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“Yes, the client did too. I filled out a help-desk ticket and got confirmation that my request was received. So, the next day, my profile is up and running. However, my next twenty-one weeks are booked. By a completely different client. Dates I never agreed to accept.”
“Wow.”
Wow? That’s all that he can say? Doesn’t this border on criminal insanity? A different version of OCD: Obsessive Control Disorder? “Boat loads of money are now reserved in my account. The client is buying every night for the next twenty-one weeks, and I have plans on some of those nights. Some were even marked as unavailable on the calendar. Well, apparently he does not care. He is keeping me monopolized away from any other suitors. I never had a chance to accept or reject.”
He scratches his chin and eases back into his chair. “I see. Continue. Get it all out in the open. You will feel better,” he persuades, oozing of laid-back power.
I lean back in the chair, crossing my feet at the ankles. “So, I did the math.” I snicker inwardly at how frustrating it was for me to play with so many numbers at once. I nearly had to call in the cavalry for help with the crunch, before hives harvested on my skin. I pull my phone out of my bag and find the notes section where I recorded the numbers. “Twenty-one weeks times seven days a week brings it to a total of one hundred forty-seven days. The client reserved four hours each night. So, a total of five hundred eighty-eight hours. The lump sum before agency cuts is two hundred fifty thousand dollars. That’s a quarter of a million!” I pause a moment and wait for some sort of expression to form on Dominic’s face. I get nothing. Not a gesture, a gasp, nor a groan. Nothing. He remains stone-faced. Now it’s my turn to react in surprise. “It works out to be four hundred twenty-five dollars and seventeen cents per hour!”
“Nice.”
What the hell? “I beg your pardon? ‘Nice’?”
“Sorry,” he grumbles, playing with his gold ring. “Well, after the agency cut with escrow and all, you would have significantly less.”
“Dominic, this man is clinically crazy. I do not care what his background check and medical records claim. I know. I can tell. He’s lost his damn mind.” And I am starting to lose mine for fantasizing about him every chance I get.
“Did you talk to the client? Discuss matters?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“He is an unbudging prick!”
“Would you like to have a formal meeting with…” He taps three fingers against his jaw line. “What did you say his name was?”
I didn’t yet. “Graham Hoffman.”
“Ah, yes, Mr. Hoffman.” There is no surprise in his expression—a complete poker face.
“What all do you know about him that you are allowed to share? Is my life in danger? Should I upgrade my ten-buck tube of pepper spray?”
He stifles a laugh. “I don’t think that will be necessary.” At the beginning of the conversation he was on board for arresting the man himself. But now… Why is he not taking this more seriously? Is it because Graham’s jewelry business has connections with the agency? Is it because they are friends and not just acquaintances?
“Oh, and am I allowed to refuse these dates that he has hijacked? Do I even get a choice in the matter?”
“All of these questions can be answered at the mediation that I’ll set up. I will make sure the head of HR is present. I can have you use the company lawyer as well. Unless you have someone else in mind to represent you.” When my expression screams of course not, he continues. “I’ll have an associate contact you. But, Angie, I assure you, Graham—although eccentric in his measures of communication—will not hurt you. If he does, I’ll personally kill that fucker.”
I jerk back in my seat at the expletive. “Thank you, Dominic. But aren’t you two business associates? I saw you two—”
“You questioning where my loyalty lies?” he asks with fierce eyes.
Whoa. He’s mad. My bones rattle my insides, shaking ice through my veins. I gulp in an unladylike manner, utterly thrown off guard. I straighten in the seat, halt my fidgeting fingers with the hem of my shirt, and put the finishing touches on my strengthening composure. “I know that ultimately, it comes down to the digits. And Graham is bringing the agency some heavy-duty capital. Pissing him off will not be good for business. I get that.” So why give a hoot about me?
“On the contrary, Miss McFee, you have it wrong. Pissing you off would not be good for business. Do you have the slightest inclination as to how much power you hold among all these men vying for your attention?”
I shake my head slowly, even though I am sure the question was rhetorical.
“I’ll put forth the protocol set in place for such things, but with all due respect, Miss McFee, you simply have an admirer at your disposal. A very lucrative, unrelenting, and possessive one at that. Somehow I doubt this meeting that I’ll set up will provide you with the outcome you are expecting. And I wouldn’t be a good boss if I didn’t warn you that Graham sees you as a challenge. As with most powerful men, he doesn’t like to lose. Thus, he’ll fight and fight dirty. We can only try to predict his moves before he makes them.”
“I’m not a prize. And I am not for sa—” I choke on my words. Shame warms my face at the realization. I am for sale. I can’t bring myself to look at Dominic. My head sways in the downward position, hair falling around my cheeks in desperation to hide from reality.
“Angie. You can’t possibly see yourself that way. You are not doing anything wrong. Let’s work this out together. Find a happy medium. This all can be resolved.”
I shrug, unable to make my eyes meet his waiting gaze.
“We can go to HR today and set up a meeting that works with your schedule. I’ll personally make sure that Graham can attend. Graham and I are friends, Angie, but I’m on your side. Before we go, please at least drink some water and calm down a bit. You are visibly stressed.”
