Page 5 of Kicking it with the Billionaire

Despite the fact that I really needed to get out of the house to pick up my suit, I read the email for about the thousandth time since I’d received it two weeks ago. The Michaels Foundation was one of many I’d sent grant applications to, and the only one to have responded with a yes. I couldn’t believe how quickly they’d replied—only a couple of weeks after I’d applied. Everything was moving quickly—Mom’s diagnosis and a cascade of doctor’s appointments, the grant notification, and the dinner reception. It all felt like too much.

The email I’d received from the chairperson had indicated that the dress code was “semi-formal and beyond,” which I guessed meant there would be people in tuxes. I didn’t even own asuit, much less anything that could be construed as “semi-formal and beyond,” and I certainly couldn’t afford to buy something that nice on my electrician’s apprentice wages. Instead, I’d rented a suit from the local tux shop that mostly catered to weddings and proms.

Eventually, I closed the email on my phone and got ready to leave the house, throwing on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt before stepping into the warm late spring morning. I drove the short distance to the suit shop, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel the whole time as anxiety over that night’s plans crept up on me. I let all my fears take a turn. Had I rented the right suit, or would I be under-dressed? Was I going to be a fish out of water at the banquet, completely out of my element and sticking out like a sore thumb? Would Mom and Tam find out about the grant before I told them? I didn’t want them to know anything about the grant or the banquet until after. I was too afraid something would go wrong, and it wouldn’t happen, and then we’d gotten our hopes up for nothing. Was the grant even going to make a difference in Mom’s treatment?

I pulled up to the mall and made my way inside to the rental shop, where I was greeted by a man wearing a crisp gray suit and a warm smile.

“Hi there, I’m Richard. Can I help you?”

I shifted from one foot to the other and forced myself to make eye contact. I belonged there. I wasn’t an impostor. I had every right to rent a suit. “I’m Bennett Cantrell. I reserved a suit for today?”

Richard nodded and tapped on his computer keyboard before looking back at me. “Yes, we have it here. Give me just a moment and you can try it on.”

I exhaled, a small bit of relief hitting my system. If nothing else, the suit was there. When Richard returned with the long black garment bag, he handed it to me carefully, draping it across my arms.

“Try this on and let me know how it fits.”

“Thanks,” I murmured, following him toward the changing rooms. As I pulled the pieces out of the garment bag, I realized I’d forgotten to wear a button-down shirt for under the suit jacket. The shirt had been an add-on, an extra cost I didn’t want to spring for, considering I had a few at home that fit just fine, but to try things on, my t-shirt would have to do. I kicked off my jeans and pulled on the slacks, which buttoned up nicely. The slacks fit much more nicely than I’d expected for a rental. I craned my neck to look at myself in the mirror. The slacks hugged my ass, showing off the curve of muscle back there. I shrugged the jacket on over my t-shirt, pleasantly surprised that it fit, too.

“How are we doing in there?” Richard called.

I stepped out of the fitting room and held my arms out for him to look. “I think it fits okay.”

He nodded and tilted his head, watching me turn. “It looks like we got the fit just right.”

A relieved exhale escaped me. “Thanks, Richard. I appreciate your help.”

“Absolutely! I’m glad we could take care of you. Please let me know if you need anything else. A shirt? Cufflinks? Ties? We’ve got it all.”

I shook my head. “No thanks. I’m good, but thank you. I’ll have this back tomorrow afternoon, as promised.”

“Perfect,” Richard said as he headed to the front of the store to handle a customer who had just entered.

I changed back into my own clothes and headed home, trying to think of a way to tell Mom what I’d done. She wasn’t going to be happy I’d applied for grants for her, and she was going to be even less happy I’d accepted one that would pay the bulk of her medical bills. Her words echoed in my mind.“I won’t take a handout.”I didn’t want her to think of it as a handout, but I didn’t know how to explain to her she needed the help if she was going to have a fighting chance of beating cancer and landing on her feet after. I knew it was selfish of me to not honor her wishes, but just the thought of living my life without my mom around made my throat close up. I wanted her to understand she had enough to worry about and I didn’t want medical bills to complicate her situation.

A few hours after I got home, I found myself pacing and cleaning my already tidy house, anything to distract myself from the looming event in front of me. My phone rang about an hour before I needed to get ready and I answered it quickly.

“Hey, Park, what’s up?”

There was noise and commotion on the other end of the line, distant laughter and chattering. “You coming tonight or what?”

I frowned, trying to remember if he’d invited me to something I’d forgotten. “Coming where?”

“Jock Strap, man. We’re here watching basketball and shooting the shit.”

I groaned, remembering that the guys had said after the last kickball practice that they were going to camp out at a table for a basketball game marathon viewing session. “Sorry, man, I can’t make it tonight.”

“Everything okay?”

I weighed whether to tell him what I was up to that evening. I decided against it. I didn’t want any chance that Mom or Tamara would find out what I was up to before I was ready to tell them. “No can do. I have a headache. I think I’m just going to go to bed.”

“No worries. We’ll see you next time.” There were some hoots and hollers on the other end of the line as Parker hung up and a pang of regret hit my gut. I wished I could be with them, carefree, not a worry in the world.

I shook my shoulders, trying to rid myself of the bad feelings. It was going to be a good night. I was doing a good thing. My mom was going to get the money she needed to take care of her health and I was going to force myself to have a good time at the reception, even if it killed me.

After stepping into the slacks again, I pulled on my white button-down shirt and buttoned myself in. Several ties hung in my closet, and I grabbed a red one and slid it off the hook before tying it around my neck. I grabbed the suit jacket and stepped into the bathroom to look at myself, slipping the jacket on and adjusting it until it fell just the right way.

I eyed my reflection for a few moments, trying not to be overly critical of myself. All I saw was the kid who grew up poor and was bullied, who had a single mom, a younger sister, and a whole lot of challenges in school. I definitely didn’t see the thirty-year-old guy who was fighting to make a better life for himself. I scratched at the stubble dotting my jaw for a second, casting my gaze around the bathroom and landing on a bottle of cologne. After spritzing a little on, I was ready to head to the event.

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