Page 30 of Billionaire and the Barista

I shook my head. “More like added value, bonus points.”

“Let’s go!” Gavin clapped me on the shoulder.

I tossed him the keys to the Jag. “Your choice, you drive.”

“Sweet. I have the perfect place in mind.”

I didn’t know what to expect from him, so I was pleasantly surprised when he pulled to a stop and a valet was immediately there to park the car. I appreciated prompt service. I also appreciated not having to circle the block looking for parking or having to walk a block plus from the nearest parking garage.

The club was subtle and refined, with strong continental vibes. Not what I had expected from Gavin. With all his American bro-dude attitude at work, I expected a sports bar, hot wings, and cheap beer.

The music was low, and the dress code was executive level. We slid up to the bar. I ordered a nonalcoholic greyhound.

“I thought we were celebrating?” Gavin said.

“I’m driving,” I countered.”

“I drove here,” he complained.

“In my car. You are not getting behind the wheel of the Jag after a few drinks.” I held out my hand for my keys.

Reluctantly he handed them back.

“Some of the most influential decisions in the city are made in this room,” Gavin started.

“I believe it. Somehow, I don’t think we’ll find the owner of that strip mall here.”

He laughed. “No, definitely not.”

The bartender slid over our drinks. I sipped the bitter drink.

Gavin scanned the other patrons. “I’ll be back.”

I watched him cross the room. He approached a huddle of businessmen, all younger, about Gavin’s age. The noise level went up as they greeted him. Before I knew it they were headed back toward me.

“Guy this is my cousin and now my boss,” he introduced us.

I shook hands and listened as they bantered about inflated values in cryptocurrencies and nun fungible tokens.

“It’s where the real money is,” one of them said. “You can influence your own increase.”

“Only if the value gets inflated. That’s a lot of social proof to manipulate.”

I listened but didn’t pay attention. This felt too much like any other discussion in any bar with self-important young executives. I didn’t have the sense or feel of being back in the states, and the attempt at European flair was a complete failure. Whatever I was expecting, it wasn’t happening.

“We’re headed out for steaks, care to join?”

Gavin looked at me like he had been asked to join the popular clique in high school. I was too old for this social climbing.

“Not for me,” I said. “But Gavin here would love to join you. Who can give him a ride?”

We worked out the details, and I left knowing that Gavin would be fed before someone stuffed him into the back of a car and sent him home. I needed to get out of there. What I had been looking for, a change of atmosphere wasn’t found at that exclusive bar. I didn’t know where I would find it. Or if I would. It felt like I had been looking for that magic change in my life for a while.

I tossed my keys to the valet. A couple of low motorcycles sped past.

They had all the tell-tale signs of racing. Maybe they were showing off for each other, maybe it was a race night. Before I left, back when I raced, race nights typically happened on Saturdays. But pick-up races happened all the time. Hell, if someone pulled up to a light on a racing bike, odds were good I would challenge them to see who was faster.

I handed over a healthy tip as the valet held the driver's door open for me. The Jag was already purring. It was built for performance and speed. But I preferred its smooth, classic good looks. My days of racing were over.

I was surrounded and then passed by motorcycles that were built for speed. The biker next to my side of the car would speed up and then feign back. I knew exactly what he was doing. I used to do it all the time. It was a challenge. I was in a sleek sports car. Could I take them on their specialty-built and modified bikes?

I shook my head and waved the guy off. The bikes roared as they accelerated away. I considered pacing them. This old car could handle it. I felt the surge of adrenaline begin to build. Deliberately I removed my foot from the gas and let the car fall behind, far behind.

Racing was behind me. It was stupid and dangerous, and I would not encourage it. I would not participate. And yet, I found myself following them from a distance. The streets were familiar, the direction one I had memorized and never once forgotten in all of my years abroad.

I drove past the Lake Moore construction site, and slowed at the parking lot for Love Buns, but didn’t pull in. Parking had been taken over by bikes. I pulled into the empty lot across the street. Gabriella had said she didn’t know what I was talking about when I confronted her about still being in the scene. A low, bitter chuckle escaped my lips. Sure, I didn't know what I was talking about at all.

The lights were on, and the café was full on a night she closed up by seven. So, who were these people if they weren’t racers? My breath stopped in my chest as I saw Gabriella. Her hair was loose, and she was smiling. She used to smile like that for me.

She was going to go out with me again, and I was not going to make an appointment.

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