Man of the Year (Drake Story)

Chapter Ni

When Mr. Ramos dropped me off, William was waiting at the door for me. He held it open for me to walk through, greeting me with a little bow that I’d only seen him do for Drake. Same went for the other servants - they held doors and pulled out chairs for me, and then they bowed. They asked me if I’m alright and poured me random glasses of water (and when I drank half, they refilled it). They massaged my neck when I sat down at the dining table for lunch and didn’t stop unless I told them otherwise. When I finished eating my lunch, they walked me up to my room and opened my windows and left flowers at my bed side. It didn’t take me long to figure out why this is happening.

They were there to serve whoever’s in charge. Drake was in prison and so was Cyrus, so they took the man who’s the next step down, the third man from the throne - me. I was king to them now, so they cared for my every want and need. That is, until Drake figured out a way to snake himself out of jail. I tried not to think about it for the day. My two worst enemies weren’t here and I had the mansion to myself. This was my first leisure time in a while, the first time that I could actually think. The first time that my mind could go in places other than my suspicion for everyone in the mansion, especially my own uncle. Taking this opportunity, I found nothing to think about other than the one and only Amanda.

The reason for my plight.

It was actually pathetic that I still remembered her number, but not on my part. A year could go by and she wouldn’t call me, but the next year, she’d choose a season. Most times it would be summer. She would call me for a couple weeks, every other day. Each time the phone rang, showing Wang, Amanda on the caller ID, the number would burn into my mind for the fifteen seconds it would take to let the phone ring out. I did well at ignoring her most times. That is, until she stopped calling. After that stage of her plan, she would make more promising attempts. Leave notes on my car (how did she get close enough to it? when?), call my mom (who happened to love her), fire my maids (elaboration isn’t needed for this one). Other times, the third stage would be me giving in, calling her back or visiting her house and asking her what she wanted from my life and then telling her she couldn’t have it. Right now, at 2:15 in the afternoon, stage three began.

I’m pretty sure she still had my number saved in her phone as Aubrey or some inappropraite pet name that normal couples used for each other when they had established a mutual relationship of love (something we never attained). It only took about three rings for her to pick up.

“That took you long enough.” She hissed. Her voice made my eye twitch.

“Amanda, please, don’t play games with me today. I’m exhausted.”

“What happened to ‘Mandy’? I loved it when you used to call me that.”

“Would you grow up? Damnit! I mean, you stalk me all the time. You blow up my phone and take closer and closer steps to getting me to file a restraining order, and then you fire my staff. After all this, you expect me to love you? To want you? Are you just plain dumb?”

“That hurts, Aubrey,” Amanda snapped. “The things you say to me hurt my feelings. I have those, you know.”

“I don’t care what you have. I just care that you have the balls to tell my own maids that they don’t have to come back to my house. Why were you planning to come there, anyway?”

“I wanted to reconnect with you. To start over. It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“Oh, really? So you thought that my help wouldn’t tell me why they were just going to leave my house, right?” I yelled.

“Stop calling them your ‘help’. It’s rude. It’s snobby. That’s not the Aubrey I knew back in college, when you were trying to seduce me.”