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“Those were your employees? They looked like they were former fuckbuddies from the way they were eyeballing you.”
The nostrils on his annoyingly perfect nose flared. “Tell me, Tinkerbell. Why do you think you would be a good fit here at Rose?”
“You tested the fit five years ago and didn’t have any complaints.”
There was a pause, then the hint of a smile. “Funny. So your contribution to my company would be a childish sense of humor? Thanks, but I’ll pass.”
“My contribution would be that I wouldn’t just tell you ‘yes.’” I gestured to a pair of men who walked by with their heads bent and their eyes down as they passed us. It was a guess, but I had a feeling it was one with a fair shot at being dead on. “You’re trying to run a company but everybody who works for you is too busy ducking their heads and avoiding eye contact, right? I’ve already shown you I’ll stare you in the eye and speak my mind. You need someone like me.”
Damon finally took a step back, making me feel like I could breathe again. He planted his hands on his hips, then scratched at the stubble on his chin, sizing me up. “Let me make something clear. I don’t need anyone. Nothing. Least of all someone like you. Look around you. All of this is mine. My fucking empire. But I’d very much enjoy watching you try to survive in my world.” He took a step toward me and tugged at the material of my shirt with his fingertips. “But when you show up for work tomorrow, try to wear something more presentable.”
I thought about presenting him with two middle fingers, or maybe my foot between his legs. Instead, I giddily danced inside because I’d landed the job.
It had taken a bizarre streak of luck and circumstance for it to happen, but it was mine. I may not know what the job was, exactly, or what it paid. All I knew was Damon Rose challenged me once and I failed. This time, it was going to be different.
This time I was going to prove he had underestimated me. And maybe, just maybe, I’d get a chance to find out what kind of man the father of my child really was.5DamonBehind me, huge paneled windows lined my office wall. I had a clear view of the rectangular slice of green Central Park cut through New York City. Buildings like my own shot up around the edges. People I’d never meet hurried from place to place hundreds of feet below.
It made me think about something I’d heard before: imagine how dumb the average person is, then realize that means half of the world is dumber than that. I peeled myself from my thoughts to look at my brother, who might well reside in that lower half.
Chris sat across from me in my office with his fingers templed below his chin, as if he was contemplating some genius level topic in his mind.
“What?” I didn’t bother to hide the irritation I felt. I was trying to figure out a PR scandal one of my basketball players had ignited in the middle of the night, and I wasn’t in the mood to deal with my brother’s shit.
“I’m just trying to figure out who the hell came up with sausages and hot dogs. Like… Who opens up an animal, sees intestines, and says, ‘you know what would be delicious? Let’s grind up this animal and stuff it inside its own intestines!’”
I sighed. “Is there anything else?”
“Yeah. Fish eggs. Like who in their right mind—”
“I’ve got a lot to work on, Chris. Unless there’s something more pressing, it can wait.”
He popped up to his feet and stopped at my door. “There is one thing. Coach might’ve said something about how if I don’t find a way to focus more on the team and less on women, he wasn’t going to renew my contract no matter how many touchdowns I throw this season.” My brother shrugged, as if he hadn’t just casually let me know Rose Athletic Representatives most lucrative athlete might be out of the job soon.
I stared. “He what? That’s ridiculous. Why would he care what you do with women if you’re performing on the field?”
My brother winced a little, then smirked. “There have been a few incidents. I didn’t want to bother you with them since the team decided it was in everyone’s best interest to keep them under wraps.”
“Incidents?”
“You know, you’re busy. We can talk about this later. Gotta jam!” Chris paused at the door. “You ever wonder why the phrase isn’t, ‘gotta jelly?’ Or why a condiment in the first place. Actually, if you were going to go the condiment route, I feel like saying ‘gotta ketchup’ would make the most sense.”
