Page 7 of The Billionaire's Fan

“Paddy will meet us in ten minutes. We have to take him to the hotel. He’ll give us our room keys and said we can use the van with the instructions to not stay out all night.”

We hang out until it’s time and everyone piles into the van. We’re on some back road heading toward one of the extendedstay hotels off of the main street of Fairhaven. Paddy gives each guy a hotel key and gives the van keys to Asher.

“Quick showers, meet back down here in ten minutes, and then we’ll go eat?”

“Dude, by the time we eat, it’s going to be midnight,” Davey whines.

“But at least we won’t stink,” Tate says.

“Exactly. I don’t want to eat with nasty-smelling boys. Go shower and come back smelling like men. The woman-folk will stay down here and make sure you guys stay on task.” Tammy instructs.

“But what if I need help washing my back?” Davey jokes.

“You can manage. Go. All of you. Ten minutes or we’re leaving without you.”

Each of them takes a bag to the hotel one at a time, as Tammy, Bianca, and I patiently wait.

“Ever think you would spend your Thursday night with this group of misfits?” Tammy asks.

“Honestly? No. I thought I was meeting a guy who worked in finance. Not some rock star and his friends.”

They laugh, and I join in.

“Quite different, right?” Bianca says.

“You have no idea.” I shake my head.

We pullup to the darkened restaurant. I grab my keys from my bag and insert them into the lock, and turn.

“Why do I feel like we’re trespassing?” Mike whispered behind me.

“It’s not trespassing when she has keys to the place. She is allowed to be here,” Tate replies.

“What is this place?” Tammy asks.

“My family owns this place. This is our Fairhaven place.”

“Cool,” Tammy says.

“Fairhaven place?” Asher asks.

“We own a string of these, up and down the state,” I explain as I turn on a few lights as we enter. “You guys just gotta promise to not trash the place.”

“We aren’t that cool. We’re pretty tidy as a group. Maybe a little OCD.” Mike says, surveying the space. “Pizza?”

“Pizza and pies,” I say.

“Ahhh, clever. I get it now, that’s why it’s called Pie Squared.”

I bring everyone into the kitchen and start giving tasks.

I roll the dough, start the ovens, and let everyone add their own toppings. While the pizzas are cooking in the wood-fired stoves, the guys joke around with one another. Yet Asher stays close to me.

“Thank you,” he says.

“For what?”

“Feeding us. We could have just gone to Denny’s or something. We were half expecting that, not some super private place.”

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