Page 266 of Tormented Billionaire Romance Series

ZACH

This afternoon wasn’t precisely the moment I’d hoped, but Grace did agree to dinner—once she started speaking in people words again.

The fame, the stories in the press, the public perception that I wield some immense amount of power and thatifthere is some unholy cabal running the world, I’m probably on it: I know I’m supposed to hate it. It’s a great timesaver, though. I never have to wait in line for anything.

Naturally, there are times when it does get in the way.

For instance, right now. I’m sitting in the restaurant, working on my third round of free chips and salsa and people are starting to stare.

I suspect this afternoon would have gone quite a bit differently if nobody had ever bothered to take my picture or write down my name. If nothing else, I’m sure Grace wouldn’t have fainted and then stood me up at this restaurant.

The waiter comes over and compliments me on my cell phone. When I tell him, “Oh, it’s great. Believe it or not, I can order a cruise missile strike with the touch of a button,” he just stands there a minute.

People sometimes tell me I’ve got a dark sense of humor, but that line tickles me.

“Don’t worry,” I say to the young man with the rather pale face and the pitcher of ice water, “I’m pretty excited about the free chips. I think I’ll spare the restaurant.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Okay.”

His nametag says Daryl.

“Daryl, I wonder if you could help me with something,” I say.

“Anything, sir,” he says. His voice is quivering almost as much as his hands. If he makes it back to the kitchen with half the water that used to be in the pitcher, it’ll be a hell of a feat.

I glance around and lean toward the young man. He leans forward to match me, and in a slow, even tone, I ask, “Could I get some more salsa?”

It takes a few seconds for Daryl the waiter to process that I’m not going to threaten to blow up anything. I think the reason that particular gag amuses me to the extent it does is that people are so quick to believe I’ve got missile codes just because I have a multi-billion dollar corporation under me.

As I think about it; I do have the phone numbers of more than a few senators and congresspeople in the phone sitting so calmly on the Formica table in front of me. There are a couple of governors in there as well, but they only call when they want something, and I’m pretty sure they have little to do with offensive strikes.

I guess if I wanted to, though, I could make it happen.

That’s a realization I’m not likely to forget.

“Oh, sir,” Daryl the waiter says. “Yes, sir.”

He scampers off, and I allow myself the slightest of smiles. Even with the recognition of my almost frightening and disproportionate amount of power, however, I’m still a guy sitting alone in a restaurant.

Daryl comes back to the table, and I’m pretty sure he stole the salsa he’s now putting in front of me from that older couple’s table in the corner. “Here you go, sir,” Daryl says and tries to make a quick escape.

I don’t let him. “Hey, Daryl,” I say. He freezes midstep, walking away from me.

“Yeah?” he asks, turning around.

If I couldn’t see all the eyes set on me right now, I bet I’d still be able to feel them.

“Would you mind coming over here a second?” I ask. “I prefer not to shout.”

Too quick for dignity, Daryl’s at my table, and I think if there is a next time, I’ll offer to take Grace somewhere a bit less public. If this is uncomfortable for me, I can only imagine it must be that much more painful to watch. When it’s happening to someone else, you don’t have the illusion you can do anything about it.

Then again, she lucked out by not coming. It was a brilliant move. I’m starting to believe I should have done the same.

“Did you need something?” Daryl asks.

“Yeah, could I have the check?” I ask.

Daryl shakes his head but doesn’t say anything.

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