Billionaire Cashback System: I Can't Go Broke!-Chapter 50: Bathroom Complication

They were seated across from each other, which Ryan gathered was Diana’s arrangement — she was at the center of the long table, Richard at the far end with people he appeared to actually want to talk to, and Ryan positioned where he was useful.

The dinner arrived in courses without being asked and each course was described by a server who cared more about the description than Ryan did.

He ate and talked and listened, and the conversation across the table with Diana was different from the boardroom version of her — not unprofessional, just less structured.

She talked about the foundation, what it actually funded versus what the press materials said it funded, the difference being more interesting than the official version.

She had opinions about the city’s arts funding that were sharp and specific and built on actual knowledge rather than the kind of generalized advocacy that people in her position usually defaulted to.

Ryan talked about the Bronx.

About growing up in a place that New York’s money had decided wasn’t worth looking at for most of his childhood. About watching buildings go up twenty blocks south that would never go up where he was from.

Diana listened without performing listening — no strategic nodding or timed responses, actual attention.

"You’re angry about it," she said.

"Not anymore," Ryan said. "I was. Now I’m just using it."

"Using the anger."

"Using the understanding of what it feels like to be the version of New York that the other version ignores." He picked up his wine. "Bridge is built for the companies nobody’s paying attention to. Mid-market, overlooked, written off because the deal size isn’t exciting enough for the major players. I know what it feels like to be in that category. It makes the product more honest."

Diana looked at him across the table. "That’s a better pitch than what you gave me in my office."

"I was working from a deck in your office."

"And now?"

"Now I’m at dinner."

She held his gaze a moment longer than the conversation required.

Then Richard appeared at her shoulder, excusing himself to Diana for something that required her attention on the other side of the room. She stood, said something to Ryan about returning shortly, and moved away.

Ryan sat with his wine.

Three minutes later Richard came back without her and sat in her empty chair like he was reclaiming territory.

"She’ll be a while," he said. "Diana gets trapped at these things."

"She seems to manage them well."

"She does." He said with a quality that was neither warm nor cold. "So. Ryan. What did you do before the startup."

"Software development. Company called Meridian Tech."

"Never heard of it."

"Most people haven’t." 𝑓𝑟ℯ𝘦𝓌𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝑐ℴ𝓂

"And before that."

"College. Then Meridian."

Richard turned his glass on the table. "So you’re — what, twenty-four, twenty-five. No track record, no previous exit, first company." He paused. "Diana has put nearly a million dollars into that."

"She did her due diligence," Ryan said.

"Diana’s due diligence is excellent," Richard said. "I’m not questioning her process. I’m just noting the profile." He looked at Ryan with a directness that decided pleasantness wasn’t necessary. "You seem confident for someone with nothing behind him yet."

"I have a team, a product, and an investor," Ryan said. "I’d call that something."

"Early stage."

"Everything starts early stage."

Richard looked at him. "You know what I’ve noticed about founders who talk like you do — the ones who are absolutely certain?"

Ryan waited.

"About half of them are right," Richard said. "The other half are just loud."

He stood, picked up his glass, and moved back toward the end of the table.

Ryan sat there a moment.

Then he excused himself to the server beside him and went to find the bathroom.

---

The corridor behind the main hall was quiet, the noise from the dining room muffled to a low hum. There were doors along it — unmarked, or marked in the kind of old building shorthand that assumed everyone knew what things meant.

Two doors opposite each other. Neither labeled in any way Ryan could immediately decode.

He picked the one on the left.

He pushed it open and stepped in.

It was a restroom — or the anteroom of one, a sitting area first, a full-length mirror on the wall, the inner door visible beyond. The lighting was warm and low.

Diana was standing at the mirror, one arm twisted behind her back, fingers working at something on her dress. The back of the dress was partially open, the zipper stuck somewhere in the middle, the fabric held together above and below the stuck point.

She looked at his reflection in the mirror.

Ryan’s hand went up immediately. "I’m — sorry, wrong door, I’ll—"

"Wait."

He stopped.

"I can’t reach it," she said. "The zipper caught on something. I’ve been in here for five minutes." She looked at his reflection. "Can you just—"

He lowered his hand slowly.

"Please," she said. Which was the first time he’d heard Diana Lockridge say please.

He walked toward her.

"Behind me," she said.

He moved behind her and looked at the zipper. It had caught in the fabric lining, a small fold of material pulled into the teeth.

The dress was dark green up close, the zipper small and gold, and above it was the line of her spine and her bare shoulders and below the stuck point the upper part of the dress had loosened enough to show the upper curve of her back.

The mirror in front of them showed both of them.

Ryan looked at the zipper and focused on the zipper.

He tried to ease it upward. It didn’t move.

"You need to pull harder," Diana said.

He pulled harder, trying to move the fabric clear of the teeth first, and as he applied real pressure the resistance translated — Diana’s body pulled back slightly toward him, and then more, and by the third firm attempt she was suddenly inches away from him, close enough that her dress – still half unzipped – pressed against his chest, and the curve of her ass, still wrapped in satin, was flush against his groin.

He went very still.

He thought about the zipper, then the room and about Richard at the other end of the dinner table and even the IRS interview in eight days and the investment paperwork with two signatures outstanding.

He thought about all of those things in approximately one second.

Anything to make his mind wonder away.

It didn’t work.

His body made a decision his brain hadn’t authorized.

He felt himself go hard against her.

’Fuck,’ he thought, with the clarity of a man who has run out of options.

Diana’s voice came from in front of him, from the mirror, her eyes finding his in the reflection.

"What," she said, "are you doing."