2 Broke Girls x 1 Rich Man [TV series 2 Broke Girls ff]

[Bathroom]

The bathroom was steamy. Not in a romance novel kind of way (yet), but because Max had just taken a ridiculously hot shower. The kind that made her skin glow and loosened up her muscles because damn, she needed to mentally and physically prepare for tonight.

She stood in front of the mirror staring at her reflection with the same intensity as someone about to go into battle. Yup! She worked at noon and a bath before a big night was a must. And yeah, she was naked again.

"This is not a date," she glanced toward the door. "It's a business meeting. A serious, professional discussion about cupcakes." She said loud enough for Caroline to hear, who was sitting in the living room.

Then she paused.

Her eyes flicked downward.

To her boobs.

"…Cupcakes."

Max straightened, rolling her shoulders back. Her girls looked fantastic tonight. Perky, full, and sitting just right. She smirked, grabbing them in both hands and giving them a slight lift.

"Damn, ladies. Y'all really showed up for this one."

She turned slightly, checking herself out from the side. Curves in all the right places. The steam from the shower made her skin dewy, glowing like she had been handcrafted by the gods themselves. Her waist curved in just enough, hips flared just right, and her long legs? A freaking masterpiece.

If Alex Wilson wasn't tempted before, he was about to be real distracted tonight.

Max released her boobs with a little bounce, grinning like a fool. "Alright, girls. Let's go make some business happen." She quickly wrapped a towel around her body and rushed to her room.

[Max's room] 

It was 8 PM. She had exactly one hour before Alex picked her up. And Max was not about to half-ass this. Because if she was going to sell her cupcakes to a billionaire, she was going to look like she belonged in his tax bracket, even if she was currently one missed payment away from selling a kidney.

She yanked open her dresser drawer, shoving past her usual comfy cotton underwear (not tonight, Satan). Tonight called for something special.

She dug until she found them.

Black lace panties. Strappy, high-cut, the kind that made her ass look like a freaking work of art. And the matching bra? Deep-cut, delicate lace, designed to make a man think about many things besides cupcakes.

She held them up, admiring the tiny price tag still attached.

"$75?! Jesus, I'm wearing someone's electric bill on my ass." (For the first time, she bought something that expensive with her saved money.)

But whatever. Worth it.

She slipped into the set, turning side to side in the mirror.

"Oh, honey. This. Is. A. Serve."

A naughty smirk appeared on her face once again. 

"Mmm, Mr. Wilson, I just don't know if I can mix business and pleasure."

Max snorted. Jesus Christ, not again.

"NOPE. Absolutely not," she muttered, dropping them like they personally betrayed her. "We are not doing the 'sexy mirror monologue' thing again."

She turned away, inhaling deeply.

Right. Focus.

Checklist:

✔ New, Lacy, "I totally didn't pick these out for him" undies? Check.

✔ Freshly trimmed pubes? "Might get lucky." Check.

✔ A bra that made her look like she had supernatural boob magic? Hell yes, check.

✔ Would rather die than let Caroline know how much thought she put into this? TRIPLE CHECK.

Now for the dress.

The ridiculously expensive red dress.

The one Alex had bought for her at the orphanage party.

Max had tried to convince herself not to wear it.

Too flashy. Too obvious. Too... date-like.

But then she had put it on.

And hooooooo boy.

The dress hugged her curves like a second skin.

It draped perfectly over her hips, cinched at the waist, and dipped just low enough at the neckline to be dangerous but not quite scandalous.

She did a little spin in front of the mirror.

"Damn, Max," she muttered, smirking at her reflection. "You look expensive."

She struck a dramatic pose.

✔ Long legs? Check.

✔ Snatched waist? Check.

✔ Boobs sitting like a gift from the heavens? Double check.

She winked at herself. "Wilson's not gonna know what hit him."

...

[8:15 PM]

A knock at the door.

Caroline, currently reading the final warning bill from Gary the Butcher, tugged the bill inside the magazine on the table and went to open the door. She checked once, just in case before opening the door.

It was Sophie.

Wearing a tight, cleavage-heavy top, she strutted inside like she was on a damn runway.

"Hello, girls!" she made her usual pose. "Guess who's going on a movie date tonight?"

Caroline sighed. "Sophie..."

Sophie grinned, plopping down beside her. "That's right! Moi!" She batted her lashes. "Oleg is taking me to see a movie, and I just know we won't actually be watching it, if you know what I mean... Wink! Wink!"

"Yep, got it, thanks," Caroline cut in. "No details necessary."

Sophie giggled, then stretched luxuriously. "Mmm. You know, I had a dream last night…"

Caroline sipped her tea. "Please don't."

"But I must!" Sophie grinned. "I dreamed that Alex Wilson."

Caroline groaned. "Sophie... Now is not a good time."

Max, who had just emerged from her room fully dressed, choked. 'Don't tell me she's aiming for my Sugar Daddy?!'

Sophie gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. "Oh my God, Max! You look gorgeous!"

Caroline smirked. "Yeah, because she's got a business meeting."

Sophie's eyes narrowed. "Business meeting?"

Max cleared her throat, suddenly very aware of the dress clinging to her. "Yep. Business. Just… talking numbers. Selling cupcakes. You know, very boring things."

Sophie snorted. "Honey, you do not wear that dress for 'very boring things.'"

Max waved her off. "It's just..."

Sophie cut her off, grabbing her shoulders. "No, no, no. If you're gonna wear that dress, you need the right finishing touches."

She whipped out a gold-trimmed makeup set.

Max blinked. "Where the hell did that come from?"

Sophie ignored her. "Listen, a girl should be ready for anything. You never know what might happen tonight."

Caroline smirked. "She's selling cupcakes, Sophie. Not seducing a billionaire."

Sophie winked. "Same thing, really."

Max groaned. "You guys are the worst."

Sophie ignored her protests and forced her into the chair.

She was merciless.

She applied foundation, a hint of contour, and the perfect red lipstick to match the dress. (Not the cheap strawberry ones Max uses. This one was cherry flavor.)

Max tried to resist. She really did.

But damn, she looked hot.

"Okay, fine," she admitted. "I look amazing."

Sophie grinned. "And now… perfume."

She spritzed an insanely expensive bottle onto Max's wrists and neck.

Max sniffed. "Damn. That's nice. What is this?"

Sophie smirked. "Sex and danger."

Caroline groaned. "You just made that up."

Sophie shrugged. "Maybe. But it fits, doesn't it?"

Max rolled her eyes but couldn't deny she smelled irresistible.

At 8:50 PM, she was fully prepped.

Red dress? Check.

Makeup? Check.

Perfume? Check.

Internal screaming? Check, check, check.

Sophie gave her an approving nod. "Honey, if he doesn't at least try to kiss you tonight, he's either blind or dead inside."

Max groaned. "It's not a date!"

Sophie smirked. "Sure, sweetheart. Keep telling yourself that."

Just then, her phone buzzed.

Alex: I'm outside. Don't keep me waiting, Black.

Max took one last look in the mirror, inhaling deeply.

Okay. Cool. Calm. Collected. She could do this.

It was just a business dinner. Just a casual meeting with a billionaire who happened to look like he walked straight out of a romance novel. Just a totally normal night where her entire future and financial stability were on the line.

No pressure.

She grabbed her clutch and turned toward the door...

Only for Caroline to yank her back by the arm.

Max yelped, stumbling as Caroline dragged her into a corner, her expression dead serious.

"Okay," Caroline whispered, gripping Max's shoulders. "I'm only going to say this one more time because I love you, but I swear to God if you mess this up, I will personally end you."

Max blinked. "Uh..."

Caroline tightened her grip. "No sugar daddy jokes. No calling him 'Moneybags' to his face. No weird flirty power plays where you try to win some imaginary game. Just be normal for once in your life."

Max scoffed, flipping her hair dramatically. "Define normal."

Caroline leaned in closer. "Our entire future is riding on this. You will be professional. You will keep your mouth shut about anything that could make him rethink giving us this contract. And you will not get distracted by how stupidly hot he is."

Max gasped, clutching her chest in fake offense. "Caroline! Are you suggesting that I—"

Caroline cut her off, whispering even harsher. "Max. I am begging you."

Max groaned. "Fiiine." She rolled her eyes. "No sugar daddy jokes. No unnecessary flirting. Just business."

Caroline narrowed her eyes. "Say it like you mean it."

Max sighed dramatically. "I, Max Black, solemnly swear to behave myself and not call my insanely rich, absurdly hot dinner companion a sugar daddy."

Caroline gave her a long look. "Good enough. Now go."

Max smirked. "You're really stressed about this, huh?"

Caroline grabbed her face. "GO. BEFORE I CHANGE MY MIND AND LOCK YOU IN THE BATHROOM."

"Good luck, Max," Sophie waved her hand.

---

[Outside]

Max stepped out of the apartment building, her heels clicking against the pavement.

And then she saw him.

Leaning against his Aston Martin, looking unfairly hot.

Alex Wilson was dressed in a black shirt, sleeves rolled up, exposing his toned forearms (which should be illegal). His charcoal gray slacks fit him far too well, and the way his shirt was undone just slightly at the collar?

Yeah, it was a problem.

He glanced up as she approached, and for half a second, his eyes flickered over her.

Not in an obvious way.

Not in a lingering way.

But just enough to let her know that he had noticed every single inch of her.

His lips twitched into that infuriatingly smug smirk.

"Not bad, Black."

'I wonder how many packs he got,' Max arched an eyebrow. "Not bad?"

Alex tilted his head slightly, taking a deliberate step closer. "You almost look like you belong in my world."

Max huffed. "Oh, please. I always look like I belong wherever I go."

Alex chuckled, shaking his head as he opened the car door for her.

"Get in, Cupcake Queen. We have business to discuss."

...

[On the way]

Max crossed her legs, shifting slightly as the dress rode up her thighs. She caught Alex's gaze flicker to her lap for a millisecond before he looked straight ahead.

That? Interesting.

Max smirked. "Problem, Wilson?"

Alex's hands tightened on the wheel.

He was not going to do this.

Not tonight.

Not when she was sitting this close, smelling like something illegal, looking like a goddamn succubus in red.

"Not at all," he said smoothly, shifting gears. "Just wondering if you wore that dress specifically to test my self-control."

Max gasped, hand on her chest in mock offense. "Mr. Wilson! I would never use my natural-born assets to manipulate a business deal."

Alex smirked, but his eyes stayed on the road.

Because if he looked at her for too long, he was going to do something stupid.

Like pull this car over and kiss her senseless.

Instead, he exhaled through his nose, forcing himself to focus.

He had survived boardroom battles, Hollywood politics, and entire weeks without sleep.

He could handle Max Black in a red dress.

Right?

…Right???

Max tapped her nails against the dashboard, watching him. "So… you gonna tell me where we're going, or is this one of those 'mysterious billionaire surprises' where I wake up in a different tax bracket?"

Alex smirked, finally glancing at her. "You're already in my car. That's enough of a tax bracket upgrade for one night."

Max scoffed. "Okay, rude—"

"—But if you must know," he continued, "we're going to Le Jardin Privé. It's exclusive, quiet, and the food doesn't taste like disappointment."

Max blinked.

Le Jardin Privé?!

The restaurant where A-listers had to beg for a reservation?!

The one where they served food in portions so tiny that the prices should be illegal?!

Max turned slowly toward him.

"Alex."

"Hm?"

"Are you aware… that I have the eating habits of a construction worker?"

Alex's lips twitched. "Noticed."

Max crossed her arms. "Then why are you taking me to a place where the appetizer is probably just 'a single leaf with artistic sauce drizzles'?"

"Because," he said simply, "you deserve nice things and not to worry about the food. No single leaf with drizzles... I have prepared something nice."

Max opened her mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

'Nope. Not falling for that,' her brain warned. 'Stay focused. Remember the deal. Remember your cupcake empire. Do NOT get distracted by the way he says things like that with no warning.'

Alex smirked at her silence. "What? No snarky comeback?"

Max cleared her throat. "Oh, I was just deciding how to react. Because half of me wants to be flattered, and the other half wants to accuse you of trying to make me like you."

Alex hummed. "Who says I'm not?"

Max felt that in her bones.

She turned to the window. "You're insufferable."

Alex chuckled, shifting gears as the city lights blurred past.

[Le Jardin Privé]

The Aston Martin rolled to a smooth stop in front of Le Jardin Privé, the kind of restaurant where even breathing the air probably cost money. A sleek, modern façade with soft golden lights and a name engraved in elegant cursive. There were no paparazzi lurking, no screaming fans... just absolute discretion, luxury, and exclusivity.

Max swallowed hard. 'Holy shit.'

She was used to diners with sticky booths, laminated menus, and bottomless coffee refills—places where you didn't need a reservation six months in advance—hell, places where you didn't need a reservation at all.

This? This was another universe.

Before she could fully process how out of place she felt, Alex stepped out of the car, walked around to her side, and opened the door for her like some ridiculously smooth gentleman.

And then… he extended his hand.

Max blinked. 'Oh.'

For a split second, she considered making a joke, something light and sarcastic to shake off the weird fluttery feeling in her stomach. But then she met his eyes... calm, expectant, unbothered... like he was simply waiting for her to take what was already hers.

So, she did.

Her fingers slid into his palm, and the warmth of his grip sent a tiny jolt up her arm. Not the electric, skin-on-fire, oh-my-god-we're-about-to-rip-each-other's-clothes-off kind of jolt (not yet, at least). But the steady, grounding kind.

Like she belonged there.

Like he knew she belonged there.

'Jesus Christ, Max. Pull it together.'

Alex handed the car key to the valet with a small nod, his other hand never letting go of hers. "Take care of it," he said casually.

Max glanced down at their joined hands as Alex led her toward the entrance. "You do realize I can walk without assistance, right?"

Alex smirked, his grip tightening slightly. "Do you want me to let go?"

"Hell no," She smiled. 

The second they stepped through the doors, Max's oh-shit-I-don't-belong-here instincts kicked into high gear.

The restaurant was stunning. All soft lighting, crystal chandeliers, and quiet elegance. The kind of place where the air smelled expensive, the servers moved like ghosts, and absolutely no one raised their voice above a polite murmur.

The main dining room was filled with very well-dressed patrons, the kind of people who probably had offshore bank accounts and personal chefs but still chose to spend $300 on a single course because "presentation is everything."

Max exhaled. "Yep. Totally my scene."

Alex chuckled, steering her away from the main area toward a hallway that led to the restaurant's exclusive private dining rooms. The maître d', a well-groomed older man in a tailored black suit, greeted them with a small bow.

"Mr. Wilson, welcome back. Your room is prepared."

Max's eyebrows shot up. "Back? As in, you frequent this place?"

Alex smirked. "On occasion."

Max shook her head. 'Of course he does.'

The maître d' led them through a pair of dark oak doors into a private dining room, and—oh.

Oh.

The room was warm and intimate, all soft golden lighting and rich mahogany. A candlelit table sat in the center, adorned with elegant tableware, fine wine already waiting, and—

Max stopped in her tracks.

Her eyes widened.

"I've prepared everything. In case you need anything, I'll be just outside," The maître d' closed the door behind them.

"What the hell is this?" Max couldn't help by say out loud.

Because instead of the expected tiny-ass portions of pretentious food on oversized plates, the table was set with…

A full spread.

Not just any spread.

But her kind of spread.

Crispy fried chicken, perfectly golden and glistening. Mac and cheese, gooey and bubbling under a breadcrumb crust. A thick, juicy steak, seared to perfection. Biscuits. Gravy. Buttermilk mashed potatoes. Green beans cooked with bacon. Even goddamn cornbread.

It looked like something straight out of her dreams.

Max turned to Alex, absolutely gobsmacked. "What. The. Actual. Hell?"

Alex smirked. "You don't strike me as the 'edible flower on a cracker' type."

Max gawked at him. "You did this… for me?"

Alex tilted his head. "Would you rather have a single lettuce leaf with a side of disappointment?"

Max threw her purse onto a chair and practically launched herself into her seat. "Oh my god. Oh my god, this is actually happening." She grabbed a biscuit, took a bite, and moaned. "Jesus Christ, this is buttery heaven. I thought ordering food takes time and a big ass menu with food names written in a foreign language and then a different menu for wine."

Alex chuckled, settling into his chair across from her. "I take it I made the right call?"

Max pointed at him with the half-eaten biscuit. "Wilson. I don't say this lightly, but if you weren't already stupidly rich, I would marry you for this meal alone."

Alex's smirk deepened. "Good to know."

She took another bite, shaking her head. "No, seriously, though. How the hell did you pull this off? I thought this place only served, like, artistic drizzles of sauce and existential crisis portions."

Alex poured them both a glass of wine. "They do. But I have connections. And when I told them I was bringing someone who actually enjoys food, they made an exception."

Max swallowed, feeling something warm settle in her chest. Not from the food but from the fact that he had thought about this.

Most guys would've just dragged her somewhere fancy and let her suffer through tiny, overpriced meals.

But Alex?

He saw her.

Really saw her.

And he didn't just roll with it. He catered to it.

Max set down her biscuit, suddenly feeling very aware of the man sitting across from her.

"So," Alex said as he poured two glasses of wine, watching her with that ever-present, infuriatingly unreadable smirk. "Shall we get to business?"

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