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Crap. Either the app is broken or the GPS on my phone is malfunctioning.
I turn and walk back to the corner. Maybe the app will still be able to figure out my original location.
Another minute passes, then another.
I decide to call the driver.
The phone rings and rings and he doesn’t pick up.
Double crap.
“Hey!” the guy leaning against the wall calls out, straightens, and pushes away from it. “You need some help?”
I immediately shake my head and take a step back. “No, I’m good, thanks.”
There’s nothing about the guy that necessarily screams that his intentions are malicious, but I’m definitely getting a bad vibe from him.
“You sure?” he grins, and keeps walking towards me. “You look a little lost.”
“I’m not lost,” I correct him. “I’m just waiting on my ride.” I wave my phone at him. “My boyfriend’s almost here.”
“Oh yeah?” He stops and glances both ways up and down the street. “Which way is he coming from?”
I pretend to check my phone again and then point to the left, back towards the club.
“That way,” I bluff, and pray that my driver suddenly, magically shows up.
Three
Bryce
“How’s the merger with SpinToLove.com coming, Bry?” Roger, my business partner, asks over the speakerphone in the car.
“The same as all the other mergers, Roger. Nothing new with this one. They got caught with their hand in the proverbial cookie jar and we’re here to get things on the cheap,” I say with annoyance.
“You know, you’re starting to say that like it’s a bad thing. Are you getting soft of me?” he asks with a laugh.
Turning left at a green light, I can’t help but feel like the last year has been nothing but long drives at night in cities I could care less about. Slowly circling the drain of humanity.
I don’t want to answer him on that question. It’s too close to the truth. Not the exact truth, but close to it.
I’m bored. Bored and tired of never staying in one place longer than three months. Tired of driving through the cities, watching everyone else going on with their lives while I have nothing to call my own. I’m starting to feel whiny, which I detest as much as I detest the thoughts of how bored I’ve become. This was my goal in life, to be a successful business man, to be one feared as much as respected.
I’ve achieved both.
Fear that if you see me walk through your door, your company is as good as mine. And respected by my peers and colleagues as a man who can get things done.
But what do I have to show for the last eight years? A business that is worth more than some smaller country’s GDP. A reputation for turning failing companies around, turning them around after I’ve gutted them from the inside out.
I used to have no qualms about firing more staff than I let stay on in a company. Now? Half the death threats I get a week are more than deserved. I’ve destroyed competition from any rivals. I’ve destroyed dreams and hopes and families.
Family. That’s a useless word. I haven’t had a family since I was sixteen and my father died.
Would I even recognize one if I saw it standing in front of me?
I used to thrive in these conditions. Being on the road, some new city every three months, a new apartment to live in as a ghost. A city to explore at night, different night clubs and nighttime escapades. A different woman for every city I rested in.
That’s been a change, maybe.
I haven’t had a woman in the last year. I don’t really remember why, either. Maybe I was tired of the emotional drain it caused when I left them. Maybe it was how they knew as well as I that we were both just passing ships in the night. Maudlin is a word that would best describe my mood for the last year.
Jaded—that’s the right word. Not maudlin, I’m jaded. Jaded at the world.
“We’ve bought, restructured, and sold how many companies in the last two years?” I ask as I stop at a red light.
“Ten. You know that as well as I do,” Roger answers me slowly.
“Ten companies, ten different cities,” I say.
“Yeah, ten. Look, something’s up with you, Bry. What’s going on?”
Looking at the lights glowing around the city, I keep watching the sidewalks I pass by. People are everywhere. People are out living their lives, enjoying themselves. Not keeping themselves on the road for years at a time. Or working six days a week for up to fourteen hours a day.
I’m working my damn self into an early grave. Just like Dad.
“I need to call you later, Roger. I need to get out of my own head for awhile.”
“Yeah, I can tell. Look, I don’t want to be a dick, but when’s the last time you stuck yours in someone?” he asks and chuckles.
