day, and from this side of the counter, you all look the same to me – lost and broken to an extent your designer suits cannot cover up.”

Maybe it was her words or the biting manner in which she said them but I felt an anger rise up inside me at a sudden feverish level. I slammed my right fist on the counter, causing her to jump back immediately. When my fist connected with the bar counter, it sent a vibrating shock through my entire body and it completely sobered me up. As I looked up to her to see that she looked equal parts pissed off and alarmed, I regretted what I had done.

Suddenly, her face softened. My hand immediately began to hurt and I knew that I must have hurt myself somehow.

“Now, look what the hell you’ve done to yourself,” she said, sounding more compassionate than I would expect her to given the situation. I followed her gaze to my right hand and saw a gash from which I was bleeding like a faucet. The edge of the counter must have cut my hand when I slammed it on it.

Rolling her eyes at me, she threw the rag she’d hung across her shoulder on the surface of the counter that was already covered in blood then walked out of where she was to my side. My hand was starting to hurt but all I could think of was how great she smelt up close, like a certain type of flower I could not quite put my finger on. “Come with me. Let’s clean you up,” she said and she headed towards a door that led out of the room without looking back at me.

I got up from the stool and followed her into the corridor located at the rear of the building in the back, away from the loud music and stumbling guests. The hallway was dimly lit by weak and flickering yellow bulbs that reminded me of a prison camp.

She produced a first aid kit from a shelf that was resting against the wall and directed me to walk down the corridor without a word. I could feel the fire oozing out of every pore in her body and I knew that I had properly pissed her off. She looked like this was a professional hazard that she was not fond of at all. We stopped at a backroom and sat on either side of a small table, on top of which I placed my hand.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

She did not respond. She just produced a clear bottle of what I assumed to be peroxide with no label on it and some cotton wool from the kit and began to gently clean my wound.

“I should get a tetanus shot for this. A tetanic-infected wound would not be a fun way to die,” I said, hoping to lighten the mood and get her to talk but when she looked at me with a raised eyebrow, I knew I had made another mistake.

“You really have some f*****g nerve saying that s**t to me when I’m here helping you clean up a mess you made of yourself,” she said, then she forcefully pushed away an old crate and grabbed a hanging lamp to carefully inspect the extent of the damage. I sat across her in silence, worried about how whatever else I said would be received.

This time, I was close enough to really smell her– it was sweet vanilla with a hint of jasmine emitting from her skin. Her skin was so silky smooth, it shimmered under the light. But when I met her gaze, the fire in her eyes held me captive, inviting me closer. The smell of cherry blossoms escaped with every breath,directing me to her glimmering lips coated with lip gloss layered on top of dark red lipstick. Where was this sudden attraction coming from? I'd only just met her.

“Doctor, please, tell me I’ll live,” I said mindlessly. “I have a son and he’s graduating high school next week. He’s the valedictorian.”

“Why are you joking about this?” she feigned annoyance but I could sense her resolve breaking. “It could have been worse if you had smashed a bottle.”

I shrugged. A smile made its way across my face as I looked at her and the tender way with which she cared for my wound. I had had enough injuries in my life to know that she had done enough cleaning. Yet, my hand was still in hers, rubbing my skin gently.

“What are you doing?” she asked as her eyes looked everywhere but directly at me.

My smile widened. “Nothing, just looking.”

She finished cleaning the blood that had dripped along my forearms with clean wipes and tossed them into a bin in disgust.

“So, I am not just a bad guy but now I’m gross?” I asked while staring at her and this time, she finally looked up and stared right into my eyes. It caught me off guard just how beautiful her eyes were.

“You’re not nearly as funny as you think you are,” she said.

“Wow, that stung,” I said as I placed my unhurt hand on my chest. She stood up from in front of me and turned to return the kit back where she had taken it from. I followed her every movement with my eyes, unable to look away. It was as though if I blinked for one second, she would cease to exist. Was it the alcohol?

She must have noticed that I did not stand up to follow her because she turned around and faced me with a glare. “You still here?”