As he drove into the night, Ezra Easton Ahmed Esposito began to feel his palms sweat and his body flush. His father, Herzog Ambrose Esposito the third, was dead. The 72.3 billion dollar software fortune was all his now. All of it. His mother was dead. He had no siblings and his uncle was in France, in hiding from the law for embezzling hundreds of thousands of dollars from the US government. He was it. The heaviness in his chest as he watched his father take his last breath was too much for him to bear. He was afraid. He was alone. He had been in such a hurry to drive that he had left his wallet and his cell at home. He was in workout pants and a hoodie. He had nothing with him and his low fuel light had come on. He was far from his fathers homestead in Tucson, one of many. It was not where his father wanted to die but when he became ill, fast, and couldn't leave. He would have preferred to be at his home in Aspen or his private island in the Caribbean. But instead, he passed quietly in the Arizona desert, at the house Ezra was building for himself.
Ezra was traveling north when his Land Rover finally ran out of gas. He didn't want to use the remote mobile help app because it would cause a scene and he wanted to be alone. He decided to walk to the nearest gas station. The chilly desert air would be good for him. After several miles, he came into a town. It was a small town that he had never heard of. "Carefree" he read out loud, looking at a sign. He was tired and sweating. He was handsome, with his family being Italian with Syrian roots. His father was born in Germany but his parents were Italian and his mother was born in Syria. He had black hair with piercingly clear hazel eyes with thick brows, a strongly defined jawline and full lips. He had let his facial hair grow into a rugged five o clock shadow and his thick, black hair was faded on the sides and longer on top. He was 29 years old and had never truly lived outside of his father's world. He was sent abroad to boarding school at a very young age and wasn't allowed on any kind of social media or hardly any freedoms until he was 21. His father feared that his son's model-esque looks would interfere with his future and ability to be taken seriously. But make no mistake, he was most likely one of the most handsome men in the world. But tonight, covered in sweat and a wearing a hoodie, sweatpants, with a hat and overgrown facial hair, he looked like a regular man.
Up ahead, he noticed a woman walking. She was carrying what looked like a guitar and walked inside a gas station. He was so happy to see a place to get fuel, he had completely forgotten that he had no money. He walked in and grabbed a plastic gas can and walked to the pump. He had never gotten his own gas before and he had no idea what he was doing. After fumbling with the can, he heard a voice come over the speaker "it's prepay only here. Sorry." He forgot that he had no money. He walked back inside and tried to explain his situation to the cashier.
"I apologize. I have left my wallet at home. I have no money. I can come back tomorrow and pay for it, I promise. I'm more than good for it. Please. My father died today and I have had the worst day of my life." The cashier shook her head. "I'm sorry. I can't." She said. He was just about to take off his Rolex and tell her who he was when a soft hand touched his arm.
"I would like to buy your gas. And the gas can." A soft and sexy voice said.
He looked behind him to see the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. Her hair was dark and her skin, luminous. She was so tiny. And she looked kind. She looked... beautiful. It was the woman with the guitar.
She handed the cashier thirty dollars. The cashier looked at her to make sure she was ok with it. Billie nodded.
"Thank you." He said. "Thank you so much."
"You're welcome. I have been there. I understand." She said, smiling with the most sincere smile he had ever seen.
He nodded at the cashier and walked to the pump again. He still couldn't figure out what he was doing, and when he finally was able to work the pump, he ended up spilling gas all over his pants and shoes.
"Fuck." He said.
"Can I help?" The soft and lovely voice said again, walking over to him.
"Please." He said. She opened the gas can and then placed the nozzle with the hose inside and squeezed until it filled all the way up. She put it back on the hook and closed the lid.
"You stink." She said with a smile. He smiled back and thanked her again.
"Do you have far to walk? It's late and this is heavy. And you have gasoline all over you." She said.
"I think it's about five miles I think. Or more maybe. That way." He said, pointing. He could tell she was conflicted about something.
"Um, I can't believe I am doing this, you could be a serial killer or rapist, but something in your eyes tells me you're kind. And good. You've had a terrible day, it sounds like. And recently, I have had a lot of people showing me kindness so... Would you like to come to my place so I can wash your clothes and you can rest a little before your walk back? I'd drive you myself but I don't have a car." She offered. "You look tired. And hungry. I have some food. And I'd like to help." She said.
He couldn't believe it. All of the elite people he knew never offered anyone help. They turned their noses up at everyone. And this small and unassuming woman, scared of potentially being harmed, still offered to help.
"I would love that, actually." He said smiling. He hadn't eaten since the previous day with everything going on. She took a deep breath and smiled back. He was absolutely in awe.