Hollywood Taxes: A Tycoon in TV Land

Chapter 15 – Encounters All Around

"Alright, I've warned you. Someone's watching you, so you'd better keep a low profile for now. I've been tied up with a major drug case and can't keep bailing you out." Ron said bluntly, then looked over with a raised eyebrow. "By the way, were you guys the ones behind the recent truck heists?"

As the car pulled up in front of the small diner where they'd last met, Toretto followed behind Ron and gave a firm, unapologetic nod.

"Yeah, that was us. We do the hits, then hand the goods off to that Korean crew to sell—same guys you saw today. I was planning on two more jobs, then I'm done."

"That's your call." Ron shrugged indifferently. "But next time, don't bring along unfamiliar faces. You know how the FBI works—they plant someone in your crew, gather solid evidence, and then swoop in when you least expect it."

He patted his stomach. "Anyway, I've wasted enough time with you tonight. I'm starving. I'm going to grab a bite. See you around, Dom."

With that, Ron strode into the diner. It was just a short walk from Toretto's house—probably why they'd chosen it as a meeting spot before. Dom could easily walk home from here.

It was close to 1 a.m., and the diner was mostly deserted. The only customers were a well-built, handsome white guy at the counter—who looked like he thought he was in a cologne commercial—and a familiar black-haired, busty waitress, who had made quite the impression on Ron the last time.

At first glance, it looked like harmless flirting. But Ron quickly noticed it wasn't mutual.

"Hey, you're getting in my way," the waitress said, her tone sharp. "I spilled water all over the floor thanks to you. Now move—I need to grab a rag."

But the musclehead didn't move. Instead, he cornered her against the bar like he was reenacting a cheesy K-drama wall slam. Then, without shame, he pulled up his shirt to reveal a chiseled six-pack and that classic V-line.

"No problem," he said with a grin. "Let me handle it." He squatted down and half-heartedly wiped the floor with his shirt, then stood up—shirtless—practically pressing against her.

"Hey, I'm Robbie."

"Hi. And I'm going blind the longer I look at you," came an icy reply—not from the waitress.

Ron stepped in with a cold look, instantly breaking the awkward tension. The waitress—Max—snapped out of her daze and visibly relaxed.

"Tell me something," Ron said coolly, "Is this place closed, or can I still get something to eat—preferably food that hasn't been manhandled by that greasy clown?"

He jabbed a thumb toward Robbie. "Yeah, I mean you. Listen, buddy—unless you work here or want real trouble, I suggest you disappear."

As he spoke, Ron casually slipped one hand inside his jacket while the other patted something on his waistband—something that looked suspiciously like a gun.

Robbie's face turned pale. He didn't even stick around to talk tough. One look was enough—he bolted like a cartoon character.

This wasn't Beverly Hills. This was the part of L.A. where cracked-out weirdos roamed the streets at night. No girl was worth dying over.

Once he was gone, Ron lifted his shirt. No gun—just his hand, shaped into a gun gesture.

He aimed it at Robbie's fleeing back and mouthed,

"Bang!"

The waitress burst out laughing.

--

The waitress burst into laughter, her smile dazzling. Ron turned to her with a smirk.

"So… do you guys still serve food? As compensation for accidentally scaring off your customer, I'm willing to tip double. Fair trade?"

"Well, the kitchen's already closed, but we're technically still open." She leaned in with a teasing glint in her eye. "Lucky for you, you're cute enough that I might cook something myself. Or, if you're really starving, you can try one of these house-made cupcakes. I baked them myself."

She walked around the bar with a menu in hand, hips swaying just enough to be noticed.

"Anything's fine—I'm hungry enough to eat a whole cow." Ron looked down and caught her name tag. "Thanks, Max. Just one thing—I need to leave here full."

Max cocked a brow. "Sure you didn't just use that as an excuse to sneak a peek at the girls?" she asked, folding her arms playfully under her chest. "But I'll let it slide. Call it your reward for getting rid of that creep. So, have you had enough of looking yet?"

Ron grinned dramatically.

"Not even close. I don't think I'll ever get enough."

Max giggled and placed a cupcake on the table in front of him.

"Vanilla okay?" she asked, her hair brushing lightly against his cheek as she leaned in. It smelled just as sweet as the cupcake—maybe sweeter.

Damn.

Ron could feel the heat rise—this woman was dangerously attractive. Especially for someone who hadn't touched a woman in far too long. He shifted in his seat.

"Okay, tell me—was that intentional? Am I being seduced here?" Ron asked, voice low. He was pretty sure Max was playing this game on purpose.

Wait a second… Max?

He studied her again—those sharp features, the curves, the sass, the cupcakes. And suddenly, it clicked. No wonder she'd seemed so familiar last time—she wasn't just any waitress. She was Max from 2 Broke Girls! And the last waitress, the one with the heather-scented perfume, must've been that unseen Eastern European kitchen girl from the show's pilot episode.

Of course! He hadn't recognized it at first because the show was set in New York, and they were in L.A. now. That threw him off.

"And just so we're clear," Max purred, now leaning in so close her breath tickled his ear, "you got your reward for saving me already. This is your punishment—for ruining a perfectly good chance at some fun."

She practically climbed over the counter, lowering herself until she was whispering in his other ear.

"You know there's an old hunter's rule: if you scare away someone's prey, you've got to offer up your own in exchange. So, handsome…" she drew out the words, lips almost brushing his skin, "are you ready to pay up?"

Ron could now see right down her impossibly deep cleavage.

Wait, this is happening?

Even after all this time in the States, he was still occasionally caught off guard by how bold American women could be. Was the whole harassment thing just a setup? Was Max playing a flirtatious game of cat and mouse the entire time?

If that was the case, tonight's "late-night snack" might come with… sides.

With a roguish grin, Ron slowly unbuttoned the top of his shirt.

"I have no problem paying up. I just hope my… repayment is to your satisfaction."

Max didn't answer with words. She grabbed him by the collar and pulled him into a deep, heated kiss.

---

One Hour Later

Max sat up on the table, flushed and breathless.

"Jesus Christ… you're an animal," she said between gasps. "Like, literally. What's your name, wild man?"

"Ron Lee Cooper," he said with a grin, giving her a gallant kiss on the hand as he helped her down. "At your service. Though now, I think I'm even hungrier than before. You might want to whip something up fast, before I start thinking you look like dessert."

He wrapped his arms around her from behind, whispering against her ear.

"You taste just as good as your cupcakes."

Max chuckled, clearly still not done with the evening.

"Maybe we should change locations. How about… my place?"