Richest Man: It All Started With My Rebate System-Chapter 52: Having A Wonderful Time

Ten minutes later, Steven and Lena arrived at the rooftop lounge.

Steven pulled into the parking area behind Lena’s Mercedes and cut the engine.

They walked to the entrance together, falling into step naturally without either of them deciding to. The building was a converted mid-rise with an exposed brick exterior and a narrow lobby that opened into an elevator.

Inside, Lena pressed the button for the top floor without looking for it.

"You’ve been here before," Steven said.

"A few times," she said. "It’s the kind of place you kind of want to come back to."

The elevator opened onto a wide terrace. The city spread out in every direction, the Houston skyline pressing its light against the dark sky, the streets below reduced to moving headlights. The air up here was cooler and clearer.

The space was well-designed, with ow seating arranged around the perimeter, a bar running along the interior wall behind glass panels, pendant lighting strung at intervals that gave the whole terrace a warm, amber glow. It was occupied but not crowded, with conversations happening at a register that those seated around can’t hear another group.

A host met them at the entrance and led them to a table near the railing.

Steven looked out over the city and said nothing for a moment, appreciating the view.

"Good view," he said.

"I told you," Lena said, settling into her chair.

A server appeared and placed two small menus on the table.

"Can I get you something to start while you look through those?"

Lena looked at Steven. "Do you want a recommendation or would you prefer to choose?"

"Recommend," he said.

She turned to the server. "The barrel-aged Negroni for me. And for him —" she paused, considering "— something approachable but not sweet."

The server thought for a moment. "The Old Fashioned. Bourbon base, single large ice cube, no fruit."

"That," Steven said, having almost no idea what the server just said.

The server nodded and left.

Lena rested her arms on the table and looked at the city.

"So," she said. "What was it that had you so distracted the day of the accident?"

Steven looked at her. The question was direct but not intrusive. She asked it the way she did most things, with that same ease that made directness feel natural rather than forward.

"I had quit my job that morning," he said. "Or been about to get fired, depending on how you looked at it. I decided to get there first."

"Same day?"

"Same hour," he said. "I walked out, dropped my uniform in the bin outside the building, and stepped into traffic."

Lena looked at him for a moment. "That’s a significant morning."

"It had been a significant few months," Steven said. "The job was a long time coming."

"Do you regret it?"

"Quitting?" He thought about it honestly. "No. I regret that it took me as long as it did."

She nodded, accepting that without pushing further.

The drinks arrived. The server set them down with care, the Old Fashioned in a wide, heavy-bottomed glass with a single large ice cube exactly as described, the Negroni in a shorter glass with a clean orange peel resting on the rim.

Steven looked at the glass for a moment, then picked it up, and downed about half the drink in one gulp.

The bourbon was warm on the way down, with a depth he hadn’t expected. There was something underneath the heat, something with structure and length that stayed in the back of his throat after he swallowed.

He set the glass down slowly.

"Well?" Lena asked.

"It tastes good," he said.

She smiled. "I’m glad you like it."

They sat with that for a moment, both looking out at the city.

"What do you do?" Steven asked. "You mentioned a deal the day of the accident. Something important."

"Commercial real estate," she said. "Acquisitions, mostly. I find properties, assess them, and structure the deals that bring them into the right hands." She paused. "The deal that day was a warehouse conversion in the Heights. It had been sitting in negotiation for three months. I was on my way to close it."

"Did you?" he asked.

"That afternoon," she said. "Two hours after the accident."

"While I was at home eating pizza," Steven said.

She looked at him. "What?"

"Nothing," he said. "Just thinking about how differently the same afternoon can go for two people."

She considered that and nodded slowly, without any particular thought to it.

"Commercial real estate," Steven said. "Acquisitions."

"You’re going to ask me something," she said.

"I’m in the early stages of acquiring a restaurant," he said. "Single location, Montrose area. Due diligence is running now."

Lena looked at him with an expression that had shifted slightly. The curiosity was still there but it had moved into a more professional register.

"Your first acquisition?" she asked.

"Yes," he said.

"How are you structuring it?"

"Cash offer, well above market. Due diligence through a commercial advisory firm. Legal through Chase’s referral network."

She was quiet for a moment, processing.

"At a significant premium," she said.

"Three million," Steven said. "The market value is probably around five hundred thousand on a good day."

Lena looked at him steadily for a moment.

"That’s not an acquisition. That’s more of a statement," she said.

"It’s both," Steven said.

Something in her expression shifted again, settling into a kind of silent assessment that was more interesting than surprise.

"When the due diligence comes back," she said, "and you’re ready to move to the offer stage, call me before you do. Not as a professional favour. Just that there are ways to structure a cash offer at that premium that protect you and accelerate the closing of the deal simultaneously. They are small things but worth knowing."

"I’ll call you," Steven said.

He understood why Lena has made such an offer. It was both for professional and personal reasons. He was actually curious about what she was going to tell him.

Lena picked up her Negroni and looked out at the city. Steven picked up his Old Fashioned and did the same.

The city below moved at its own pace and the lounge around them continued its quiet evening, and neither of them was in any particular hurry to be anywhere else.

The evening had been moving smoothly. They talked about many things without going anywhere too personal again, drifting between random topics.

Steven was aware of the connection between them. And he suspected she was too but neither of them named it.

He was looking out at the city when he heard a male voice cut through the ambient noise of the terrace, calling Lena’s name.

They both turned.

A young man and a young woman were standing a short distance away, already moving toward their table.

The man was somewhere in his late twenties. Same as the woman.

"Do you know them?" Steven asked.

"Yes," Lena said. "They’re the two people I least want to see right now."

Her voice hadn’t changed in volume but something in it had shifted.

Steven looked at her. "Do you want to leave?"

She was quiet for a moment, her eyes still on the approaching pair.

"No," she said. "I’ve been meaning to have this conversation for a while. Better here than somewhere I didn’t choose."

"Alright," Steven said. He settled back slightly in his chair, unhurried. "If you need anything, let me know."

She gave a small nod without looking at him.

The two reached the table and stopped. The man’s eyes moved across the scene and his gaze landed on Steven briefly, with the kind of glance that didn’t quite register him as a person so much as a variable in a situation he was already calculating, and then moved back to Lena.

The smug smile that had been on his face since he spotted them hadn’t shifted. Steven recognised that particular smile. He had been on the receiving end of versions of it for most of his working life.

It was the smile of someone who believed the room already belonged to them before they had said a word.

"Lena," the man said. "I’ve reached out more than once. You haven’t responded." He tilted his head slightly. "I’m starting to wonder if this is the reason."

His eyes moved to Steven again. This time the glance was slower, more deliberate, the kind designed to communicate that what it was looking at didn’t concern it.

Steven said nothing. He picked up his Old Fashioned, took a measured sip, and set it back down, without a single change in his expression.