How to snag an Astor

Chapter3

“I’ll be right back,” she mumbled to Cassidy.

“Huh?”

But she was already up and after her target.

“Jasmine!” Cassidy whisper yelled but Jas was a woman on a mission. Hurrying down the stairs, she jogged out of the theater and looked left and right. The only presence aside hers was that of a cleaner stood against the wall, nodding off to sleep. Still keeping an eye out for her walking gift bag, she approached the cleaner and shook him out of sleep. The poor man woke with a start. She smiled apologetically.

“Hey. I am so sorry, but did you see a man walk out here just now?”

The lanky man slowly straightened up and shot her a smile. “No, but I could find him for you. Did he look anything like me?” he winked.

She grimaced, "No, eww," and flicked his fat nose on impulse. She had had enough of lewd men.

“Ow! What the--! Hey, get back here!” but she was already gone. She hurried down the other end of the hall, turned right and came up empty. Turning back, she went left and sighed. Nothing. Panting, she halted in the middle of the hall where there was a big black door covering the stairs that led down to the first floor, and looked both ways. Yes, the cleaner was glaring at her with death eyes, but he could get over it.

Could he be gone?

Panic engulfed her. Please, no.

“Hey! Get back here and apol--!”

Bounding out the door and flying down the stairs like a hound that had just sniffed blood, she came to the sharp junction and skidded to a halt. As she looked left and right, panting wildly, she bit down on her lower lip, adrenaline and fear pumping in equal measures.

‘Where did he go? Where did he go?’

She craned her neck to stare down both halls, bouncing on her toes. She couldn’t let him pass her by, she just couldn’t afford it. Just as she began to murmur to God in Italian, a dull flap followed by a low murmur reached her ears, and turning faster than whiplash could boast off, she tore down the left side of the hall and, ignoring the sign that signified that it was the male bathroom and her sense of dignity— if she had any left— threw the door open, entered and slammed it shut behind her. Setting her eyes on her long-awaited prey, she heaved out a staggering puff of air and blurted out,

“Marry me.”

The deeply startled look on his face did nothing to reel in her shock as she finally took in his face. Holy smokes!

“Who the f**k are you?!”

Everette Astor…

The Everette Astor…

“Security!” he yelled and snapped her out of her stupor. She was across the room and slapping her hand over his mouth in seconds.

“Mm!” he growled in pain, but all the reaction she gave was the fluttering of her lashes, still in shock.

Because she was in a bathroom.

With THE Everette Astor.

With her hand over his mouth.

Or was he just a look-alike? She had seen him way too many times on the billboards and everywhere else to not know his distinct features. She narrowed her eyes and closely scrutinized his features, unaware of the distance that basically disappeared between them.

“What is your name?” she breathed into his face.

“Gmm dammel mmay momm!”

“What?”

He tore her hand off his mouth with no slight amount of impatience and annoyance in his eyes and slowly bit out,

“Who the f**k are you?”

Jas blinked. Well, she’d be damned! Getting off him, she took a few steps back, smoothened down her hair, plastered a light-as-air smile on her face and wiped her hand on her jacket before extending it to him and saying,

“I am Jasmine Azzurra Costa, and I would like to be your wife,” all while maintaining eye contact with him.

Everette blinked once...

Twice...

Looked from her hand to her face and back…

And he chuckled.

She thought she heard tones of incredulity in his laughter, but who was she to denote? Maybe that was how rich people laughed all the time. With equally rich incredulity.

“Who put you up to this?”

“Life,” came her immediate response, and he arched a brow. Of all the crazy people to meet in New York and of all the days to meet them…

“Was it Marshall?” Before she could respond, he waved her off nonchalantly. “Listen, I don’t even care. Tell whoever it is to leave me the hell alone and to buy you a better mask.”

Huh?

He shouldered past her and walked out the door.

“Wait!”

Dashing for the phone he had dropped upon his shock; she ran after him and hastily caught his hand.

“Please listen to me—”

“Who the heck—security!”

“Would you shut up, you overindulged momma’s boy?” she hissed out.

His eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.

And she knew it. The man was powerful enough to have her entire life up in flames if he so chose; she knew it. But was she any more keen on according him some respect? Nope.

Why?

Because as she had spent her days selling every ounce of her self-respect and dignity, she had thrown in her last shreds of common sense as a tip. And she would regret it later, but now wasn’t the time.

“If you don’t get your hand off me in the next two seconds,” he started, and she exhaled a quick breath and let him go, lifting both hands in surrender.

“Fine, fine, but I just need you to listen to me. Please,” she added. So all her common sense wasn’t lost, after all.

Eyes flashing to her hand, he snatched his phone out of it, and she almost gasped at the suddenness of it.

“You’re welcome,” she mumbled.

He shot her a look.

She groaned at herself. “I’m sorry, but please, do us both a favor and listen to me.”

“What could I possibly want from you?”

His almost bored tone and the near disgusted look on his face made her feel like he saw her as nothing more than horse fodder. She planted her hands on her waist and held back her tongue, but not her scowl as she regarded him almost spitefully. Dragging her eyes up and down his frame, she kissed her teeth and shook her head.

“Che spreco di geni buoni,” she muttered under her breath and exhaled.

He arched a brow, taken aback.

Exhaling once more, she craned her neck to meet his eyes and fueled as much sincerity as she felt into her voice as she said, “I really don’t want to argue. All I really want is to talk with you. I know that I might have come on too crazy—”

“You think?” he baited.

She huffed out a breath and grimaced at him.

His lips twitched.

“As I was saying, I came on too strong, and I'm sorry. I really am. No one set me up to anything. I promise you that. And yes, we are from two completely different spoons of life. I'm not going to pretend not to know who you are, but I promise, I didn’t know you were the uncultured bum-clum up there,” she said, deftly pointing at the floor above them, and just as he opened his mouth, she shook her head and waved him off,

“Nah, don’t worry about it. I forgive you.” She flashed him a genuine smile. “But,” she continued, “by virtue of being the selfish person that you are, I was able to overhear your conversation a few minutes ago, and I really think that we can help each other. Please?”

Everette Astor was floored.

He hailed from a family of old money. Conglomerate owning, multi-billionaires, all of them. But not one for dependency, he had made a name for himself by starting up a finance company devoted to buying out failing companies, investing in them and making them bigger than they had ever been hoped to be. He was bloody good at what he did and he knew it. The wealthy hated his guts as much as they wanted him married to their daughters, and the poor despised him even more because he gave their businesses the lives they had always desired for them, but hadn’t been smart enough to achieve. Still, unable to be disrespected, the crowd gave way when he showed up. He was America’s most eligible bachelor and Forbes' wealthiest tycoon under the age of thirty. He was a man of affluence and essence; and he knew it. He had attended lavish parties, and had talked, walked, eaten and slept with the best, but yet, nothing floored him as much as the beautiful, honey-blonde, greenish-blue-eyed Latina that stood there just casually insulting him. No one had ever spoken to, nor regarded him that way.

Ever.

Not even Marshall. Heck, the chic couldn’t be taller than 5’7. He had never heard her name, so she was just a crazy simpleton. A crazy simpleton with guts bigger than her entire existence.

And… he found it somewhat…

Somewhat... refreshing.

And it unsettled him.

“Please, Everette?” she whispered, staring up at him with big eyes. Eyes that seemed like they had been confused about where to land between doe and sharp, so they had daringly struck a balance between the two...

He scowled. “Don’t say my name.”

She nodded instantly. “Okay, bum-clum,” she amended.

He huffed out a breath. “Ms. Costa, as I assume that you are unmarried, I find you very rude and ill-mannered.”

“So do I, hot shot. Since I heard your voice, you have acted like something crawled up your shiny ass and died, but maybe that is just the way rich people are, what do I know? I am willing to put up with it, though,” she proposed. “You need a wife, I need a husband that fits a bill, and you look to be just that." She ran her eyes down his fame like she was sizing up meat. “Allow us to talk more about it. I promise to be more cultured if you do the same,” she offered with a bright smile, wiggling her eyebrows at him, and at that moment, Everette found himself wondering why he was still standing there.

He shook his head at himself and sighed.

“Give me your phone number.” He couldn’t deny that he needed a wife... No matter how demented. But he prided himself on his patience, so, yeah.

And call him crazy, but she was quite…

No. Call him crazy, instead.

She grinned proudly. “Yay!” She saw his slight, puzzled frown, but ignored it and pulled his phone out of his hand.

Not even surprised.

She waved his screen over his face for the sake of facial recognition and punched her number in, then pulled out her phone and shot herself a text.

And he let her, all while staring at her face.

When she was done, she returned his phone and said, “I will text you because I don’t trust you to text me first. Or even remember me, honestly, but I will pray to God that you do. Take your time, but not too much time, please, as I only have about a month," she huffed in annoyance at her pitiable condition. “If you don’t wanna see me… well, let’s not focus on the negatives. I expect to hear from you soon. Passa una buona notte, giovanotto.”

And with one last hopeful smile and a wink, she was off.

As Everette stood rooted to the floor, unable to tear his eyes away from the retreating woman... a brief, almost enticing thought passed through his mind.

And call him crazy, but…

Nope.

Call him crazy, instead.