One foot hit the floor, then the other. I rubbed my eyes and looked over at the other side of the bed. It was empty. Was last night just a dream? I searched for clues. Exhibit A: One long strand of chestnut brown hair on pillow. Exhibit B: lingering aroma of tropical passion conditioner mixed with the pungent smell of chlorine. Exhibit C: Medium sized drinking glass with soft pink lipstick stain around the rim. Exhibit D: A pair of sapphire earrings on the nightstand. I swiveled back around and picked up my phone to view the time. It was 8:15 a.m. I stood up, stretched my arms, and walked over to the bathroom, which was located inside my room. On the way over, I stepped on exhibit E, the last shred of evidence to convince me what happened last night was definitely not a dream.
"Good morning," I said, as I strolled into the kitchen.
"Hey, champ. Good times last night?"
"Yeah. What time did the girls end up leaving?"
"They left about fifteen minutes ago."
"Here, let me help you with that," I said, as I grabbed a large garbage bag and helped Dan clean up.
"You ready?" Steve asked, as he walked into the kitchen.
"Yeah, let's do it."
Steve and I went downstairs and into the gym for a workout. We finished a little over an hour later, but when we went back upstairs, everyone was still sleeping.
"Do you want to go for lunch?" Steve asked.
"Sure," I replied.
"Do you want to drive?" he asked.
"Okay. Which car should we take?"
"Your pick. Hey, that sounds familiar."
"Let's take the Lexus again," I said
"When are you going to buy your own car and give me back my Ferrari?"
"I still have another year left."
"You said you get it until the end of law school, and you just finished a few weeks ago."
"Yes, but I still have ten months of articling, which is technically a part of law school."
We drove downtown and found parking a few blocks away from the restaurant, Andre's Seafood Restaurant. It had been a while since I had been back there after leaving the note for my old roommate. I had never actually stepped more than a few feet into the restaurant before. It was one of downtown's prominent high-end restaurants, so naturally I could not have afforded it when I lived in Vancouver.
We walked in and were greeted by a lovely hostess. Upon request, she escorted us to a booth by a window. The restaurant was probably at least 30 years old. I'm sure it was once considered very high-end, and to some extent, it still was. However, the place was in desperate need of a renovation. I looked around and instinctually started to imagine what I would do differently.
"Have you been here before?" Steve asked.
"Technically I have, but I didn't eat here."
"What do you mean?"
"It's a long story. How about you, have you eaten here before?"
"Yeah, I used to come here all the time. I know the owner, he's somewhat of a family friend."
"Hey, Stevie! Long time no see," a portly man said energetically.
"Hey, Andre, how's it going? You look good, man."
"This is my friend, Trevor."
"Hi, nice to meet you."
YOU ARE READING
The Art of the HustleMystery / Thriller
Self-made billionaire, Trevor Morrison, recounts his life from being a poor kid from a small town to creating one of the largest companies in the world, all before his 30th birthday. A true underdog tale is told in The Art of the Hustle. When Trev...