I pulled out my phone, fingers already cramped from all the browsing, and squinted at the screen. "$24,785 out of $50,000" stared back at me, mocking my attempts to burn through this small mountain of cash.
"Really? Christ, spending money is hard when you're doing it on purpose." My arms were dead weights, and I'd started to wonder if there was some hidden sport in luxury shopping. My arms hadn't been this sore since… well, I don't even know when. Back in the day, my girlfriend used to insist on dragging me along on her shopping sprees. I'd carry her bags like some personal bellhop, watching her dart from one shelf to another, gushing over whatever overpriced handbag or perfume she had her eye on.
She loved it. Always claimed she didn't have to try stuff on because she just knew what looked good. And me? I was there with a dozen bags in hand, looking like I'd just joined the ranks of the living-dead boyfriends of the world. A little ghost of a smile crept up for half a second, but then the rest of the memories crept in too.
All the times she'd brush me off, call me at the last second to say she couldn't meet up. How she'd hang up when I walked into the room and "forgot" to introduce me as her boyfriend to her friends. I guess she'd never had plans for the two of us in the first place. The memories hit like a gut punch, dragging that brief smile straight back down.
I took a deep breath. "Alright, Arthur, man up," I muttered to myself. "You're not spending a dime of this on her." But that hollow feeling gnawed away, and it wasn't letting up anytime soon.
Man, I could use a drink. The hotel I'd just crashed at was probably my best bet, but I couldn't bring myself to head back. Not after I'd swiped that cologne; people there were already giving me the stink-eye for even existing.
I thumbed through my phone again, looking for somewhere new. I found this upscale resort that looked… nice enough, at least online. Pricey enough to count toward my "quest." It had good reviews, looked quiet, and—bonus—had a bar. Perfect.
After a cab ride that felt longer than my entire day, I finally reached the resort. Handed the driver way too much cash, because why not, and stepped out of the car with my arms full of bags. The moment my foot hit the ground, I could practically feel my wallet getting lighter.
Just as I was about to waltz in, a thick hand landed on my shoulder. I glanced up to see a towering security guard, staring down at me with that special expression that said, How the hell did you get in here?
"Uh… can I help you?" I managed, clutching my bags a little tighter.
The guard cleared his throat and crossed his arms, a sneer creeping across his face as he gave me the once-over. "Sorry, man, but this hotel is for special guests only." He leaned into that last part, like he was savoring every syllable. "You don't exactly look like you… belong here."
I blinked, deadpan. Really? After everything today, this was what I had to deal with? I glanced at my reflection in the glass doors—disheveled hoodie, scuffed sneakers, bags under my eyes big enough to check at the airport. Yeah, okay, maybe I didn't look like a millionaire just rolled in off the yacht, but still. This was getting old. My body felt like it was carrying an entire truckload of frustration, and now I had to deal with some snooty hotel guard deciding if I was worthy of entry?
I turned back to the guy. Special guests only, huh? Well, hell, maybe I was a special guest. It was just that I hadn't felt like one in years, what with being constantly treated like trash by everyone, including my now ex-girlfriend, who loved to drag me through the dirt like I was the world's doormat.
But whatever. I had money now. Real money. And I wasn't about to stand here and let some dude with a badge and a name tag act like I couldn't walk through a door with a keycard in my pocket. I mean, I didn't even know if I wanted to stay at this place, but it felt good to have the option.
"Look, I get it. I don't exactly scream 'high society' right now," I said, waving my hand around to gesture at my clothes. "I mean, I look like I just got thrown out of a dumpster, sure, but here's the thing, buddy: I've got money."
The guard raised an eyebrow, clearly trying to size me up like I was some charity case he could talk down to. "Money's not the problem, man," he said, "It's more about... how you carry yourself, you know?"
"Yeah, well, I've been carrying myself just fine through a whole lot of crap today," I shot back, and I wasn't even sure I believed it. "But since you're so hell-bent on judging me based on what I look like, how about I show you something that'll change your mind?"
The guard looked skeptical, but he didn't say anything. I could tell he was waiting for me to back down. People were always waiting for me to back down. They liked seeing me shrink into the background, act small, just...go with the flow.
I wasn't about to do that.
I took a deep breath, then reached into my hoodie pocket. With a flourish, I pulled out a thick stack of cash. Not just a couple hundred—no, this was more than that. Bills as crisp as the fresh winter air, fanned out in my hands like a deck of cards.
"Here," I said, holding the wad of cash up to the guard's face. "Take a good, long look at the kind of 'special guest' you're dealing with." I made sure the edges of the bills caught the light, making them practically gleam. "This enough for you, or should I pull out more?"
His eyes flickered, and I could practically see the wheels turning in his head. A few moments of hesitation passed before he spoke again, but his voice had definitely lost some of its edge. "Uh, no, sir, that's fine." He shifted uncomfortably. "Sorry about that. You're good to go. Right through."
"Damn right I am." I didn't wait for him to say anything else. I shoved the cash back in my pocket, and just as I turned around, I added, "And maybe next time you'll think twice before deciding who belongs in a place like this."
The guard didn't reply, but I didn't need him to. His stunned silence was all the validation I needed. As I walked past him, I even tossed in a little sashay, a little extra swing in my step, just to rub it in. I wasn't about to let him think I was anything less than fabulous. Even if I felt like I'd just been hit by a freight train.
Once I was past the entrance, I gave myself a moment to breathe. Yeah, I might have been the guy who didn't know where the hell he was going earlier today, but now I was walking through this luxurious hotel lobby like I owned it. Maybe I didn't have the perfect wardrobe or the perfect life, but in this moment? I was a goddamn king, and the world could deal with it.
I took a deep breath. Let them judge. But no one could ever take away what was mine now.