Laila

Laila Thorpe did not know if the millionaire was actually a millionaire. She just tends to not refer to men by their actual names unless she really likes them. Laila also did not know that she would be hanging out with the millionaire for the past month. She is the type to go where the wind takes her though.

So far, it had just been spontaneous outings once or twice a week. He would text Laila asking if she’s free and she would meet up with him to do things she could never afford to do on her own. Exclusive five-star restaurants and endless bottle service at the hottest clubs were now a regular thing for Laila. She got to run around town on the arm of a good-looking man with no strings attached. A lot of girls say it, but Laila meant it when she said she did not want a boyfriend.

Laila was a personal assistant to a record company executive who promised if she paid her dues as his assistant for two years, he would set her up in the A&R department. Little did she know that it would basically be two years of hazing rituals until she got there. She was a year into the process and a serious relationship was out of the question. The millionaire was the perfect situation.

His start-up company developed apps for Fortune 500 companies who did not have the time or resources to do it themselves. Laila was clueless about the millionaire’s success when she first met him. He was just a handsome stranger she bumped into at a club called Bank. 

The club, located in Soho, started out as an actual bank in the 1920’s. During the baby boomer era, it was turned into a restaurant. Sometime in the 1980’s, it became an event venue for exclusive weddings and galas. Now it was a club (with one of the highest turn down rates in the city).

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Most of the time Laila hates going out on Sundays, but her friend Scarlett was convincing. Her boss was in the Hamptons until Tuesday anyway so having a hangover would fly under the radar. Laila  put on her tightest black dress, curled her waist length blonde hair to perfection, and applied makeup ready for a red carpet. She had a way of keeping people from noticing that her dress was from a clearance rack and that her makeup was from the drugstore.

Laila and Scarlett met up with a club promoter at Bank who had a gaggle of girls whom were definitely underage with him. He escorted them all to one of the tables in the V.I.P. section. Not too long after, the drinks were flowing and Scarlett and Laila were happily dancing to sexually aggressive hip hop music.

Sometime after the third bottle, Laila was approached by the millionaire. Now way past the point of sobriety, she was gyrating with moves worthy of rap video. Without saying anything he starts dancing along with her. She tries to pretend he is not there until Scarlett gives her a little hip check in his direction.

The millionaire was gorgeous. He had a tanned complexion that made him look like he had either just returned from a Caribbean vacation or had a mysterious background. His hazel eyes perfectly complimented his wavy sandy brown hair.

About five songs later the millionaire and Laila are still dancing. Now they are facing each other with their hips close and eyes locked. He leans forward and kisses her. Slightly caught off guard, Laila pulls back.

“I don’t even know your name!” she exclaims.

The millionaire’s mouth crinkles into a half-smile, “Was wondering when you’d ask. I’m Stefen and you are?”

Laila grins and extends her hand, “I’m Laila.”

The millionaire kisses her again and smirks before whispering in her ear, “I think we are past hand shakes.”

Another three songs go by and Scarlett taps Laila on the shoulder, ” I’m heading out, you coming?”

Laila looks at the millionaire and then turns back to Scarlett, “I think I am gonna stay for a little while longer.”

Scarlett shoots Laila a knowing smile, “Have fun!”

More dancing ensues and Laila is shocked to see 3:12 a.m. flash across her phone screen when she checks the time. “Oh my god, I gotta go,” she tells the millionaire.

He checks his watch and is also surprised to see how late it is,”Oh whoa, I gotta be in the office in 5 hours. Where do you live?”

Laila pauses before telling him ,”I live in the East Village.”

“Let me give you a lift home,” he offers her his hand.

“It’s really okay. I can get my own cab,” she says as she stumbles a bit.

“I have a driver. It’s no big deal for him to make an extra stop,” he replies as he puts his arm around her waist.

A more sober and clear-headed Laila would have immediately said no. She would remember that Christian Bale played a dashing and handsome serial killer in American Psycho. Laila would also consider that the driver could be an accomplice. She could hear her mother telling her about a story she saw on the news in which a girl her age was bludgeoned to death with a Ferragamo loafer by a normal handsome looking guy she met at a club. Yet, she still nodded “yes” and walked out of Bank with him.

When they get outside they are greeted by a bald man wearing a black suit standing in front of a town car. “How’s it goin’ Stef?” he says with a thick Brooklyn accent.

“Pretty good Sal. We’re making two stops. Dropping her off first at,” the millionaire pauses to let her finish his sentence.

“12th and Avenue A,” Laila tells Sal and the millionaire.

On the car ride to her apartment. The millionaire holds her hand and strokes it lightly. The both do not say much and stare out of the window for the majority of the ride. Laila is still savoring the moment when she realizes that they are at her corner.

“Right here is fine,” she says abruptly.

Laila is okay with him knowing her neighborhood, but she cannot have him knowing her exact apartment number. Her mother would have a coronary. The millionaire gets out of the car to let her out, grabbing her hand to help her up.

“Thanks for being my dancing partner tonight. Where’s your phone?” he inquires.

Laila hands him her phone and watches as he keys in his phone number. He hits send and his phone starts ringing . “So that I have your number too,” he winks.

He kisses Laila one more time and turns back to her before getting back in the car, “Have a good night beautiful.”

Laila meanders down half of the block before reaching her apartment. She creeps in quietly as to not to wake  her roommates. Laila lives in cramped apartment with three other girls. She shares a room with an artist named Marlee. They sleep on a bunk bed. It is a lot like a college dorm except for the fact that they are all in their mid-20’s and it is completely depressing.

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The next morning while she is picking up her boss’ drying cleaning, her phone beeps.

The Millionaire: How you feeling?

Laila: Dying a little, but I think I will make it.

The Millionaire: Yea my meeting this morning was painful.

Laila: I can’t believe you were out when you had to be up so early

The Millionaire: Yup not too smart 🙂

Laila did not expect to hear from him this soon. She quite honestly did not expect to hear from him at all. So, it is safe to say that she was astonished when he texted her again the following day.

The Millionaire: How’s your week going?

Laila: Worse now that my boss is back from the Hamptons.

The Millionaire: Ouch, tough guy?

Laila: Not a favorite haha

The Millionaire: Well what are you up to tonight?

Laila: No plans yet, why?

The Millionaire: Well a few friends of mine are going to dinner at Vaca around 9. Wanna join?

Laila: Yeaa sounds fun!

Vaca is a tapas style steakhouse in the Meatpacking district. It was known for its small portions and high prices. Laila greeted the millionaire who had waited for her outside of the restaurant. He then led her to table filled with a three beautiful women and two equally attractive men.

Laila was suddenly happy that she spent time getting ready. She had her hair in a neat top knot, wore a black backless romper with high-heeled sandals, and did a red lip. There is no denying that Laila is a beautiful girl, but she frequently feels intimidated by other women. Her blonde hair and light brown eyes often make her feel ordinary in comparison to the hoards of exotic women running around New York City

Dinner turned out to be a ton of fun though. The two men were colleagues from the millionaire’s company and the women were models that had no business being at a steakhouse. They drank water and shared a kale salad with no dressing (essentially leaves) between the three of them.

The millionaire was charming and attentive which made Laila feel comfortable and at ease. So at ease that when he invited her back to his penthouse in Chelsea for a drink she said yes with no hesitation. So at ease that when he asked her to spend the night she also agreed. So at ease that well what happened next is obvious.

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The next four weeks were filled with similar nights. Laila was not seeing other people because even though she was not looking for a boyfriend, dating multiple guys at one time never sat well with her. She assumed that she was not the only girl in the millionaire’s life and was completely okay with it. As long as she had a slot or two in his week she was happy. He was a good escape from her broke existence in the East Village. The millionaire was fun, carefree, and seemed to be on the same page.

“So, have you been hanging out with other people?” the millionaire asks her one night while they are laying in bed.

Laila freezes. She wonders if she is appearing too attached. Has she been texting him too often? Should she not spend the night? Or is she lingering too long in the morning? She has to be to doing something wrong or this line of questioning wouldn’t be happening.

The millionaire strokes her hair, “Because I haven’t. I guess I haven’t wanted to. Something is different about you. I like you and I want to see where this goes.”

Laila is still silent. The millionaire turns her head so she that is facing him, “I’m not asking you to be my girlfriend right now. I guess I wanted to let you know where I’m at.”

It is like all of the words in Laila’s head are gone. She remains mute. This is not what Laila was expecting. This was not what she was expecting at all.

Maybe it is time to start referring to the millionaire by his actual name…