The Late Night Coffee Drinkers

A Cup With A Billionaire

Millie had a confidence boost after the front page success of her article. Starting on a new venture, coming home with a brave face of victory out of many unsuccessful attempts at winning. A stagnant script is on the works, confident but not complacent.

John was at the office, counting down to the nearing end of a journey of this ordeal of moving on to a new world and getting on with it and returning to familiar with new found wisdom and knowledge.

A man seated in front of Millie, good looking but stale... A well-kept man in his fifties. They've never met before, but they struck a conversation. She's a well maintained thirty year old, who dedicated half of her twenties following deluded materialism and half of her twenties to finding deeper meaning that begun living off minimally stretching irregular pay checks just to deliver a cause in a third world studying Asian societies. Finding a niche to find her own voice, evoking a dream no matter impossible and no matter improbable just that one shot of winning something... a Pulitzer, or any chance at winning.

The man, whom she unknowingly read her article a week ago and he unknowingly aware that she was the writer behind the words. He was reading papers with a pen on his hand, dressed down for a Thursday afternoon or a camouflage to blend in to the ordinaire. He is probably an old bachelor, no wedding band and no look of a family problem on his shoulder.

She took a break from a brief writers block, sighed and answered Noah's email... who's starting to warm to her but still ballsy enough to bolster her to do better. Millie looked out of the window, watching smokers and passersby, and opened her newspaper on the crossword page.

"Where are you from" he initiated a conversation. It is easy to identify a decent person sometimes by the way they dress, their posture and their mannerisms, and not difficult to spot a fellow minority. It's not everything but a percentage. A good old traditional broadsheet newspaper reporting since the 1800s was the only accessory she had, aside from a bag to carry her laptop and valuables. Learning from writers engagingly knowing their commentary, reportage and opinions, reading 'Peanuts' for pleasure, and writing answers on a crossword puzzle to release tension or flattering oneself that apparently intelligence exist in an industry questioned by many.

"England, what about you" her mind was elsewhere. Dubai, Doha, Brussels, New York, Toronto or London like any other thoughts an expat has. Dubai for the pristine buildings. Doha for the expat community. Brussels for scoop. New York for prestige. Toronto for opportunities. London for the homies.

"Switzerland" she smiled just to acknowledge his answer. Missing home, but wary of changes that happened. "What do you do here" he placed his pen on the table to have a decent conversation.

"I write... currently writing a script might pitch the idea or not. I also write serious articles for The Times international edition" that came out automatically from her subconscious. In fact she hates declaring she writes and pitches articles fit for The Times, because only very, very, very few articles she wrote make it to publication and she doesn't need the flattery of what people would say 'wow'.

"I read an article about South China sea, it is rather insightful and it did cause a spur on how business is conducted. It made my company plan ahead on disruption as I manufacture my electronic equipment in China" he opened the topic. Millie unconsciously blushed but consciously controlling herself.

"I think it's only just history repeating itself. In the past century it was Britain, Germany, France and US competing for political hegemony. Now it's US and China, the familiar is always comfortable and the unknown is always scary because of uncertainties. I think us humans just want one thing... certainty and reassurance of continuous certainty. Something that is hard to find these days, with too many information available it gives away so much room for misinformation and disinformation, after all interpretation of information is very much subjective. All these things are just cold war of skirmish interpretation, disguised as a macho culture of war but none the better and none the wiser".

Millie had forgotten what she had written from a few weeks ago but she had mastered what she had discussed, unaware how experienced she had become.

"Very interesting because that's similar to the article I was on about" he wrote his number on a piece of paper. "Maybe we read the same article and were disrupted by it, and what should I do with this piece of paper?" Millie smiled, looked down and intuitively thought of her beau. "Text me, I'm Ulrich" he handed her his number on a paper. "Millie" she shook his hands firmly, used to the firm grips without the intention of getting in touch with him.

The nicest thing about journalism, many readers skip past the names of the writers even when it causes much trouble for many writers to even be recognised. The same thing goes with film, people look at the cast closely on who portrayed the character and leaving the cinema or turning off the gadget before reaching to the credits.

It's an irony, a paradox or a complexity... Millie hates it when nobody reads her rubbish, and hates it when people do. As for John, he hates it when he underwrites trivial risks for a monotonous life... but love reading payment dorm being a writer for numbers.

"We should see each other again" Ulrich invited.

Millie smiled, "we should but I need to go now". Coming across men like Ulrich isn't new to her, they're handsome and well-to-do businessmen but she maintains her loyalty to her man.

He felt a throb in his heart, an intuition - it's her: "She saved my company a few hundred million. Oh wow, when the person behind the words is beautiful as well".

For Ulrich, finding a perfect fit was challenging... until he found someone who can challenge him, not noticing him the way women do and minding her own success rather than his success. It had even been a long time since he was flung, but today when his eyes locked her eyes he knew that won't be enough. He lusts for her, and her words arouses him. For now, he'll touch himself through her words and savings more potent than any shades of colour.

Nonetheless, Millie and Ulrich were unaware that they are living in the same luxury apartment area - the building beside 38D.

Trying to avoid any confrontation or awkward chance encounter when Millie saw him, she walked on another direction to enter in to the other entrance.

"Hi John" Millie greeted, while John was roasting chicken while watching some TV. "How was your day" he asked, and she sat on the sofa with him. "Do you know Ulrich... Ulrich Stein? I didn't know him, until we met at our usual. I searched for him Google - he is this electronics tycoon and just before coming up I saw him. He lives beside our building" Millie informed.

"I know him, but not personally unlike you. I did underwriting for his employees health insurance in Vietnam, Singapore and Malaysia. Never met the man" John replied. "He gave me his number and wanted me to contact him" Millie said, which lit John's eyes and leaned towards her. "Are you going to?" He didn't sound imposing, John values independence and would rather know where Millie stands. "I have Jack, and this guy seems to be a d-bag. Sometimes when I meet men reliant on their job titles, the more I appreciate Jack".

"You not being interested in him, is probably giving him a boner" John voiced his manly view.