"The accident," Sebastian repeated. His eyes moved and remained on the water damage in the corner of my ceiling.
I grimaced.
"Yes, your billboard almost crushed me while I was rescuing this cat," I explained, pointing to the orange tabby now purring against his Italian leather shoes.
Sebastian didn't even look down. "My company owns over two thousand billboards nationwide. Building maintenance is contracted through Vertex Advertising. You'll want to direct any complaints there." He pulled out his phone, apparently done with this conversation before it had even started.
Mr. Finch laughed nervously. "This unit does have certain... structural charm. The pre-war detailing on the—"
"The pre-war plumbing leaks," Sebastian interrupted, still scrolling through his phone. "The electrical needs complete rewiring, and there's evident mold remediation required." He slipped his phone back into his pocket. "The building has potential, though the asking price is inflated by approximately twenty-two percent based on current market evaluation."
I stared at him. Had he just calculated all that during our thirty-second interaction?
Mr. Finch's smile faltered. "Perhaps I could show you the renovated units on the fourth floor—"
[**MISSION TIME: 26:36 REMAINING.]
The system's flashing text made me jump. "Would you like some coffee?" I blurted.
Both men turned to look at me.
"I mean... for the inconvenience. Of seeing my messy apartment." I gestured vaguely toward my kitchenette, where a day-old mug of something crusty sat next to an empty cereal box.
Sebastian's gaze flickered to my pathetic coffee setup, then back to me with an expression that could only be described as professional disinterest. "No."
Daniel, who had been watching this exchange with fascination, stepped forward. "She actually meant at the café downstairs. Proper coffee. Not... whatever that science experiment is." He nodded toward my kitchenette.
"Yes! The café. It's good. They have that fancy pour-over thing with the..." I made incomprehensible swirling gestures with my hands. "The beans are... bean-y."
Sebastian checked his watch—a timepiece that probably cost more than my student loans—and sighed like I was actively draining his lifeforce. "I have a conference call in forty minutes."
Mr. Finch, clearly sensing his commission slipping away, laughed too loudly. "The café downstairs does make excellent coffee! Perhaps a quick cup while I prepare the paperwork?"
The man didn't even react to him. He just took a step back as he did something on his phone.
I forced myself to think desperately. "I actually wanted to ask you about quantum computing!" I said, grabbing the first tech-sounding topic that popped into my head from a half-remembered lecture.
Sebastian's hand paused on his way to his phone. For the first time, he actually looked at me—really looked at me—with a flicker of something other than dismissal.
"You're interested in quantum computing?" His tone made it clear this was as likely as me being interested in underwater basket weaving on Mars.
"Absolutely," I lied with complete conviction. "Especially the... quantum... bits?" I cringed internally. I was going to fail this mission spectacularly.
Sebastian studied me for a long, uncomfortable moment. I could practically see him calculating the probability that a broke college student in a studio apartment with moldy coffee had legitimate questions about quantum computing.
Finally, he checked his watch again. "Twenty minutes," he said with a put-upon sigh that suggested he was making a tremendous sacrifice. "I'll be in the car." He turned to Mr. Finch. "Draw up new paperwork with an eighteen percent reduction from the asking price. I'll review it tomorrow."
With that, he strode out of my apartment without a backward glance, leaving a stunned silence in his wake.
"Well!" Mr. Finch practically vibrated with excitement. "I'll just get those papers started. Take your time with Mr. Blackwood!" He scurried out, closing the door behind him.
"What just happened?" Daniel asked, wide-eyed.
"I think I have a coffee date with Sebastian Blackwood," I whispered, equally shocked.
Daniel grabbed my shoulders. "Elena, billionaires don't just say yes to random coffee invitations from strangers. Especially not Sebastian Blackwood. He's famous for being a human ice cube. Something weird is going on."
"You think?" I hissed, pointing to the floating text he couldn't see. "I have to spend five thousand dollars on him in the next 25 minutes or face 'public humiliation.' How am I supposed to do that with coffee?"
"Maybe buy him a really, really expensive muffin?" Daniel suggested weakly.
I rushed to my closet, yanking out the least wrinkled shirt I owned. "I need to change. I can't meet a billionaire looking like I just crawled out of a dumpster."
"Technically, you kind of did. After the billboard incident."
"Not helping!" I disappeared into my tiny bathroom, the only semi-private area in my studio.
Five minutes of frantic grooming later—my version of "getting ready" involved brushing my teeth, running a comb through my hair, and applying lip gloss that tasted like synthetic cherries—I emerged to find Daniel holding my wallet.
"You have exactly seventeen dollars and forty-three cents," he announced grimly. "That'll buy you two coffees and maybe half a croissant."
The orange cat meowed loudly from my bed, almost like it was laughing at me.
"What am I going to do?" I moaned.
Daniel, oblivious to the system prompt, pulled out his wallet. "I can spot you fifty bucks, but that's still about $4,933 short of your goal."
I shook my head. "I can't take your money again."
"Again? What are you talking about? You never take my money." He tried to press the bills into my hand.
"Daniel, come on. The 'finding my wallet' thing? The random bets with suspiciously high payouts? The 'extra' concert ticket that somehow always appears when I'm broke?"
He had the grace to look uncomfortable. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"You're a terrible liar," I said, but I took the money anyway. I was desperate.
[24:12 MINUTES REMAINING]
"I have to go." I grabbed my jacket—the only one I owned, with a coffee stain on the left sleeve—and headed for the door.
"Wait!" Daniel called. "How are you going to spend thousands of dollars on a man who has everything? Especially since you don't have it?"
"I have no idea," I admitted. "But if I don't try, apparently something humiliating will happen. More humiliating than this already is, I mean."
Just before closing the door, I glanced back at the orange cat, who was watching me with unnerving intelligence. "Keep an eye on the mystery cat?"
Daniel nodded. "Good luck with Mr. Freeze. Text me if you need an emergency rescue."
Downstairs, a sleek black Bentley idled at the curb, looking hilariously out of place next to my neighborhood's usual collection of dented Hondas and ancient Toyotas. The driver stood at attention beside the rear door, expression neutral.
As I approached, the tinted window rolled down halfway. Sebastian Blackwood didn't even look up from his tablet. "You have eighteen minutes remaining."
Taking a deep breath, I slid into the car beside the world's coldest billionaire, the system's warning flashing in my vision:
The car pulled away from the curb as I frantically tried to come up with a plan to spend money I didn't have on a man who clearly thought I was barely worth acknowledging.
"So," I said brightly, "quantum computing, huh? Super... quantum-y."
Sebastian finally looked up from his tablet, his expression making it abundantly clear that this was already the worst decision of his day.
"Fascinating contribution," he said dryly. "Perhaps we should cancel this excursion now and save us both the disappointment."
I swallowed hard. This was going to be a disaster.