Chasing Mr. Perfect

I had been chasing after a guy for five years, but never managed to catch him.

Then, one day, while I was at a karaoke bar, spending seven hundred on drinks, I ran into him.

1

Actually, that day was my friend Gwen Thomas's single release party, celebrating that she'd finally shaken off her toxic ex and was embracing her golden singlehood at 25. By the time our group arrived at the karaoke bar, it was already the second round, and I was pretty much drunk out of my mind.

"Fuck it, let's spend it all tonight!" Gwen kicked the table and, holding a bottle of booze in her hand, shouted with a slur, "Everyone, order a bottle. Davina, you get two!"

"Isn't that a bit much...?" I was already so drunk I couldn't tell how much I had in me. "How much does this even cost?"

"One bottle is seven hundred, or you can get two for a bundled deal at fifteen hundred!"

I didn't even process the discount logic before I saw a guy walking in with the drinks. He was so good-looking that I immediately pointed at him. "I'll have a bottle, but make him open it for me."

Just then, the lights in the room dimmed, and a handsome young man stood beside everyone. But the guy I'd pointed out seemed particularly aloof – he wasn't even saying anything.

Handsome guys always have their moods. His cold attitude was somehow... so charming.

"Hey, you're really good-looking," I decided to be a little more forward, grinning as I reached out to touch his face. "You look just like someone I liked back in college... his name was... oh, Cory Sharpe."

"I am Cory Sharpe."

Well, shit.

2

"So, you... slept with Cory?"

"No," I muttered, feeling a little defeated as I fiddled with the fabric pattern on the blanket. "He said that would cost extra, then mocked me for being so poor that I had to scrape together enough money just to pay."

"..." Gwen fell silent for a moment, chewing on her lips as she asked cautiously, "You don't even have two thousand? Surely you have that, right?"

"Forget two thousand, I had to scrape together seven hundred from several of my cards." I sniffled, my head spinning. "I was already heartbroken thinking, Cory Sharpe, this hot guy, is only worth seven hundred now, and then he gave me this disgusted look, calling me a worthless girl who couldn't even scrape together seven hundred..."

"...Stop, you're making me want to cry too."

I'd just finished talking to Gwen on the phone and was about to get out of bed to grab some breakfast when a message popped up from someone saved as "Top Creditor" in my contacts. It was a picture.

I opened it to find a dry-cleaning bill for two hundred bucks.

"Davina, you threw up on me. You're paying."

I felt my vision blur, and just as I was processing the shock, a voice message came through that startled me so much I almost dropped my phone.

"Cory, what the hell? You're just going to say I threw up? You're extorting me! I'll report you to the cops."

"If you call the cops, I'll tell your dad you were out drinking at the karaoke bar."

"..."

Oh, by the way, Cory was my childhood friend.

"I don't have any money," I admitted, completely broke. "I'm broke. I've got nothing to my name. Go ahead and report me."

A few minutes later, the situation took an unexpected turn.

Who got arrested? Oh, it was me.

Cory sneered, his voice calm but dripping with amusement. "Well then, how about you pay with... something else?"

"...What the hell, Cory, I've liked you for five years, but you really can't look down on me like this. You think I'm worth only two hundred? What the hell do you think I am?"

"...You're going to come over to my place and cook for me," Cory snapped, clearly irritated. "Davina, what the hell is going on in that head of yours?"

The moment he mentioned "cooking," all the fight in me deflated. I held my phone, kneeling at the edge of the bed, listening to Cory's lectures in earnest. I accidentally bumped my head on the bedboard and yelped.

"Davina, what the hell are you doing?"

"...I hit my head..."

"Did all the alcohol go straight to your head?"

3

I woke up still half-drunk, only to find out I owed Cory two hundred bucks.

I was planning on asking Gwen for a loan, but then I remembered how she'd carelessly racked up a five thousand bill on drinks yesterday. I felt a pang for her and swallowed the words before they could leave my mouth.

Following the address Cory had given me, I made my way quickly to his fancy apartment.

A 70-square-meter loft, fully furnished with smart home features, and the view of the bustling city through the floor-to-ceiling windows screamed one thing: Cory Sharpe was rich.

Turns out he was the real deal – an actual rich kid, while I was just a broke wannabe socialite.

"What are you staring at? You here to cook?" Cory, wearing a navy-blue loungewear set, leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping coffee. He adjusted his glasses with his long fingers, and despite his handsome face, his words were cold as ice. "Two hundred bucks, a hundred per meal – four dishes and a soup. The fridge has ingredients. Help yourself."

"...Okay."

His kitchen was fully stocked, and I managed to finish cooking just in time for dinner.

"Cory, dinner's ready." I carefully peeked my head around the door, trying to look as meek as possible.

Cory closed the book in his hand and put his glasses away.

Apparently, even people working at karaoke bar were reading books now. The competition was getting real.

"What are you thinking?"

"Nothing... nothing at all."

He glanced at me sideways.

I stood up straight, trailing behind Cory as he went downstairs. The four dishes and soup on the table looked delicious. Cory sat down on his own, and before I could ask him why he didn't invite me to sit down and eat with him, my stomach growled loudly.

Silence. A brief, uncomfortable silence.

"Go eat."

Just as Cory spoke, I got up to serve myself some food. Before I even reached the table, I heard him lazily add from behind me, "You can go eat out."

I turned around and shot him a glare, but my lips trembled and I almost burst into tears.

"No crying." Cory looked up, gesturing at the food in front of him. "You can eat, but the food's mine. Two hundred a meal."

"Two hundred for this?" I pointed at the eggs and vegetables on the table. "You're ripping me off."

"It's priced fair, market price, take it or leave it." Cory leaned back, eyeing me lazily. "Or you can go eat out. There's nothing here you can afford."

I wanted to cry.

So, basically, I had come all the way here, slaving away to cook for Cory, and now I owed him an additional hundred bucks.

"Are you eating or not?"

"I'll eat."

I rushed into the kitchen, found the largest plate I could find, and served myself a heaping portion of food. I sat down opposite Cory.

Cory was so good-looking, and like most beautiful people, he didn't have much of an appetite. The food on the table was almost entirely finished by me.

"Wash the dishes."

"Dishwashing is two hundred." I leaned back in my chair, certain Cory – looking all neat and polished – wouldn't wash the dishes. I held up two fingers and waved them. "If it's any less, I'm not washing."

"... I have a dishwasher."

"Still two hundred." I quickly adapted to Cory's pricing style. "If you haggle, it'll be three hundred."

"...Fine, you win."

4