NO RIGHT TO WANT YOU

DOMINIC “...here you go, Sir.” I imagined the petite and too-young-for-me brunette saying to the man she just served, while I sat in the back of my car, watching her. This was becoming a routine. Me, driving here every day for the past two weeks, at 2:37pm, and parking just a little bit far from the store, just to have my daily fix of the waitress at Deli's Cafés & Cookies. Gwen. That was her name. At least from the name tag pinned to her uniform. I met her two weeks ago when I stumbled in for a quick brunch before heading to the office. She served me as a regular customer, while I was busy staring at her, my eyes unable to look away. She looked young, too young, but I found myself being drawn to her. Given my age, I dared not approach her. That was one of the many reasons I decided to be discreet about checking up on her. I wouldn't call myself a stalker. A creep, yes. But a stalker, no. Mainly because I had no idea where she lived or who she was, except that she was a waitress and her name was Gwen. My eyes looked through my car windows and through the very transparent doors and floor-to-ceiling windows of the café, following her every movement. There was just something about her, a lightness to her feet, like a dancer. The soft sway of her hips and the airy way she spoke. She was a beauty. And she was young. I reprimanded myself. I keep thinking that I would wake up one day and forget about her, but it's been two weeks and I've never missed a day. She was like a temptation. A sweet and out-of-bounds one, nonetheless. Glancing at my wristwatch, the time read 3:21pm, and I closed my eyes. I had a meeting in the next fifteen minutes, a meeting I had to attend. Turning to the window again, I chanced the last glimpse of her. Her brunette hair was up in a ponytail, the ends curled upwards in a reverse bob. She was talking with a customer, her lips pulled up in a smile, and her eyes crinkling at the corners beneath the café face cap she wore. I wanted her to smile at me like that. Sizing the customer up, I bunched my hands into a fist, jaw clenched. He looked young, the customer. He looked her age, and that made me bitter. I could never make her smile like that, she would never look my way. Not that I would give her the opportunity to, though. She was someone I shouldn't want. I had no right to want her. And so, I peeled my eyes away. “Let's go, Wallace” Wallace was my driver. He probably questioned why he had to be here every day by 2:37pm but he never asked. Because I do not pay my employees to poke their nose where it doesn't belong. “Yes, sir.” He turned on the ignition, briefly meeting my eyes through the rear-view mirror before peeling off the road. And like always, I promised myself, this would be the last time, knowing very well, I would be back by tomorrow. Same time. At 41, after acquiring everything I possibly could, regarding success and wealth, I was at the lonely phase. It was just my mom and older sister left when it came to family. And the few friends I had were married, some with kids. I was jealous. Especially when nobody wanted to hang out for our usual Friday night drinks. They always had one excuse or the other, and it was always about the missus or the kids. Honestly, it was irritating, but I sucked it up. There was not much to do except go to a bar by myself and sulk, and if I needed to release some s****l tension, I'd pull up Tinder or head to a strip club. Weren't there women who threw themselves at a successful billionaire? Of course, there were. But it was always a game to them. Either to see who could trap him with a baby, or who could take most of his assets. Now, that would be fine if they were upfront about it. But no, these women were like snakes, pretending to love you and actually care, all the while plotting to ruin you. Been there, done that. Never again. That's why spending on strippers to fulfill my needs is the best option. Because they are upfront about their prices and what they want to do. The intent is clear: money. So, it was easier. They needed money; I had enough of it. Wallace got out of the car when we arrived and opened my door. “Thank you, Wallace.” I didn't wait for his acknowledgment, instead walking quickly through the private entrance and taking the elevator up to my floor and the conference room. “Sir, Mr. Gillingham is on his way.” Victoria, my assistant, rushed up to me, her low heels clacking in time with my brisk strides, and her pregnant tummy jutting out of the tight dress she wore. I gave a nod, “I know.” Giving her a brief glance, she had a panicked look on her face and I stopped abruptly, just outside the conference room door. “Is there a problem, Victoria?” She swallowed, eyes wide with fear. “There was a delay in Dublin. We tried to reach you, but-” “What?” I hissed, and she winced. What the hell? I glanced at my wristwatch, my eyes drifting to the elevator. I had no time to sort out a delay. “Who?” “Miss Sashay,” My blood boiled under my veins, fists balled. I shot her a glare. “There was a delay in Dublin, and you tried to reach me? What happened to the ops team? What the f**k, Victoria?” I snapped, immediately regretting it when she shrank into herself. But I couldn't help it. I pinched the bridge of my nose, shutting my eyes to calm myself, my brain working overtime on how I could split myself into two places right now. “If I do everything for you, why then do I need employees? Do you know what this will cost? Sashay has a concert in-” I looked at my watch again. “4 hours. Did the plane leave?” Sashay was one of my many celebrity clients, an artiste. Lord knows these artists love to be on time, especially when they have a concert. I was the founder and CEO of Black Aero. A luxury private aviation company that caters to the world’s wealthiest elite. We dealt with jets, planes, VIP lounges, and now, Sashay, who had booked our aircraft in Dublin, was delayed. “It left as you arrived” That was an hour delay. The elevator door pinged, and I knew I had to cut this conversation short. “After this meeting, I have to see the operations team,” I whispered harshly, and she nodded, following me into the conference room while we waited for Mr. Gillingham. > > > “...I will send you the first sample of your desired interior specifications when it is ready, Sir.” I told the blonde-haired man clad in an expensive suit and matching leather wristwatch. Mr Gillingham was a fairly new client and a wealthy one at that. He was what I would call a big fish. He required our services three months ago, twice, when he wanted to hire our private jets and book our lounges in Miami. This was the first time we were meeting, and I had to bring out the sales and marketing manager, Richard Frank. Richard, my CMO, successfully managed to convince him to buy an aircraft instead of hiring and having to customize ours. So here we were, discussing interior specifications, and it was exhilarating, because he agreed without a bat of an eyelid. He even decided to pay half of the money up front, and promised the remaining half after we were done. One thing I loved about Richard was that he could sell anything because his strategy was based on building trust. “Alright, Mr. Black,” Mr. Gillingham stood —everyone rising to their feet too —and held out a hand to me, which I quickly clasped in a handshake. “Nice doing business with you, I'll be expecting those samples.” I nodded. “Definitely” “Mr Frank.” He turned to Richard, shaking his hand too. “You sold me.” He chuckled. Richard gave a smile, “No, Sir, I only placed an amazing option in front of you.” “Very well, then,” Gillingham replied, shaking everyone's hands and taking his leave. I gave a breath of relief as soon as the door shut. Victoria squealed, her lips wide with a smile. “You're definitely getting a raise, Richard.” My eyes met his, and he smiled, walking towards the door, his hands moving to release his tie. “That would be appreciated, Sir.” With that, he left me with Victoria. The small smile on my lips quickly died out when I remembered what she told me before the meeting. Looking at me, her smile sobered up, hands wrapped protectively around her very pregnant tummy. “Sir, I will be taking my maternity leave. I have someone competent that would stand in for me, though” She began, hands rubbing her tummy, her wedding ring glistening. We had talked about her taking a temporary break when she was a month due to deliver, and she would be back to work a year after delivery. “I have arranged everything and left notes for the new replacement. She's a friend of my younger sister, and she will do her job very well. Your schedule has been set up properly for a month to ease her into the position.” She finalised, taking a big gulp of water. “I would hate incompetence.” I raised a brow, my lips unsmiling. “She's very competent, Sir.” I gave a curt nod, and we stood, heading for the door. “I want to meet with the Operations team now. Let them know I'm on my way up.”