Page 37 of Meet Jon, the Billionaire

If it were only me, only my head on the chopping block, only my resources to be lost, I wouldn’t have hesitated to end the bid for the corner lot. That’s how smitten I was with Amelia. But the problem was, it wasn’t just my resources on the line. I had not only the firm to consider, my fellow partners, but all of the employees of Acme Bread all over the world. Without the corner lot, we would have to cut costs. And the first place that the shareholders would pressure me to make cuts would be on jobs.

So I couldn’t just let Amelia have the corner lot. Much as I wanted to. That meant, of course, my telling her that I was her competition for that very location should have been paramount if we were going to keep seeing each other.

I resolved that I was going to tell her after the race. Then, I would at least get one more day with Amelia. Just one more day, even if she hated me after.

Attending the races requires a certain aesthetic. Particularly if you’re an owner. On the one hand you want to display your success by dressing nicely. But on the other hand, you don’t want to dress TOO nice. You want to project an aura of a breezy, fun day, so neckties and formal wear are not recommended.

I went with a white silk shirt unbuttoned to mid sternum with a charcoal blazer over the top. I paired it with loose white trousers and light saffron-hued Italian loafers.

After a few spritzes of cologne, I stared at myself in the mirror and decided I passed muster. My mind drifted toward what Amelia might choose to wear. That dress had been something, and especially what she’d worn underneath…

Nagging, gnawing at the back of my mind was the horse on the dining room table, the fact that in order for me to win the lot, Amelia would have to lose it. And vice versa, though at that point I still considered my victory a foregone conclusion.

Just concentrate on having a good time today, Tiger. No one likes a mopey king of the jungle.

I successfully banished those thoughts from my mind with a force of sheer will. As much fun as the limo had been, I had a garage full of sports cars that I barely ever got to drive. I walked through them, trying to figure out which one would appeal to Amelia the most.

There’s so much I don’t know about her. What’s her favorite color? Would she like riding in a convertible, or a hardtop?

I went with my gunmetal blue Aston Martin. It’s luxurious, but more understated than, say, the Lamborghini. Besides, in the city, the Aston Martin was way easier and more comfortable to drive. I pulled up outside of Amelia’s apartment building and noted there were no cameras over the parking spots. The Big Apple is a lot safer than it used to be, but naturally a car like that you simply don’t park on the street.

I found a couple of kids hanging out on the steps of their building, playing on their cell phones. I rolled down the window and called out to them.

“Say, you look like two enterprising young lads—”

“Back off, pervert,” one of them said without looking up.

After a moment of confusion, I burst into laughter. “Good one. How’d you like to make five hundred dollars for just sitting there?”

The negotiations were brief. The two kids would watch my car while I went up into Amelia’s building. I gave them two hundred dollars, a Ben Franklin each, as a down payment, with a promise for the rest when I returned.

Instead of the guy who didn’t let me in the last time there now was a sweet elderly lady and soon I stood outside the door to her apartment, struggling to keep my conflicting emotions in check.

Play it cool. Just enjoy her company and forget about… all that other stuff.

I rapped on the knocker at last. I heard Amelia’s voice, somewhat muffled, come from inside.

“Just a minute!”

I heard her footsteps approach, and the door flung open. Amelia stood there, smiling, but with a strained look in her eyes.

“Hey,” she said. I went in for a kiss but she turned her face so it landed on her cheek instead of her lips.

“Hey yourself.” I cocked an eyebrow. “Is something wrong?”

“Wrong? No, what could be wrong?” Again, there was a tension in her tone that didn’t quite match up with the attitude she struggled to display. She dashed off toward the other room, and I realized she was barefoot. “So, um, this is my place. Kitchen there, bathroom down there, living room, well, you’re practically standing in it, aren’t you? I’m just going to get on some shoes.”

I watched her go, eyes glued to the tight denim jeans hugging her curves. She’d clearly dressed differently than I had. That’s when it hit me, she was dressed like someone who visited the stands, rather than the luxury skyboxes at the racetrack.It then occurred to me that I had failed to disclose that I owned one of the horses competing at Belmont that day.

Something white flashed in my peripheral vision. I turned about and found a pure white cat with pink eyes staring at me. Awful pink eyes, like the gates to hell. Still, I figured that I had to make nice with Amelia’s cat. How bad could it be?

“Nice kitty.” I reached my hand out to pet it, and the damn thing bit me on the finger. Not super hard—it wasn’t an attack, or even a vicious bite. But it hurt just enough that I got the message:back the fuck off.

“Or maybe not,” I said, withdrawing my hand. Amelia emerged from her bedroom, now wearing calf-length leather boots.

“Oh, did she bite you?” she asked with concern.

“Yes, but not hard.”

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