Dating a Broke Billionaire

Come on, I was Samantha Horten, undefeated when it came to haggling at the market.

I couldn’t let this little thing beat me down.

All was equal in the face of love… right?

It was time that I met Terry in real life.

Yeah, that was right. We should meet.

Time to pull the curtains and see what he was really made of.

With that in mind, I had to swing into action.

I texted, “Are you asleep?”

Terry responded in no time, “Not yet. I was thinking about you.” He attached a head-rub emoji.

I messaged him, my fingers trembling slightly. “Um… I was just thinking… We’ve been dating for three months now. Maybe it’s time we met?” My heart was in my throat.

Terry replied with a string of exclamation marks.

He wrote, “Really, Sam? Are you finally agreeing to meeting?” He slapped an excited spinning emoji and a teary-eyed cat meme in between.

I replied, “Yes… Can we do it this weekend?”

Terry texted back, “Perfect! I’ll pick you up on the weekend. Send me your address.”

I messaged, “No, it’s okay. I’ll have your location, and I’ll make my way over.” It wasn’t as if I could show him where I lived. That’d be worse than being caught on video.”

Seconds later, an address popped up.

Terry wrote, “7 Maple Road, West Hills. Ring me when you arrive. I’ll come out to meet you.”

Maple Road in West Hills?

If I remembered correctly, it was the neighborhood for the ultra-rich.

I texted back, playing it cool, “Oh, West Hills. Got it.”

Setting the phone down, I slumped back into bed like a deflated balloon.

It was my cue to get a grip on myself. I couldn’t back down now. Oh, and I needed to get him a gift.

I couldn’t arrive empty-handed for sure.

The million-dollar question was what to give him.

I stared at the water spot on the ceiling while racking my brain.

Then, it struck me.

Farm-grown produce!

I could get him authentic local produce!

The produce was all-natural, pollution-free, green, organic, and still carrying a faint earthy scent of nostalgia.

It was the ultimate honest, simple, and down-to-earth gift.

The gift fit my bright, modest working girl persona. Sure, I must admit that I was barely keeping up with the act.

The idea seemed plausible the more I thought about it.

From under the bed, I pulled out two large sacks labelled “fertilizer”.

My mother brought these care packages home all the way from the countryside when she came to visit the last time.

One sack held potatoes, each one still dusted with fresh soil.

The other contained sweet potatoes that came straight from the ground.

“Beef stew with potatoes and roasted sweet potatoes. It’s simple, humble, and good for the soul. This should show how much I care!”