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“And if I so much as think David or any other man in this office is interested in you, I’ll abuse every ounce of my power to fire their ass straight out of your life.”
I gulped. This was new, and I wished I could say I didn’t like it in the dirtiest possible ways.33DamonThe workday was winding down in slow, painfully drawn out minutes. It was just after four—only three hours until I’d have Chelsea to myself off company property—and I was leaned back in my office.
Chris was sitting across from me with a thoughtful look on his face. “You know, at first, I thought you were constipated. You’ve got this kind of pent up, frustrated look on your face. Then I saw Chelsea walk by just now. You perked up like a fucking dog at the sound of popping bacon.” He smiled broadly. “Is my brother happy? Is he actually happy?”
I shook my head. “Happiness is an illusion. It’s the pointless moment after you reach a goal and before you set the next. Spending your life chasing happiness would be as productive as spending your life trying to ejaculate.”
Chris looked up at the ceiling, trying to process everything I’d just said. “Hm. Have you ever considered therapy?”
“I don’t want to listen to people’s problems. So, no.”
He snorted. “No, I don’t mean have you considered administering therapy to people. I mean, have you considered getting help. Because your brain is fucked up.”
“If what I am is fucked up and what you are is normal, then I’m perfectly content.”
“One of us has fun. The other sits in his office trying to reason with himself about why trying to be happy is pointless. Hmm. I wonder who has things more figured out.”
I sighed. I never really confided in Chris. He came to me with his problems and I fixed them. It wasn’t the other way around, even though I could tell he was trying to get me to open up and talk.
“Is there a reason you’re in my office?” I asked.
“Yep.” He was dressed in some kind of ridiculous tracksuit and a sleeveless shirt. I could at least appreciate that he was wearing gear from our biggest sponsor. They always liked it when the paparazzi got shots of our athletes in their gear. Free advertising.
“Hey!” Chris leaned in, snapping his fingers. “You’re drifting on me. I can tell you’re thinking about kicking puppies or doing your taxes or some shit. Focus.”
“I am perfectly focused.” Except Chelsea walked by again outside my door. Jane was leading her around, and Chelsea was trying to carry a giant stack of papers Jane appeared to have given her. Chelsea tried to scratch her nose with her elbow but dropped everything she was carrying. I saw her soundlessly apologizing, then laughing a little manically, then cleaning up with a sober expression while Jane glared down at her.
“Okay, now you’re smiling,” Chris said. He followed my eyes out the window of my office and clapped his hands, jabbing his finger at Chelsea. “Exactly! I fucking knew it. You’re sticking your dick in that, and your dumbass doesn’t understand the emotions it’s causing you to feel.”
“What? I was laughing because she did something stupid. I enjoy when people do stupid things and I get to watch.”
“Yeah? Then maybe the secret to happiness would be locking you in a room full of mirrors.”
Despite myself, I chuckled. Chris grinned back at me.
“See?” he said. “There’s some human in there. It just takes a lot of fishing. Now, let me explain something to you about relationships. And no, you don’t know shit about them. All you’ve ever done is find warm holes, and once or twice you brought the warm hole home from the store and rented it.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“I know, you’re a freak. But the point is that you actually like this one. I’m sure her pussy is great, but I think you like her. So if you want to make things work, you’ve got to stop being such a depressing grump. Smile a little. Make some jokes. Make her feel comfortable and wanted.”
“This is your advice?”
Chris nodded. “Also go down on her. Don’t be selfish in bed. Women love that shit.”
I let out a long sigh. “Remind me why my brother—the same brother who moves through new women every week—is remotely qualified to give me relationship advice?”
“Because I don’t just sleep with the women I’m with. Each relationship is a little, self-contained explosion of perfection. I wine them. I dine them. We bond. I get to know them, and they get to know me. I’m just addicted to the first part.” He shrugged. “Things get boring after that.”
“It still sounds like you’re the worst person to give me advice.” I trailed off as I was speaking. I saw David approach where Chelsea was picking up papers. His eyes were clearly on her ass as she bent down on her knees to scoop up the last few pages. He straightened his tie and took a step toward her.
