The Billionaire Proposal

Ethan's Point of view

I parked my car in front of the restaurant. I sat there for a minute, as memories flooded to my head. I recalled the times my friends had dragged me here because of the delicious meals they whipped up.

I unbuckled my seat belt with one hand while I speed dialled my best friend and personal assistant, Mark. “I'm inside, get your ass in here.” he chirped.

I sighed and opened the car door. As I stepped outside, I placed my hand across my face to shade it from the blinding sunlight. I didn't need to search for long because there was Mark seated at one of the tables in the center of the room, looking conspicuous in a red blazer. A waitress stood by his table, blushing hard at whatever lies he was feeding her.

I strode towards the table and took my seat. Mark continued conversing with the girl, ignoring my presence. “Are you here to work or you are here to fraternize with customers?” I snapped.

The girl shuddered visibly and turned to me with wide eyes, the menu in her hand. “My apologies, Sir. Welcome to Happy Hour. What would you like to order?”

“I'd ask for your opinion on the menu but I can see that you're already struggling with basic work ethics so I'll pass. I'll call you when I've made up my mind.” The waitress placed the menu in front of me and left with her head bowed in shame.

“That wasn't absolutely unnecessary, Ethan. Did you really have to address her like that?” Mark scolded. “I mean it's not like she was shoving her boobs in my face or anything unprofessional like that. It was just a simple conversation.”

“Your definition of unprofessional differs from mine which is why you have your name plastered on those crazy blogs every week.”

He scoffed, “You're really miserable, Ethan. You don't understand the definition of fun anymore.”

“If fun is having my name and reputation being questioned by people who can barely afford to floss then no, thanks. I'm fine this way. Now, tell me what I came here for. Time’s running out.” I said, glancing at my watch.

“Patience. We'll talk after we've had a bite. Don't tell me you haven't missed the food here.”

“Which brings me to my next question. Why did you pick this place?” I asked, my eyes scanning the interior of the restaurant. “It looks like a zombie apocalypse hit it. What the hell happened?”

“Well, City Boy. Let me fill you in. Alessia's mother died during the COVID-19 pandemic, leaving the restaurant for her and her father to run. This place has been a shadow of itself since then.”

The news struck me harder than I’d expected, stirring memories I’d had long buried beneath layers of arrogance and indifference. At least I didn't lose any of my parents but they were better dead than alive. My mind raced back to our college days—the sharp-tongued girl with pigtails who had challenged me at every turn.

How was I to know that beneath her feisty exterior she had been fighting to keep her family's legacy alive?

“What makes you so sure that their food will still taste as good as before?” I asked, averting my thoughts from her.

“Unlike some people, I don't patronize only upscale restaurants.” Mark responded.

“Point gotten. Now, what's up with the Fuller Contract?” I asked, tired of holding back. My mind kept drifting to it because it was a major deal that would bring millions to my company at the stroke of a pen.

“So I see we're back to that.” Mark said, pulling out his iPad. “Their response is still the same - No. They said that they need someone who's more stable and dedicated to handle the project.”

My forehead creased in confusion, “Stable? What does that mean? I'm a freaking billionaire who runs a chain of companies simultaneously and all of them are doing well. What other stability do they require?”

Mark chuckled, “that's where you have it all wrong, Amigo. He's not talking about stability in that area but in your personal life. No offence but your relationship life has been pretty chaotic. You just use them and throw them to the curb. Half of the female population in America are breathing threats against you. Summarily, your reputation has preceded you.”

“What does my personal life have to do with this contract? I have an impressive track record and that's all that matters.” I barked, attracting curious glanced from the other two customers in the restaurant.

“Not for Fuller Incorporated. If we don't get that contract soon, someone else will snatch it from us and Fuller will not give us another opportunity to work with him. That's his policy. You need to do whatever you can for us to get Fuller to sign on that dotted line.”

Thoughts raced through my mind as I pondered on Mark's words. I hated to admit it but he was right. Getting Fuller on our side will grant us leverage over other sectors of the economy which we've been trying to gain access to.

“How long do we have?” I asked, a plan forming in my mind.

“A week, max. What do you have in mind?”

“It's not set in stone yet but I think it might work.” I replied vaguely.

He rolled his eyes, “Do I have to open your head to find out what it is?”

“Mark, I need to get married.” I stated with a serious expression. I watched as Mark's face slowly morphed into an amused expression and then exploded into laughter. He laughed until tears trickled from his eyes.

“Sorry but that was absolutely necessary.” he said, trying to catch his breath. “Remember when I said earlier that you are no fun? I take that back. Steve Harvey has nothing on you.”

I got up and slammed a wad of dollar bills on the table angrily, “When you're ready to listen, you know where to find me.” I strode out of the restaurant, with Mark's laughter trailing me.