Sam walked around to the other door and got in.

"Done," Sam informed her. The one word was the answer to so many questions.

The Misses nodded her head in satisfaction.

*****

The BMW came to a stop next to a cadillac in the parking lot of the restaurant. The place wasn't- yet-crowded as it was still morning time.

Most of the people who went there were rich people, and would rather have breakfast with their families at home.

Emily had passed by the restaurant several times, when she was staying with her mother, but had never went in. It wasn't like she couldn't afford to get herself a good meal once in a while; she just never liked wasting money.

There was this built-in mentality she had that: white rice can make a person's stomach full just how hamburger can. The nutrients and proteins are the only differences, but there are other cheap meals that could provide as much vitamins, nutrients and every other thing the body needs.

Jonathan got down first. He was at the verge of helping Emily get down, when he realised she had already climbed down.

She followed him into the restaurant. Feeling nervous was uncontrollably inevitable, as she was entering a sophisticated place, when she hadn't even taken a shower. She didn't even want to start thinking about her clothes.

Other than Jonathan's jacket that was around her waist, the rest of what she was wearing was trash- metaphorically.

Jonathan took hold of her hand when he noticed that she was nervous. He carried her to a seat in the corner of the restaurant. He didn't want people looking at Emily because it made her feel a sort of discomfort; however, Emily thought he didn't want people to see them together.

She sat down, her back facing the door. It was almost impossible, but Emily tried as hard as possible not to look at Jonathan directly in the eyes.

Jonathan in his life hadn't seen a woman look she beautiful without so much effort. She hadn't even taken a shower or put make up on, but she was a complete glam.

"Good morning," the waitress said when she came to their table. She had on a black uniform with white undershirt. A piece of her melons showed as the shirt button had been closed halfway. "What can I get you?"

Jonathan had already been looking at the menu before the waitress had come. He began speaking immediately when the question was asked.

"Chicken tender, crispy chicken sandwich, hot dogs and hamburger for the lady's main course," he said, causing Emily to pout.

She wasn't that hungry. Why was he treating her like she hadn't eaten since she was born? What would the waitress and other people in the restaurant say about her?

"She'll have french fries and Oreo cookies for starter. A glass of cow milk, coffee- cream and sugar." He looked up at Emily to see if that was how she wanted the coffee. She had a straight face so he continued. "Orange juice and Pepsi. Thank you," he ended his order and smiled at the waitress.

"Anything for you, Sir?" The waitress asked.

"Water," he replied.

The waitress nodded her head and walked back to the back door where she had come from.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Jonathan asked Emily when he noticed she was making a face.

"It's very disrespectful that you'll buy me all those meals, and you water," she said, annoyed.

"There's absolutely nothing wrong with that," he said, going for his phone in his pocket. He took it out and got busy with it while Emily was whining all through.

She stopped talking when the waitress came with the fries and cookies, and the water for Jonathan.

"I can't even eat all of these," she complained, dipping the cookies in the glass of milk that came with it.

"Throw them away. I'll buy new ones tomorrow. If you'll still be alive, that is," he told her, his head buried in his phone.

There he went throwing his money in her face. What exactly the fuck was wrong with rich people? What made them think they could abuse the poor with money? Money that they got from the poor.

"Haha. Very funny," she said with a mouth full.

"Shut up and eat. You talk way, too, much."

Emily had wanted to fire back but the waitress came with the main course. She noticed how the waitress bent over to place the food just so Jonathan could see her breasts, and also rub against her.

Emily rolled her eyes. Jonathan didn't have time for her, so all that flirting was of no use. Her breats were on display for the wrong audience, and the touches were unnoticed.

If it had been up to Emily alone, she wouldn't have bothered touching the food, but her damn stomach kept betraying her. She made sure to get a taste or everything until she couldn't eat no more.

There had been a battle between her mind, her ego actually, and her stomach, before she started eating. Her mind said "no", but her stomach said "yes, please".

"Where's your phone? I called you this morning. Didn't want to show up out of the blue, but got worried when your phone was switched off," Jonathan explained.

Worried? Did he actually say "worried"? Why would he be worried about an absolute stranger?

Perhaps he wasn't like his cold-hearted mother after all. He was a gentleman.

She had wanted to ask him where he got her number from, but didn't. It had to be Sam who had given the number.

"Why were you worried about me? You don't even know me." She stirred the coffee while asking him.

"You don't have to know someone before showing them sympathy, and compassion," he responded.

Did she look like someone who needed sympathy? What was wrong with this dude? Buying her a meal didn't make him look anything close to charitable, though the meal had saved her life.

"Well, I don't need your sympathy, or your compassion. After all I didn't write a letter to a charity home," Emily stated, knowing damn well she sounded like an ungrateful bitch. But she didn't want him asking her for favors, because giving and wanting something in return were parallel lines; especially for those rich folks. She had learned that lesson from his mother.

"I just saved your life. The least you can do is show some gratitude." He didn't raise his voice. People had already started looking at them. He didn't want to give them adequate reasons to keep looking.

"Why should I show gratitude when I know very well you'll want something in return?" She asked him with furrowed brows.

"Is that what you think? That I want reciprocations?" He scoffed. "What exactly can someone who can't afford their own meal offer, huh? Sex? Why all the stress of finding and feeding you, when I can walk to a goddamn strip club and get the best looking women?"

"So you're telling me that you drove all the way from Capecess to Bensonville to find me, just because you want to show generosity?" She asked him. She really didn't mind all the slight insults he was giving because she was already full. He couldn't shove his hand in her stomach and pull all the food out.

It only baffled her how he could move from a gentleman to a son of a bitch, in a twinkle of an eye.

"Generous people do exist, incase you don't know." He informed her. She surely had forgotten.

"Yes, but you're not one of them," Emily said.

"Why?"

"Because you're your mother's son."