Chapter 175 Playing Poor
"Good morning, Jack," Ethan said, voice gentle. He reached out and ruffled Jack's hair. "Did you sleep well?"
"Come on, baby. We'll be late." Olivia pulled Jack forward.
Ethan straightened and stepped back, holding the door open with one hand. Olivia guided Jack inside. The doors slid shut.
Ethan bent down again, bringing himself back to Jack's height. His voice dropped to that warm, almost-playful tone. "Uncle Ethan could give you a ride. Would you like that?"
Jack's eyes lit up. He looked up at his mother, hopeful. "Can we, Mommy? Can we ride in his car?"
"We already called a car, sweetie," Olivia said quickly, forcing a smile. "It'll be here any minute."
Jack's face fell. "Oh."
Ethan rose slowly. His eyes met Olivia's over Jack's head.
"I don't mind," he said. "I'm heading out anyway. I could drop you both off."
"That's not necessary."
"It's no trouble."
"I said—"
"Actually," Ethan interrupted smoothly, "I could use the business. Times are tough. Company's not doing so well." He pulled out his phone, tapping the screen. "I charge market rate. Same as any rideshare. You'd just be... hiring me for the morning."
Olivia stared at him.
He stared back, completely serious.
"I'm trying to make a living," Ethan said, voice dry. "Business has been rough. Bad investments. Poor management. I might have to start driving for Uber if things don't pick up."
Jack's eyes went wide. "You're poor?"
"Struggling," Ethan confirmed gravely. "Haven't had a decent meal in days."
Oh, for fuck's sake.
"Actually," Ethan said, his tone light but his eyes not entirely joking. "I haven't had anything really satisfying in five years."
He let it hang there.
Olivia's face burned.
Jack looked between them, confused. Then his little face crumpled with sympathy. He tugged his mother's hand harder. "Mommy, we should let him drive us! He needs the money. And he's hungry."
"Jack—"
"Please?" Jack's eyes welled up. "We have to help him. You always say we should help people who need it."
Jackson had given her a brand-new Mercedes. It sat in the garage, untouched. She hadn't driven it—not in morning rush hour with her mediocre driving skills and a four-year-old in the backseat. Rideshare was safer.
She just hadn't expected Ethan to pull this.
Now she was trapped. If she refused, Jack would be upset. If she agreed, Ethan would take it as an invitation to keep pushing.
And she couldn't explain any of this to a four-year-old.
"Fine," she said through gritted teeth.
Jack's face lit up.
Ethan smiled—slow and satisfied.
Tomorrow I'm driving, Olivia thought. No matter what.
---
They pulled up to the school fifteen minutes later. Parents clustered near the entrance, dropping off their kids. Olivia unbuckled quickly.
"Thank you for the ride," she said, voice stiff and formal.
Ethan put the car in park. "Venmo's fine."
She pulled out her phone and opened the app. "How much?"
"Seven-seventy."
She sent eight dollars.
"Olivia."
She looked up. He was watching her with that unreadable expression.
"You overpaid."
Her jaw dropped. "Are you serious?"
"The fare is seven dollars and seventy cents. You sent eight."
"Keep the change."
"I don't want the change." He pulled out his phone, already tapping the screen. "I'll send it back and you can pay me properly. The exact amount."
"Why the hell does it matter?"
"I like that number," he said simply. "Seven-seventy."
Olivia stared at him. He stared back, completely straight-faced.
Asshole.
"Fine." She pulled up her payment screen. "Send it back."
He did. Eight dollars reappeared in her account.
"Now send seven-seventy. Exactly."
She did, jabbing the screen harder than necessary.
His phone chimed. He checked it, then smiled—slow and satisfied. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," she said through gritted teeth.
She got out and opened Jack's door. He bounced out, waving back at Ethan. "Bye, Uncle Ethan! Thank you for the ride!"
"Anytime, Jack."
Olivia took Jack's hand and guided him toward the school entrance.
Inside, she helped Jack hang up his dinosaur backpack, kissed his forehead, and watched him run off to join his classmates. The teacher waved. Olivia waved back.
Then she walked out.
Ethan was still there.
He leaned against the Maybach, arms crossed, phone tucked away. Waiting.
Olivia's jaw tightened. She turned left and started walking toward the subway station.
"Olivia."
Her steps faltered.
She hadn't heard him say her name like that in five years. Just her name. Not clipped or cold or commanding. Soft. Almost tender. Like he used to say it when they were alone, when he'd pull her close in the dark and whisper it against her skin.
Her chest tightened.
Don't stop. Keep walking.
"Olivia," he said again, closer now.
She forced herself to turn around.
"Need a ride?" he asked. "I'll give you twenty percent off. Special rate for repeat customers."
"No, thank you." Her voice came out steady. Good. "There's a subway station five hundred meters ahead."
"I'm heading toward Midtown anyway. Your office is on the way."
"I'm fine."
"Olivia—"
She turned and kept walking.
The subway entrance appeared ahead—concrete steps leading down, the familiar red and blue sign.
She quickened her pace.
"Olivia, wait—"
"No." She sidestepped him and started down the stairs.
"Goddamn it—"
His footsteps echoed behind her. Fast. Urgent.
She was halfway down when his hand caught her elbow.
"Let go—"
"Just listen—"
His phone rang.
He released her arm and answered, eyes tracking Olivia as she continued down the stairs, her figure growing smaller with each step. "What?"
---
The Pacific Garden Hotel rose ahead—fifty stories of glass and steel in the heart of the financial district. Ethan pulled into the underground garage, tossed his keys to the valet, and took the express elevator to the lobby.
Vincent stood near the entrance, phone pressed to his ear. Justin paced beside him.
Both men spotted Ethan immediately.
They hurried forward.
"Ethan—" Vincent started, voice urgent. "Our—"
Ethan raised one hand, cutting him off mid-sentence.
"Conference room," he said, voice low and clipped. "Now."