You Can't Buy My Love

Chapter 3: 3: The Pizza Girl

Olivia's POV

I woke up to my little brother, shaking me violently. I squinted before turning over to look at him. "What

do you want?" I asked him, annoyed.

"Mom wants you to help her open the restaurant today!" He screamed, walking back out of my room.

Ever since I graduated, I've been a permanent employee at our family's pizzeria. My Mom took it over

when my Dad left. He decided he didn't want anything to do with pizza; or us. I sat up in my bed,

ignoring the fact that I absolutely despised working in this place. We get the worst customers!

That's why I have to get out. I have to become something that doesn't involve my family. It's just taking

me so long to save up the money. Working in my family's pizzeria definitely isn't going to cut it, and I

wouldn't dream of asking my Mom for the money. The pizzeria pays for "just enough" as my Mom

would say, and "not a cent more".

Shoving those thoughts away, I got up and got dressed, then headed downstairs from our small

apartment, to the restaurant that rested below. "Thanks so much for coming, honey!" My Mom beamed.

"I have a really busy day today." I half smiled at her, putting on an apron. "I have a company ordering a

ton of pizza for a luncheon."

"Okay, Mom," I bit my lip, looking at all the dough ready to be made on the counter.

"And if you don't mind, can you also drop them off?" She laughed nervously, and I rolled my eyes.

"Okay," I sighed.

Twenty-four pizzas later, I got ready to take all these pizzas to this employee luncheon. I didn't bother

dressing up, I just threw some jeans on, and ran my fingers through my dark waves. "I don't see why

they can't pick these up." I spat sarcastically, loading them all up in the backseat with my brother.

"They also wanted you to serve, that's why," he smiled deciously.

"Wait-what?" I asked, cutting my eyes at him.

"Mom didn't tell you?" He laughed hysterically, pushing me towards the driver seat.

"Oh my goodness," I cried, driving towards the destination. She set me up, and she did it on purpose.

When I pulled up to the twelve story business, I sat in the car and called my Mom crying. "Why would

you do this to me?" I whined. "Mom this is so embarrassing," I cried. Copyright Nôv/el/Dra/ma.Org.

"Sweetheart, all you have to do is set up the pizzas on this huge table! You'll be out of there before

anyone sees you!" She said over the phone.

"And you wanted me to take Ben with me?" I asked, gesturing towards my ten year old brother.

"Sweetheart, it's okay you got this!" And with that, she was gone.

"Ugh!" I groaned, getting out of the car. "Why is this happening?" I grumbled. This is exactly what I

mean! When I save up, I am going to the FARTHEST college I can find! I am so tired of these

embarrassing situations!

"We should hurry if you don't want to be seen," Ben said simply.

"Fine," I rolled my eyes. "Let's fucking go!" I groaned.

We were met at the back of the glass building, I'm guessing the janitor bought us a two story cart to

carry the pizza on. "Load them up here," he said, pushing it close to my small Toyota.

Ben and I loaded the cart with all the pizza, and carried the rest by hand. "Whoa," I sighed as we came

in. "What is this place?" It was spacious, and huge, and fancy.

"It's a family company," he responded simply, pushing the cart of pizza. "That's why we got pizza from

your mom's restaurant. Just supporting the local family businesses."

"Wow, that's kind of them," I beamed. At that, he laughed.

"No," he said with a heavy Latin accent. "Not kind, it just looks good on paper." At that, I shrugged.

Maybe he's right, people this rich don't care about local pizzeria unless it's for the press.

"Right this way." He guided us to a huge, carpeted conference area. "We have to take the pizza out of

the box, and place them onto these trays." It was a long table, with 24 silver trays set up in a nice order

waiting.

"Are you serious?" I chuckled. "They can't just use the box."

"No way," he laughed. "The only reason we are eating pizza, is because all the lower level employees

are attending." For some reason, this offended me, and I stopped gawking, and started unpacking.

Fuck these people! Feeding poor people pizza? From other poor people? Capitalism at its best, I

scoffed inwardly.

24 silver trays later, after Alejandro took all the boxes to the trash, I took my brother and headed back

outside. "Oh my goodness, Ben," I complained while we walked back out of the building. "If only I had

enough money already, I would have been out of here!" I whined, as if he even cared.

He won't understand what this is like for another eight years! "I'm tired of being looked down on by

these people. I just want to be a revered psychologist already."

"With your paycheck?" He joked, causing me to roll my eyes.

We both got into my car, and just as I was cranking it up, I was startled by a tall man. "Excuse me,

ma'am?" He called.

Ben and I both screamed in surprise, and I inched on the gas a little bit by accident, knocking the man

down in the street. "Holy shit," Ben said, and I didn't have time to scold him because I ran out to check

on him. "Did you just commit murder?" He asked.

"NO!" I shouted, bending down beside the man. "Are you okay?" I asked nervously.

"Yeah," he laughed, looking up at me with his bright green eyes. "I guess I shouldn't have scared you,"

he laughed, standing back up to his feet.

"Did I do something wrong?" I asked him, looking over his now dusty tailored suit.

"No, of course not," he sighed. "Do you mind if we talk in private?" He asked, peering over at Ben.

"Sure," I agreed reluctantly. "Go wait in the car Ben." Once he was gone, I sighed hoping this wasn't

about the pizza.

"Well I couldn't help but overhear your conversation and I really think I can help you," he explained.

"What?" I asked, my nerves disappearing. "You were spying on me!?"

"No way!" He spat nervously, flaring his arms. "I just was smoking and I overheard," he fumbled to

explain himself.

"Oh," I said simply, trying not to go off on him. "How do you think you can help me?" I asked him.

"Let's not discuss it here," he said. "Under the circumstances of course. Take my card. It has my

personal number on it. Call me and we can set up a meeting." It sounded so official that I was almost

confused.

He didn't seem that old, probably in his early 20's. How could he possibly help me?