Richest Man: It All Started With My Rebate System-Chapter 39: Looking Good

Steven kept gaming, only finally pausing when it was late afternoon. He did a light stretch to free up his stiffened body, which had been in the same spot for hours.

He checked the time and saw that it was half past four. He sighed softly, realising he had spent the whole day at home doing nothing but gaming.

Not that it was bad, but it wasn’t great either. He was supposed to be enjoying himself, but staying in all day wasn’t the way to go.

He decided to take a walk around the neighbourhood. Touch some grass, as it was called.

He was about to leave when he remembered he hadn’t had a haircut yet. His hair wasn’t too full, but it had grown enough to need one.

He decided to get one during his walk and use the time to think about where he could go for the evening. He had no intention of coming back home and gaming for the rest of the day.

He had previously always been busy with work from morning until late at night, which had left him no time for anything else. As the years passed, he had forgotten the things he loved to do and the places he had always wanted to visit. All that had ever been on his mind was how he was going to survive until the weekend.

Steven smiled and shook his head. There was no point focusing on the past. His life had changed drastically and for the better. He had to come to terms with that and start adjusting to his new life.

"It’s true what they say — money stops all nonsense and opens doors," he muttered.

He picked up his key card and phone and left the apartment. Since he wasn’t going far, he didn’t take the car. The walk would also do his body good after a full day on the sofa.

He took the elevator to the ground floor, walked to the entrance, and greeted the front desk staff as he passed.

He pushed through the door and stepped outside, then started down the street.

He had no fixed destination in mind, but he wasn’t worried about that. He was certain that he would find somewhere as he walked.

And he did. A few minutes in, he spotted a barber shop and he walked in.

The barber shop was small and clean, with three chairs and two barbers working. One of them looked up as Steven walked in and gestured toward the empty chair on the left.

Steven sat down and the barber draped the cape over him.

"What are we doing today?" he asked.

"Clean it up," Steven said. "Low fade on the sides, keep some length on top. Make it look considered."

The barber nodded and got to work without unnecessary conversation, which Steven appreciated. The shop had the comfortable background noise of a place that knew what it was, with two other customers, a television in the corner, the low hum of clippers.

Steven sat still and let his mind drift.

He thought about the evening. He really had no intention of going back home and picking up the controller again. That would make the walk pointless. He needed somewhere to go, something to do that wasn’t his sofa.

Eating out was the obvious option. He had resisted it until now, partly from habit and partly because his own cooking had always satisfied him more than most restaurants managed to. But there was a category of restaurant he had never had access to, the kind where the food was built around experience rather than just sustenance. He had spent the week acquiring things he had never had access to. A proper dinner out fit the same pattern.

The barber finished the fade and moved to the top, scissors working with a clean, deliberate pace. Steven watched in the mirror without comment. The shape coming through was exactly what he had asked for.

Twenty minutes later, the barber stepped back and held up a mirror.

Steven looked at the back and sides, then turned back to the front. The cut was clean. Sharp lines, well-shaped, the kind of result that made everything else sit better.

"Good," Steven said simply.

He paid at the desk, added a tip without being asked, and stepped back out into the afternoon air.

[You spent $55. A 8x rebate was triggered]

[You received $440. The money has been transferred to your account]

He glanced at the system notification, then pulled out his phone as he walked and opened the browser. He searched for high-end restaurants in the River Oaks and Uptown area, reading through the options as he moved.

Several came up. He went through them carefully, reading the menus, checking the reviews, looking at the kind of establishment each one presented itself as.

He settled on one. A French-American restaurant in Uptown, well-regarded, not far from his building. The kind of place that required a reservation on most evenings.

He opened his contacts and called Adrian.

It rang once.

"Mr. Craig," Adrian said. "Good afternoon. How can I help?"

"I’d like a same-day reservation," Steven said. "This evening. A table for one." He gave the restaurant’s name.

"Of course. I’ll have that arranged for you." There was a brief pause. "While I have you — I’ve been meaning to pass along the concierge direct line. Going forward, for this kind of request, you can reach them directly rather than coming through me. It’ll be faster."

He gave Steven a number. Steven saved it as the call continued.

"I’ll have someone from the team follow up with your reservation details shortly," Adrian said. "Is there a preferred time?"

"Seven," Steven said.

"I’ll note that. Is there anything else?"

"That’s everything. Thank you, Adrian."

"Of course, Mr. Craig. Enjoy your evening."

The call ended.

Steven pocketed his phone and kept walking. The neighbourhood was quieter in the late afternoon, the light dropping slowly and the air cooling slightly. He moved without hurrying, hands in his pockets, thinking about nothing in particular.

His phone rang six minutes later. An unknown number, but he knew what it was before he picked up.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Craig. This is the Chase Private Client concierge team. I’m calling to confirm your reservation at this evening. We have a table confirmed for one at seven o’clock. The reservation is under your name. The restaurant has been notified of your arrival and the front of house team will be expecting you."

"Perfect," Steven said. "Thank you."

"Of course, Mr. Craig. Don’t hesitate to reach out if anything changes or if there’s anything else we can assist with."

The call ended.

Steven smiled to himself. All it had taken was a call and he had gotten a same-reservation in a restaurant that’s probably more than booked.

He was back at his building a few minutes later. He greeted the front desk staff as he passed, took the elevator up, and stepped into the apartment.

He went straight to the bathroom and showered, washing off the loose hair from the barber and the afternoon air. He took his time, and when he stepped out and stood in front of the mirror, the haircut was even cleaner than it had looked in the shop.

He went to the wardrobe.

He had worn the navy suit to the bank meeting and that was already spoken for in his mind as the formal option. Tonight called for something different. He pulled out the quilted Burberry jacket in dark navy and laid it on the bed, then found a pair of the new chinos, a white Oxford shirt, and the white leather Burberry trainers.

He dressed without rushing, doing the shirt buttons from the bottom up, rolling the sleeves once at the cuff. He put the jacket on last, settling it across his shoulders.

He looked at himself in the mirror and appreciated his looks. His hair also complemented his look.

"With how good my hair looks, if mom was here, she would ask me the three tremendous questions," he chuckled to himself.

He fastened the Cartier to his wrist, picked up his phone, car key, and key card from the side table, and walked to the door.

The hallway was quiet as he walked down to the elevator.

The elevator came immediately and he rode it down to the garage, walked to the Aston Martin, and got in. The engine roared to life beneath him and he pulled out of the space, heading for the exit ramp.

The city was settling into its evening register as he drove, the light going amber and the streets filling with the particular energy of a Saturday night finding its pace.

He had a table at seven and just under an hour to get there.

He wasn’t in a hurry.