Chapter 2
1328 Words
Ethan's POV
Water dripped from my chin onto my once-pristine shirt, creating a growing wet spot that mirrored my sinking spirits.
When I thought things couldn't get any worse, I heard the telltale click-clack of expensive shoes on marble flooring. Enter stage left: Our esteemed restaurant manager, Howard.
"What's going on here?" Howard's voice sliced like a dull knife on tough steak.
I turned to face my boss. Howard stood there, his pencil-thin mustache twitching angrily, resembling a thwarted cartoon villain.
"Ethan! Explain yourself this instant!" his face turned an alarming purple shade.
I opened my mouth to speak, but Tiffany beat me to it. "Oh, sir, it was horrible! This... this waiter just accosted us!"
Howard's eyes bulged. "Is this true, Ethan? Are you harassing our esteemed guests?"
I couldn't believe my ears. "What? No! I—"
"He tried to ruin our evening," Daniel said, his voice oozing fake concern. "I've never seen such unprofessional behavior."
Howard turned to me. "Ethan, I demand you apologize to these fine people immediately, or you can kiss your job goodbye!"
I looked from Howard to Tiffany to Daniel, then back to Howard. At that moment, something inside me snapped like an overworked rubber band.
"Apologize? For what? Getting publicly humiliated and dumped? Or for daring to breathe the same air as your 'esteemed guests'?" I spat out the words like they tasted terrible. "You know what? Keep your job. I quit!"
With that, I yanked off my bowtie and tossed it dramatically at Howard's feet. It fluttered pathetically to the ground, like my dreams of affording next semester's textbooks.
"And Tiffany?" I called over my shoulder as I stormed towards the exit. "Happy birthday. I hope you choke on your lobster."
I stormed out of the restaurant, my feet pounding the pavement with a racing heartbeat. The cool evening air hit my face, starkly contrasting the burning anger coursing through my veins. I loosened my collar, feeling like I could finally breathe again.
"Well, there goes my last shred of dignity," I muttered, running a hand through my hair. "And my job. And my girlfriend. Fan-freaking-tastic."
I wandered, my mind a whirlwind of emotions: anger, betrayal, embarrassment, and an overwhelming sense of "what now?" I'd just quit my job in the most dramatic way possible. My student loans wouldn't pay themselves, and I doubted "professional doormat" was a marketable skill on my resume.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. Probably, Tiffany, I thought bitterly. Well, she could go to voicemail hell for all I cared. But curiosity got the better, and I fished out my phone.
It wasn't Tiffany. It was a notification from my banking app.
"Great," I grumbled. "Let's see how broke I really am."
I opened the app, bracing myself for the pitiful balance that awaited me. And then I blinked. Hard. I even slapped myself, wondering if I'd somehow fallen and hit my head back at the restaurant.
Because staring back at me was a number. A very, very large number. With a lot of zeros.
Ten million dollars.
"What the actual..." I couldn't even finish the sentence. My brain had short-circuited.
I refreshed the app, but the number didn't change. I closed and reopened it, half convinced I was hallucinating.
But nope. There it was. Ten million dollars. In my account. Mine.
"Is this some kind of sick joke?" I wondered aloud, attracting strange looks from passersby. But I couldn't care less. I was too busy trying to wrap my head around that I'd gone from broke waiter to millionaire in ten minutes.
Just then, my phone rang—an unknown number. I answered it, half-expecting it to be the bank calling to say, "Oops, our bad. We accidentally added a few extra zeros to your account. Our intern spilled coffee on the keyboard. Our bad!"
Instead, a gruff, middle-aged voice greeted me. "Ethan Williams?"
"Uh, yeah?" I replied eloquently.
"Mr. Williams, I hope this isn't an inconvenient time," the gruff voice continued. "I have some pressing information regarding an inheritance that awaits you. If you could make your way to Paradise Towers, top floor, in an hour, we can discuss the details."
"In an hour?" I glanced down at my water-stained shirt. "But I'm not exactly dressed for—"
"Now, Mr. Williams," he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Time is of the essence."
I stared at my phone, dumbfounded. The call had ended as abruptly as it began, leaving me with more questions than answers. An inheritance? Me?
But then again, that small matter of ten million dollars was sitting pretty in my bank account. Maybe this wasn't some elaborate prank after all.
I glanced down at my shirt, still damp from Tiffany's impromptu waterworks. I was not meeting anyone looking like I'd lost a wet t-shirt contest. I needed to change, and fast.
I hightailed it back to my apartment, taking the stairs two at a time. As I fumbled with my keys, my mind raced. What kind of inheritance was worth ten million dollars? And why me, of all people?
Finally, I opened the door and beelined for my room. I peeled off my soggy shirt and tossed it in the general direction of my laundry basket. It missed, naturally.
I was standing in my boxers, rummaging through my drawers for something remotely presentable, when my bedroom door flew open.
"Ethan, have you seen my—Oh my God!"
I whirled around to find my roommate, Jess, standing in the doorway, her eyes wide as saucers. I yelped and grabbed the nearest thing to cover myself—which happened to be a small throw pillow. Real manly.
"Jess! What the hell?" I squeaked, my voice hitting unfamiliar octaves.
Jess's shock quickly morphed into a smirk. "Well, well, well. What do we have here? Are you trying to seduce me?"
"What? No!" I sputtered, clutching my pathetic pillow shield tighter. "I was just changing!"
"Uh-huh," Jess drawled, leaning against the doorframe. "And you just happened to be in your underwear when I walked in? How convenient."
"It's not like that! I got dumped, then quit my job, and now I have to go to this weird meeting about an inheritance, and—"
"Whoa, whoa, back up," Jess interrupted, her eyebrows shooting up. "You got dumped? By Tiffany?"
I nodded miserably.
"Oh, honey," Jess's voice softened. She took a step towards me, then seemed to remember my state of undress and stopped. "I'm so sorry. That girl was never good enough for you anyway."
"Thanks," I mumbled, acutely aware of how absurd I looked in boxers. I clutched a tiny pillow over myself like a bizarre censor bar.
An awkward silence fell between us. I cleared my throat. "So, uh, did you need something?"
"Oh! Right," Jess blinked as if she'd forgotten why she'd barged in in the first place. "I was looking for my charger. But, um, I can see you're... busy."
She gestured vaguely at my general half-nakedness, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks.
"I'll just... go," she said, backing out of the room. "But, Ethan? If you ever want to talk about the breakup or... anything else," she added with a wink, "I'm here."
And with that, she closed the door, leaving me standing there, confused, embarrassed, and still very much in my underwear.
"What the hell just happened?" I muttered to myself, tossing the pillow aside and grabbing the clean shirt.
As I hurriedly dressed, my mind ping-ponged between the bizarre phone call, the mysterious inheritance, and the even more baffling interaction with Jess. Had she really been flirting with me? Or was I reading too much into it?
I shook my head, trying to focus. One life-altering event at a time, Ethan.
Fully clothed and marginally more composed, I headed out, making a beeline for Paradise Towers. The whole way there, my stomach did somersaults that would make an Olympic gymnast jealous.
- Writer
