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Chapter Thirteen
Elias
Ilean back in my office chair and fold my hands firmly together in my lap, stare focused on the others in the video conference call. “I’m doing something different.”
“Is…different really best for our profit margins?” Ron Fogelman questions, thick mustache practically shaking in fear of them being potentially threatened.
“I only make deals that are within my best interest.” There’s no stopping the sardonic angling of my head. “My best interest is by proxy your best interest. My growth is in turn your growth. The more money I make for the company, the more money you make. Do I need to continue the elementary explanation or you have my point?”
“Your point is quite clear, Mr. Whittington,” Sherry Moore swiftly announces after tossing a disapproving glare Ron’s direction. “And I too believe that having the fleet of luxury catamarans double as Tahitian yacht villas will double our expansion as well as our revenue. We will be in touch with the marketing team to begin a soft launch by late next summer.”
“Spring.”
Her eyes do their best not to widen in objection.
“Research has shown the ideal times to visit the area are between May and October. I expect full reservations for the season by the end of January.” My index fingers lightly tap together as my patience for this conference continues to dwindle. “The deal included top of the line captains, crews, customized ships, and exclusive catering contracts. Every angle – including a fifteen-step advertising program from pre-launch through the end of the official launch month – was meticulously covered before I put pen to paper and more importantly, before I invited all of you into the conversation.”
Silence from everyone else on the call is expected.
“If the scrutinization regarding my decision making as well as my ability to run this company has concluded, this will be where I leave this call. I have a three o’clock I need to attend.”
The collective consensus to end the meeting has me exiting the group first.
Being conflicted over needing a break from the constant around the clock working and wanting more of it to stop from thinking about the one person I need to let go, yet can’t, has me tugging at the yellow tie that feels like a noose around my neck.
Perhaps I need to commandeer one of those boats.
Spend a few months drinking in the French Polynesian islands.
I’m sure I could find a new doll there.
One I can fuck without making the mistake of falling for.
Sadness and frustration smash together, once more causing me to tug at the uncomfortable article.
I don’t want another doll.
I don’t want another woman.
I just want…
Fuck.
I want what I’ll never have.
The one deal I’ll never be offered.
The tiny tap to my home office door yanks my attention away from misery and over to where it should be.
Staying busy is best.
It doesn’t allow for my thoughts to do what they just were.
“You may enter,” I call out at the same time I turn to face completely forward.
Dietrich opens the door and politely announces, “Your three o’clock has arrived, sir.”
“Show them in.”
