Rich Little Poor Girl: An Interracial Second Chance Romance Page 4

  He doesn’t mean to stare at it so long. But he’s scared to call the number.

  Technically the last time he saw her they hadn’t spoken. Back when he was still an analyst and starting his MBA. He was coming back from an early lunch with some colleagues (which he never takes) off-campus (which never happens, to this day). As he was coming in, he saw her being escorted out. She wouldn’t look in his direction. They kept a low profile on their relationship, so it wasn’t like he could grab her and demand she tell him what was happening. Nor did he know they would never lay eyes on each other again.

  His father then told him of her supposedly elaborate vendetta against the Dvorak Group for what happened to her family during the financial crisis. His father was one of the tycoons who’d refused to bail out Lehman Brothers when the housing market collapsed and thus threw the NASDAQ into turmoil. Cynthia blamed them for what happened to her family after her mother lost everything and became solvent.

  He didn’t want to believe it at first, because it seemed so unbelievable to him at the time, that she would ever keep such a large thing a secret during their time together. But he couldn’t deny it explained a number of things. Such as her Disney princess-like elusiveness, and why going to “her place” was never something she wanted to do. She knew how to make you feel like she was your friend without realizing how little you actually knew of her. She dodged it masterfully. So much so, that Ben’s gut didn’t object when his father told him.

  Her silence after that day was deafening, her disappearance as damning as it was cold. He knew his father wasn’t bluffing about what would happen if he tried to go after her, but Cynthia was given no such ultimatum. He had to wonder if she’d kept such a large thing secret from him because she was keeping her whole self secret. He returned to his apartment to find most of her things gone, besides a bottle of pink hair dye, her work uniform and his key. He became a wreck. His engagement to Melanie ended bitterly and he worked like a madman. He started to believe the rest of his father’s story about her.

  And when she re-appeared years later, reinvented, their circles unbearably close, he had to concede that she’d obviously come into some kind of windfall to get to where she was with virtually no connections.

  Still, he could never make her fully guilty in his mind. He started to think perhaps her elaborate con only started that way. Perhaps she developed real feelings that she hadn’t meant to. He thinks of the late nights that melted into dawn, and the steamy interludes between shifts as he twirled the card around his fingertips.

  He takes a deep breath as he picks up the receiver in his office and dials, saying goodbye to his pre-phone call ignorance.

  “Indigo Properties, this is Jeanine?”

  “Yes, this is…” he hesitates. He doesn’t want to reveal his name to anyone but Cynthia herself. Besides, what if he’s on some kind of no call list? “I don’t suppose there’s a way I could speak to Cynthia directly.”

  “I can put you through to her assistant if this is regarding an existing project.”

  An existing project. Hm.

  Maybe a legitimate reason to call would help alleviate his jitters. His property in Scarsdale could use some attention. Esmee would adore Cynthia. And Esmee couldn’t fault him for having a legitimate reason to lay eyes on her.

  “Actually, I’m an old friend. We haven’t been in touch in years and I’m looking to get some work done on a property of mine. I was referred to her by one of her clients.”

  “I’m almost sure she’s not taking on any new clients, but I’ll put you through to Caira.”

  Caira confirms Jeanine’s suspicions. Thoroughly.

  “Miss Gordon has a pretty extensive waiting list, Mr. Dvorak.”

  “Is there a way I can speak to her directly? We’re actually old friends.”

  “Yes, you’ve said that.”

  Ben smiles. Seems like she’s got a good group of people around her.

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “With all due respect, Mr. Dvorak, you could be anyone. From what I know of Miss Gordon, her ‘old friends’ don’t typically use her general business line to get in touch with her.”

  “Caira, is it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I can tell you’re very good at your job, Caira. I’m 100% sure that your boss is very busy, and you’re doing a very good job fielding her phone calls. I am equally 100% sure, that if it wasn’t for my name, I would’ve probably had to settle for leaving a message with the receptionist. Believe me, I’ve known access my entire life. The only reason that I don’t already have your boss’s number is that I fucked up, many years ago. And I didn’t even know. In fact, I just found out today. So, Caira, if you were to get in touch with her right now on my behalf, and tell her who’s calling, at the very least, I guarantee you, you will not be reprimanded. But if I get in touch with her some other way, and just so happen to mention the assistant who didn’t believe it was me calling, well…” Ben trails off, letting Caira fill in the consequences herself.

  He knows that in real life he doesn’t have a leg to stand on. In real life, Caira is his only hope, and if Cynthia ever found out that Caira told him he could go fuck himself, she’d probably give her a raise. But his persuasive speech wins out.

  “…If you don’t mind waiting, Mr. Dvorak, I’ll try her right now.”

  “Please,” he says.

  His heart thunders, as though Caira is going to come back with Cynthia on three-way like they’re all a bunch of teenagers. Knowing now that his father blackmailed her, he couldn’t be sure of himself at all. His moral high ground is crumbling under his feet.

  He should’ve left it all behind to go find her. They could’ve cashed that check, he could’ve cleaned out every secret stash of money he had, and they could’ve traveled the world until they used every cent— he, Cynthia and her lovely mom, Bev. She could’ve found work in some of the greatest restaurants in France, Italy, Brussels. He could’ve… cleaned toilets, stacked bricks. Went to bed every night sore and exhausted after a day of honest work. She could’ve taught him how to be poor.

  There was something about manual labor that almost frightened him somewhere deep down. He still had a long list of fears to overcome, what with his mother constantly hovering over him, bug-eyed, assuring him of what he would never be able to do, parroting the doctors like there was an honorary degree in it for her.

  But with Cynthia next to him, he could’ve found the courage. He would’ve done anything to take care of her. He should’ve protected her.

  But then if he’d done that, he would’ve had her. And he doesn’t deserve her. Especially not now.

  A minute later, Caira returns with much lower optimism in her voice.

  “I was able to get in touch with Miss Gordon, but unfortunately she was adamant about not taking any new business.”

  “Did you tell her who was calling?”

  “I did.”

  “And what did she say?”

  “She said to tell you that we politely decline.”

  Ben can’t stop the smile spreading across his face.

  “Did she sound angry?”

  “Um… she sounded… resolute.”

  He smiles even wider, picturing it. All these years of silence. And now there is a mere assistant separating them.

  “Can you tell her that I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer?”

  “She said you would say that, and to tell you that she requires a $500,000 inconvenience fee upfront, sir,” Caira responds, adding the “upfront.” She’s curious about this “old friend.” The boss has been holding out on them, it seems.

  “I see,” Ben chuckles a bit. “Well. At least that isn’t a ‘no,’ isn’t that right, Caira?”

  “An excellent outlook, Mr. Dvorak,” Caira replies.

  Ben smiles. It seems Cynthia really does only speak in zeroes. He didn’t remember that about her.

  “Tell her I will consider her offer. By the way, when will Miss Gordon be done
with her current project?”

  “I don’t know, sir, but I can tell you she is a bit behind schedule and has several rehab projects in the pipeline.”

  After Ben hangs up his pleasant phone call with Cynthia’s assistant, he summons his own via intercom.

  “Get me Barrett on the line.”

  Not a moment later his office phone is ringing again.

  “Barrett. How easy would it be to find out what Indigo Properties is acquiring next? Great. I need you to do some detective work.”

  * * *

  After three weeks of delay, Cynthia is posting the “Open House” sign in front of the finally finished current project. Gabe shows up to the open house looking as though he’s about to tell Cynthia something very very bad.

  “Who died?” Cynthia asks.

  “Hopefully no one,” Gabe responds. “Certainly not the messenger.”

  “Gaaabe,” she whines. “It’s a gorgeous day for showing a property. Why are you bringing me bad news?”

  “The Moss property. The deal fell through.”

  Cynthia hangs her head.

  “How long have you known?”

  “Caira just told me.”

  “Because she was afraid to tell me.”

  “Precisely.”

  Cynthia takes a deep breath and lets it seep out into a growing groan of frustration.

  “What the hell happened?”

  “They went with another buyer.”

  “We had a contract!”

  “The buyer offered to cover their legal fees if necessary.”

  Cynthia went cold.

  “Did this buyer happen to have the last name Dvorak?”

  “…I’ll find out,” Gabe furrows his brow.

  But Cynthia already knows the answer.

  He’ll find out what you love and hang it over your head.

  She looks down at her buzzing phone. It’s Caira.

  “Boss, I have an update that’s… sorta good, actually, in a way. Did Gabe tell you… the news?”

  “You’re about to tell me that Ben Dvorak bought the Moss property and he wants me to design it.”

  “That’s… yeah. How’d you know that?”

  Cynthia rolls her eyes.

  “Call it a hunch.”

  3

  Ten Years Ago

  Cynthia heard the alarm go off inside the back of the van.

  She looked around for signs of her mother, but she was already gone. Probably already in the shower at the rec center where they were parked. Cynthia was hoping to have time to wash the dark purple out of her hair and give it a break. Even though her wavy, silk-textured curls were under a hair net and hat most of the day, they were giving her a hard time at work about her hair dyeing obsession.

  But it was the cheapest thing she could regularly do to re-invent herself. After being homeless for 14 months, she found something that could remind her that there were still some things left in life she could control, that not all drastic changes were negative. It oddly kept her sane.

  Cynthia stretched as she usually did after sleeping in the cramped, albeit spacious stow n’ go floor of the minivan that’d become their permanent home since May of last year.

  Cynthia’s mother Bev had weathered what could only be described as the perfect storm. The financial crisis that triggered a recession hit the Gordon family right in the gonads, at the time they needed it the least.

  Thousands were laid off at the manufacturing plant, including Bev, who’d been there 20 years and was looking forward to retirement. This was right around the time she discovered that her house was practically worthless. It didn’t matter to her, she would’ve stayed in it forever. She loved that house.

  But it’d been exactly 5 years since she’d bought the house with no money down, an opportunity that was an absolute blessing from God, at the time. But then the adjustable rate kicked in, and her payment doubled. She had to give it back. She tried to, anyway. The bank refused until her loan defaulted.

  Now Bev was 50 years old without a degree and virtually un-hirable. She had a lofty goal to go back to school, finish her degree and hopefully get back on her feet by the end of the year. She wouldn’t be able to buy another house with her credit in the state it was now in, nor could she afford to rent in the district in which Cynthia went to school. Never in her life did Bev ever set out to be homeless. It just…happened.

  Cynthia thought it wasn’t all bad, really. In some ways, it was freeing. A year later, however, they’d worn out every friend or family member favor they could call in, and disillusionment was setting in. People were starting to wonder just what was going on with Bev that she couldn’t get it together— including Bev herself.

  Cynthia started working soon after graduation and they found themselves in Jersey City, where it was easier to get around unbothered by the cops. They showered at the YMCA, slept in secured parking lots and ate anywhere there was free Wi-Fi. Both the girls worked temp jobs and made enough to pay what it cost to be homeless in New Jersey. What they had saved up, they just had to spend on a new transmission for the van, their current home and their needed source of transportation when they weren’t in the city. It was only July, but winter weather would soon be upon them, and without their savings, they might be “moving” to Florida.

  The only silver lining was Bev’s degree, now only one semester away. If she could get a decent job, they could save up enough to afford a one bedroom apartment in a month or two. Bev felt terrible about the fact that Cynthia would have to continue to work in order for them to afford to live the places they wanted. She should be in college.

  But Cynthia was a trooper. For some reason, she liked to be on her feet all day. Waitressing, fast food, she did every grunt job she could find. She figured since culinary school was now indefinitely postponed, she wanted to get as close as she could, with experience as relevant as she could manage.

  Today was free pancake day at IHOP, so they went there for breakfast, and would likely be back for lunch as well as dinner.

  Bev looked across the table at her daughter’s perplexing hair color and vowed to say nothing. Aside from their light brown hue, Bev hardly resembled her daughter now, who inherited her late husband’s light eyes and symmetrical features. Bev had fine black hair and thick brows, putting the “Indian” in West Indian. Cynthia began over a three stack.

  “So, I told you about Jorge leaving the steakhouse right?”

  “Deh manager dat likes you? Ah t’ought he was already gone?”

  “No, he turned in his notice but he’s got a few days left. Anyway, he wants me to come with him.”

  “Come wit ‘im whey?”

  “To this job he’s going to. He says they’re looking for cooks and he put in a good word for me.”

  “Is so? Well now, dat’s awfully nice a’ him,” Bev said skeptically, “is he… expecting su’m in return?”

  “I don’t think so. But he knows that I want to run my own restaurant one day and that I can’t afford culinary school right now. He says the place is so short staffed, they might take a chance on me, even if I don’t have the experience.”

  “Yuh haven’t been atta steakhouse very long, Cynti, and yuh doing pretty good. Don’t get yuh work history in some bachanal trailin’ a ‘ting, enuh.”

  “It’s not that big of a deal to employers these days, mama, not at the beginning. Besides, they’re hiring him to run the kitchen, so he’s only gonna put me right where I want to be.”

  “Well, if dat’s deh case… it sounds like just deh opportunity yuh need.”

  “Did I mention they’re gonna pay me a dollar more?”

  “No, yuh didn’t. Yuh shoulda opened wi’dat, gyal.”

  “Had to jump on that.”

  “Yuh be makin’ more dan ah, at dis point.”

  “They might even let me take home leftovers at this place. Save us a ton on meals.”

  “Whey’s ‘dis place?”

  “It’s this swanky place downtown. It’s not even a
restaurant, it’s a cafeteria inside of a financial building. The Dvorak group.”

  “Dvorak group?”

  “Yeah. You heard of it?”

  “Sure. At work, Dvorak had deir hands in all kinds a’ companies. I t’ink dey deh reason ah got laid off.”

  “Oh. Well, I don’t have to take the job.”

  “Don’ be silly. D’ese companies get eaten by bigger companies an’ visa versa, anyway. It’s nutting personal.”

  “If you can name names, I might be able to whip up something disgusting,” Cynthia suggested.

  Bev laughed, her signature smile lighting up her black eyes and face.

  “Doh beat up, Cynt’ya,” her mom shook her head. “But people choke every day, enuh?”

  Cynthia huffed a laugh with her mouth full of pancake. She took a swig of coffee.

  “I know.”

  * * *

  On Cynthia’s first day her new manager Jorge showed everyone the ropes.

  “As some of you know, this is my first day. And it’s some of yours too,” Jorge directed at Cynthia with a wink. “Give us newbies time to learn this kitchen. For now, I’m handing the reins over to Virginia.”

  Jorge took a step back and the timid older woman on the end spoke up in a shy voice.

  “I’ve been here a little over five years now, which makes me the veteran, I guess,” Virginia began. “The previous manager had worked here for twelve years. But he had a family emergency. Basically, as long as you remember to write down what you do before you do it on the chart back here, you’ll do fine. Train yourself as early as possible to write everything down.”

  Jorge went on a little longer before Virginia put her hand up shyly in the corner again. It seemed her newfound spotlight had sparked a few more ideas.

  “Really quick, I just remembered that there was one major rule that David, our old manager used to always emphasize, and that was ‘no fraternizing with employees.’ A lot of these guys, they’re young, fresh out of college, and they look like your friends or someone you went to school with, but they’re not. They’re stock brokers and investment bankers. They’re cute and young, and they’ll try to flirt with you. Some of you ladies, I can already tell there’s gonna be some trouble,” she said, laughing it off. The room giggled a bit but she was obviously serious. She looked over at Cynthia when she began the sentence.