Chapter 3
1442 Words
Ethan's POV
I stepped out of the cab, my heart pounding like a jackhammer on steroids. Paradise Towers loomed above me, a gleaming monolith of glass and steel that seemed to touch the clouds. I gulped, suddenly feeling very small and very underdressed.
As I approached the revolving doors, a burly security guard eyeballed me like I was something the cat dragged in. And not even a fancy cat - more like a mangy alley cat with questionable hygiene habits.
"Can I help you?" he growled, his hand hovering near his walkie-talkie.
"Uh, yes," I stammered, trying to channel my inner millionaire. "I'm here for a meeting. Top floor."
The guard's eyebrows shot up so high they nearly disappeared into his hairline. "You? Top floor?"
I nodded, mustering all the confidence I could.
"Sir, I'm going to need you to step away from the building," he growled menacingly.
"What? But I'm supposed to—"
"Step. Away." He emphasized each word like he was explaining quantum physics to a toddler.
"Look, there's been a mistake. I was invited here. Can you please check with the front desk?"
The guard's eyes narrowed, but he reluctantly radioed the reception. After a brief exchange filled with skeptical glances in my direction, he turned back to me.
"Front desk says they did receive a message about a guest for the top floor, but..." He looked me up and down, taking in my wrinkled shirt and scuffed shoes. "There must be some mistake. No way you're the guy."
My face burned with embarrassment and frustration. "But I am! Please, let me explain to whoever's in charge up there."
"Listen, kid," the guard sighed, clearly losing patience. "We can't just let any Tom, d**k, or Harry waltz in here claiming they have a meeting upstairs. For all we know, you could be trying to rob the place."
I almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. Me, a thief? I couldn't even successfully steal my roommate's leftovers without getting caught.
"Sir, I promise you, I'm not—"
But he had already turned away, effectively dismissing me. I glanced at my watch. Five minutes until my appointment. Panic mode: activated.
In a moment of sheer desperation (or possibly temporary insanity), I did something incredibly stupid. I waited until the guard was distracted by a group of suit-clad executives, then made a mad dash for the elevators.
I sprinted across the polished marble floor, my sneakers squeaking comically with each step. I could hear shouts behind me, but I didn't dare look back. I was so focused on my target – those shiny elevator doors – that I didn't notice the person stepping out until it was too late.
WHAM!
I slammed into something soft yet unyielding, and suddenly, the world was a blur of flailing limbs and flying coffee. Time seemed to slow as I watched the dark liquid arc through the air, defying gravity for one glorious moment before splattering across a crisp white blouse.
"What the—" A woman's voice, sharp with surprise and anger, cut through my daze.
I blinked, trying to focus. The person I'd collided with was a stunning brunette with all legs, cheekbones, and perfectly styled hair. Well, it was perfectly styled until about two seconds ago. Now she looked like she'd gone ten rounds with an espresso machine and lost.
"Oh God, I'm so sorry!" I stammered, frantically patting my pockets for napkins that weren't there. "I didn't see you, I was just—"
"You didn't see me?" she screeched, gesturing wildly at her ruined outfit. "What, am I invisible?"
"No, no, of course not! I was just in a hurry and—"
"So your time is more important than my clothes?" Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Do you have any idea how much this blouse cost?"
I gulped. Given my recent financial windfall, I probably could have bought the entire clothing store, but I didn't think that would help my case.
"Look, I'm really sorry," I said, aiming for sincerity. "I'll pay for the dry cleaning, a new blouse, or whatever you want."
She snorted, an oddly elegant sound. "As if you could afford it. This is designer, you know."
I opened my mouth to argue, then thought better of it. How exactly do you tell someone, 'Actually, I'm suddenly stupidly rich,' without sounding like a complete lunatic?
"Security!" she yelled, her voice echoing off the marble walls. "This man assaulted me!"
"What? No, I didn't—"
But it was too late. The burly guard from earlier came barreling towards us, red-faced and puffing like an angry bull.
"You!" he bellowed, jabbing a meaty finger in my direction. "I told you to stay out!"
I felt like I was trapped in some kind of ridiculous sitcom. "Please, just let me explain. I have an appointment upstairs, I swear!"
"An appointment? With who, the tooth fairy?" he sneered.
Before I could respond, the coffee-soaked woman let out a shriek that could've shattered glass. "Look at what he did to me! This is assault!"
"Ma'am, I'm so sorry," I pleaded, desperately searching for a way out of this mess. "I'll pay for your blouse, I promise. How much was it?"
She scoffed. "As if you could afford it. This is a one-of-a-kind piece from—"
"Try me," I interrupted, surprising myself with my boldness. "Seriously, name your price."
For a moment, she looked taken aback. Then her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Fine. Ten thousand dollars."
I almost choked. Ten grand for a blouse? But then I remembered the ridiculous sum sitting in my bank account. I could buy her entire wardrobe.
"Deal," I said, pulling out my phone. "I can transfer it to you right now."
The woman's jaw dropped. The security guard's eyebrows shot up so high they nearly flew off his forehead.
"You're... you're serious?" she stammered.
I nodded, tapping away at my banking app. "What's your account number?"
For a moment, there was stunned silence. Then, the woman seemed to recover her composure. "No, absolutely not. I don't want your money. I want justice!"
She turned to the security guard, who was looking increasingly bewildered. "Aren't you going to do something? This man assaulted me!"
The guard shifted uncomfortably. "Ma'am, it looks like it was just an accident—"
"An accident?" she screeched. "He ruined my blouse! He could have scalded me! I demand that you call the police immediately!"
I felt my stomach drop. This was getting out of hand fast. "Please, there's no need for that. It really was an accident. I'm late for an important meeting and—"
"Oh, your meeting is more important than my safety?" she interrupted. "Well, excuse me for inconveniencing you with my burnt flesh!"
I blinked. "But... you're not burnt. The coffee wasn't even that hot."
Wrong thing to say. Her face contorted into a mask of pure rage. "So now you're calling me a liar? That's it! I'm calling the police myself!"
She fumbled in her purse for her phone, muttering about "hooligans" and "the state of society these days."
The guard looked bored stiff. "Ma'am, please calm down. Sir, I will have to ask you to leave the premises."
"But I can't!" I protested. "I have a meeting upstairs. It's important. Life-changing, even!"
The woman paused mid-dial. "Oh, please. What could possibly be so important?"
I hesitated. How could I possibly explain that ten million dollars had suddenly appeared in my bank account, and I was here to claim an inheritance I knew absolutely nothing about? The whole situation felt surreal, like something out of a movie. Who just wakes up one day to find they've become an instant millionaire? It sounded insane even to me.
"I... I can't really explain," I stammered. "But please, just let me go upstairs. I promise I'll come right back down if they say they don't know me."
The security guard looked torn.
"This is ridiculous!" she exploded, rounding on the guard. "Are you really going to let him go?"
"Ma'am, I—" he began, but she cut him off.
"That's it! I'm calling the police right now!" She jabbed at her phone with manicured nails. "How can you let some... some low-life just waltz in here and assault people? Do you have any idea who I am?"
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Of course, she was one of those "Do you know who I am?" types. Just my luck.
The guard opened his mouth, probably to tell me to scram when a deep voice boomed across the lobby.
"What's all this commotion about?"
- Writer
