The Cashier Who Bought Your Boss

My parents set my sister up with a wealthy, handsome heir, but they sent me on a blind date with a short, miserable creep.

I didn't cry or throw a tantrum. Instead, I smiled and added him on social media.

My sister and mother exchanged a look and smirked. See, Mom? A perfect match.

Until her fianc saw me at a high-end gala and completely lost his composure. He pointed at me and the man beside me, his voice trembling: "Mr. Holt, is this... your wife?"

The man wrapped his arm around my waist, lazily raising his eyes.

"No. She's my investor."

1.

Mom thrust her phone in my face while I was chewing on a glazed pork chop.

"Look. Your sisters setup." Her voice was high and ecstatic. "Ryan Sinclair. Got his master's from Cambridge, family's in commercial real estate, six-foot-two. They're meeting tomorrow, and hes already buying her a Porsche."

I glanced at the screen.

The man in the photo was standing on a yacht in a white linen shirt and designer sunglasses, smiling like he was in a Ralph Lauren ad.

"Not bad," I said, taking another bite of my chop.

Delia didn't even look up from painting her nails. "Not bad? I'd love to see you find anyone half as good."

I ignored her.

Mom glared at me, pulled a crumpled photo from her pocket, and slapped it down right next to my plate. "No need to be jealous of your sister. Ive always treated you girls equally. I set up something for you, too."

I looked down.

In the photo was a stout, middle-aged man standing outside a dingy shipping warehouse, grinning with a piece of spinach stuck between his teeth. Underneath, a handwritten note read: Gary Hodge, 38, divorced, one son.

I smiled up at Mom. "Equal treatment, huh?"

Her face stiffened for a second, but she quickly recovered her self-righteous tone. "How is it not equal? What your sister gets, you get. She gets a setup, you get a setup. That's called being fair."

She pointed to Delia's yacht photo, then to the shipping warehouse photo.

"Look, Delia has high standards because she's a high-quality girl. Your prospects are average, so you get an average man. I'm doing this for your own good."

"And how do you know my prospects are average?"

Delia chimed in, "Nicole, honey, have you looked in a mirror lately?"

Mom waved her off. "Gary is a decent man. I did my research. He doesn't drink, doesn't smoke, hes just a little on the shorter side. What's wrong with a shorter man? He's offering a sixty-thousand-dollar dowry. You marry him, you become a mother instantly without having to go through labor, and you don't even have to work. You should count your blessings."

I spit a bone onto my plate. "Mom, I'm twenty-four."

Mom glared at me. "You make fifteen dollars an hour as a grocery store cashier. He's doing you a favor by not looking down on you. And you're picky?"

Delia laughed. She capped her nail polish and tilted her head.

"Nicole, I'm only saying this because I care. Honestly, you barely finished community college. Your looks are... passable, at best. And you're just a cashier." She sighed. "Gary owns his own delivery business. At least you won't starve."

I looked at the stark contrast between the two photos on the table.

Then at my parents' impatient faces.

I knew that if I don't agree, this house wouldn't know a moment of peace tonight.

"Fine. I'll add him."

Delia and Mom exchanged a glance, and both of them smiled. Mom nodded in satisfaction and patted the back of my hand.

"That's my girl. Would I ever hurt you? I would never treat either of you poorly."

As she said this, she casually slid the remaining plate of honey-glazed pork chops right in front of Delia.

"Eat up, Delia. I bought these specifically for you. Look how thin you've gotten."

I looked down at the bare bone in my bowl and said nothing.

The next afternoon, Gary scheduled our date at a rundown dive diner on the edge of town.

By the time I arrived, he was already eating. Seeing me walk in, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Sit," he grunted, gesturing to the plastic booth across from him.

I sat.

He eyed me up and down, his gaze lingering on my chest for a few seconds before a smug grin spread across his face. "No filters on your photos, then? You look better than I expected."

I said nothing.

He bit into a greasy piece of fried chicken, grease splattering onto the laminate table.

"I asked around about you. Cashier at the local mart, barely scraping by, renting a cramped studio." He chuckled, revealing the spinach still lodged in his teeth. "Your family is something else. Same parents, but such a massive difference. Were you adopted from a dumpster or something?"

I looked him in the eye. "Are you finished?"

"Not even close," he said, leaning back and crossing his legs.

"Let me tell you something, sweetheart. Women can't afford to be picky. In a couple of years, whos going to want you?"

"I'm willing to put down sixty grand because I'm being generous."

"Once we're married, you'll be at home cooking, cleaning, and looking after my kid. My boy is a bit of a handful, but if you treat him right, he'll call you mom eventually."

I reached for the bowl of hot chicken noodle soup in front of me and dumped it right into his lap.

"I'm so sorry. I have absolutely no interest in raising someone else's kid."

2.

The boiling liquid drenched his trousers. He screeched, leaping out of the booth.

"You little bitch!"

"Gary," I interrupted smoothly, "your pants are soaked. You should head home and change before you catch a cold."

His face turned the color of raw beef, soup dripping down his legs. Every single person at the surrounding tables was staring.

"You'll regret this!" he yelled, his finger shaking as he pointed it at my nose. "I'm calling your parents! They already gave me their blessing! Who do you think you are, playing hard to get?"

I was already at the door. I looked back at him.

"Oh, and Gary? Next time you take a girl out, don't pick a dive. Try somewhere with a tablecloth. It makes you look like you actually have some class."

With that, I pushed the door open and walked out, his shouting fading behind me.

"Who do you think you are? A useless cashier! Let's see who's ever going to want a crazy bitch like you!"

I don't look back.

When I got home, Dad was sitting on the couch smoking, Mom was standing by the coffee table with her arms crossed, and Delia was leaning against the wall, clearly waiting for the show.

"You finally decided to show your face?" Mom exploded the second I stepped through the door. "Gary just called. He said you poured hot soup all over his lap!"

I shrugged. "He has a big mouth."

"A big mouth? What did he say? He said you're a cashieris that not the truth?" Mom's voice was loud enough to shake the drywall.

Dad snuffs out his cigarette. "Why can't you be more like your sister? When Delia was your age, men were lining up down the block for her. What about you? What do you have?"

Delia looked up, offering a sweet, mocking smile. "Mom, don't yell at her. Nicole just has high standards. She thinks she's too good for a local business owner."

She paused. "Then again, who knows? Maybe some blind billionaire will fall for her one day. Right?"

Mom scoffed. "A billionaire? Shed be lucky if a garbage collector took her in. Look at how she dresses. Clearance-rack rags, hair like a bird's nest. What rich man would ever look twice at her?"

I looked down at myself. A Target T-shirt, Walmart jeans, and hair I hadn't washed in three days.

"You're right, Mom," I said, nodding. "So someone like Gary is exactly what I deserve, right?"

"At least you have some self-awareness!" Mom said, her voice softening slightly, thinking I've finally surrendered. "Tomorrow, you go and apologize to him. This marriage is happening. The sixty thousand dollars is non-negotiable, and you're going to settle down and behave."

Delia chimed in. "Honestly, Nicole, Gary might be average, but he's stable. You'll be a business owner's wife. Its a sweet deal. Not like memarrying Ryan means I have to learn high society etiquette, golf, wine tasting... It's honestly exhausting."

She sighed.

"But I guess we all have our own paths. Your life will be so much easier. Just scan groceries, take care of the kid, and relax."

I looked at her and smiled. "If you're so jealous, Delia, why don't we trade places? After all, haven't I had to give up everything you've ever wanted since we were kids?"

Delia's face froze.

Mom quickly stepped in. "Your sister is only looking out for you. She'd hate to see you struggle."

Delia nodded quickly, forcing a smile. "Exactly, Nicole. I'm doing this for your own good. Ryan is incredibly demanding; you wouldn't survive a week with him. Gary is a simple, honest man. You'll be happy."

I let out a silent, cold laugh. Looking out for me. Shes spent her entire life tearing me down.

I don't say another word. I turn and head to my room.

Behind me, Mom grumbles, "Look at her attitude!"

I shut my door.

Through the thin walls, I can hear Delias high-pitched, sweet-talking voice. "Ryan, babe, I really want the wedding at that underwater restaurant in the Maldives..."

Over the next few days, things moved at lightning speed for Delia.

Ryan brought his parents over to formally propose. His shiny new Porsche was parked right outside our building. All the neighbors gathered around to gawk, and Mom was practically glowing, telling anyone who will listen that her future son-in-law bought it.

The engagement party was set for a week later.

Mom was running around like crazy, but she still finds time to call and instruct me.

"For your sisters party, just wear that plain white sundress. Don't try to steal her spotlight."

"Your sister's gown is custom couture. Don't go near her; you can't afford to replace it if you spill something."

"Got it."

"And keep your mouth shut. Don't embarrass your sister. Her guests are people of status. A cashier has no business chatting them up and making us a laughingstock."

"Understood."

"I'm telling you this for your own good, Nicole. Don't go thinking I'm being unfair. I've never treated you poorly. What Delia gets, you get. Look, even though it's Delia's big day, I'm still letting you attend, aren't I?"

I hung up.

3.

Never treated you poorly.

She's been repeating those words my entire life.

When we were kids, Delia got the drumsticks, and I got the chicken tail. "The tail is highly nutritious, Nicole. I've never treated you poorly."

Delia got brand-new dresses, and I got her hand-me-downs. "Worn-in clothes are softer, Nicole. I've never treated you poorly."

Now, Delia is marrying a man who drives a Porsche, and I'm set up with a delivery manager. "Gary is stable, Nicole. I've never treated you poorly."

Never treated me poorly.

She's been so incredibly good to me.

A week later, at the engagement party.

Delia was in her custom gown, clinging to Ryan's arm, smiling like a cover model.

I was relegated to the very back table.

Seated with the drivers, the caterers, and the florists.

When Delia came around to toast the tables, she raised her voice as she reached ours, making sure everyone could hear.

"Everyone, I want to give a special shoutout to my little sister."

All eyes in the banquet hall turned to me.

"She actually took a day off from work just to be here for my engagement." She winked. "It's not easy for a grocery store cashier to get shift coverage."

Whispers broke out among the guests.

At the adjacent table, someone murmured, "Her sister is a cashier? Seriously? Wow, talk about a black sheep."

Delia swept her gaze over the room, wearing a triumphant smirk.

"My sister is still single, so if any of you know anyone... average, please let me know." She paused dramatically. "I tried setting her up with someone decent the other day, but she turned him down. I'm honestly worried sick about her."

She let out a theatrical sigh.

Just as I started to stand up to confront her, Mom grabbed my arm, her grip tight.

"What do you think you're doing? It's your sister's engagement. Don't you dare make a scene."

I looked at her, the disappointment in my eyes impossible to hide. "Mom, you're seriously going to let her stand there and humiliate me?"

She just looked annoyed. "She's just joking. Besides, did she say anything that isn't true?"

Seeing the commotion, Delia walked over and held her champagne flute out to me. "Nicole, aren't you going to toast your big sister?"

Mom shot me a warning glare.

I stood up, lifting my glass of Coca-Cola. "Congratulations, Delia. I hope you get exactly what you deserve."

Delia stepped closer, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper only I could hear. "A forty-dollar dress, sitting at the drivers' table. You shouldn't even have been invited."

She pulled back, smiling sweetly.

I smiled right back. "You look beautiful today, Delia. I wonder how much it costs to rent a gown like that for a day?"

Delia's smile cracked.

Beside her, Ryan quickly chimed in, trying to save face. "It's custom-made. Platinum collection. Thirty thousand"

"Oh, custom," I nodded. "I thought maybe you bought it with your own money, Delia. After all, with your salary, if you didn't eat or pay rent for twelve years, you'd just about have saved enough."

Delia's face turned pale. "What did you just say?"

"My math is a little rusty. Did I calculate wrong?" I tilted my head. "Don't be mad, Delia. I was just making conversation."

"You..."

Delia raised her hand, her palm flying toward my face.

Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the banquet hall were thrown open.

A line of men in dark suits filed in.

Leading them was a man in a tailored black suit, no tie, his collar slightly unbuttoned.

The moment Ryan saw him, the glass in his hand nearly slipped. He rushed forward, bowing so low his spine was almost parallel to the floor.

"Mr. Holt? What an honor! What brings you here?"

The man didn't even glance at him.

His gaze cut through the crowd.

And landed squarely on me.

Ryan followed his line of sight, his face draining of color. "Mr. Holt, that's... that's just my fiance's sister. She's just a cashier, she..."

The man was already standing in front of me.

"Playtime over?"

I set down my soda glass and smile. "Not quite. But almost."

Ryan was panicking now, sweat beads forming on his forehead. "Mr. Holt, you... you know my sister-in-law?"

The man ignored him entirely.

He reached out, taking my wrist to pull me up from the chair. He slid his hand around my waist, drawing me firmly against his side.

"She's my investor."