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“At night, I lie awake thinking about how much happier my life will be once I fire you.”
My sister dramatically throws her head back and emits a heavy sigh. “You’re twenty-nine years old, Cassius. You can admit to having a crush on a girl.”
Sylvester from accounting pokes his head into my office, purple satin shirt gleaming and green polka dot tie swinging. He props a hip against the doorjamb and folds his arms across his chest. “Ooh! What’d I miss? Cash’s off to do that whole arranged marriage thing? So fricking hot.” He fans his cheeks and wiggles his narrow shoulders.
I telepathically shoot eye-daggers at his face.
He clams up and skitters off down the hallway.
Nicky titters under her breath. I snarl and narrow my eyes at her.
“Sorry,” she mumbles.
She’s not sorry.
Grabbing my dry cleaning and the balloons, I head for the door. On the way to the elevator, I nearly run head on into my father who’s wandering out of the executive break room, dairy-loaded bagel in hand.
“Daddy, lay off the cream cheese, would you?” Nicky chides in a low voice. “Remember what the doctor said.”
He looks like he might argue but we all know he’s mush in Nicky’s hands. Dad may be a hardass with my brothers and me, but my sister can get him to do practically anything she wants.
“Can’t catch a break around this place,” the old man grouses. He takes one big bite out of his afternoon treat and dumps the rest into the recycling bin under someone’s desk. He turns a grave expression toward me. “So the Blanchet Trust negotiations fell through this afternoon?”
“Yep.” Avoiding eye contact, I stab the elevator button.
I can feel him staring at the side of my head. “Well, that’s a shame…” he says carefully.
Nonchalant as fuck, I shrug. “You win some, you lose some.”
The elevator arrives and thankfully, it’s empty. But if I thought I’d get rid of my meddling family members so easily, I was wrong. My father and sister climb onto the lift right along with me and my three thousand helium-filled balloons.
“I reviewed the terms the company proposed,” Dad says, craning his neck around the balloons to catch my eyes. “We could have made a few concessions. At least, for the sake of closing the deal.”
I turn and stare at the elevator panel. I prod the ‘ground floor’ button half a dozen times. Can this thing move any slower?
“Those penny-pinching assholes were trying to undervalue us, trying to cut down our portfolio management fees. I won’t stand for it,” I snarl. “I’m confident that we can quadruple their money in the next eighteen months. But I won’t put in all that work for free. They have to make it worth my while.”
I scowl at him. He scowls at me.
“Maybe you could have taken them out for drinks?” Nicky intervenes oh-so-helpfully, trying to play peacemaker. “You might have gotten them to loosen up a bit, y’know, in a more social setting.”
My voice goes even rougher as my annoyance continues to rise. “Our company’s reputation speaks for itself. I don’t have time to pander to time-wasters who aren’t serious about what they want. I don’t have to kiss anyone’s ass.”
I set up a firm, un-fuck-with-able boundary long ago—whoever has the nerve to demand even a moment of my precious time had better make it worth my while. I’m a busy man and there aren’t enough hours in the day for bullshit.
“Jeez. Don’t bite my head off.” Nicky throws her palms up in surrender. “It was just a suggestion. Since the whole stubborn-grumpy-asshole vibe doesn’t seem to be getting you anywhere.” She turns to our father. “What’s that Grammy always says about catching flies with honey instead of vinegar?”
Dad’s face goes red and daggers of frustration shoot from his eyes. “You know how your brother is,” he says to Nicky like I’m not standing right here. “Set in his ways. You can’t convince him of anything.” He stomps a foot.
Lately, my father and I have been arguing a lot. Mainly about strategies for growing the company. We hardly ever see eye to eye on the topic.
I should be in charge. He should be retired by now.
I square my shoulders, ready to go to war with him—as usual—but the hostility in the elevator dissipates when he sways a little on his feet. A slight frown ripples across his forehead. He lowers his face and pinches the bridge of his nose.
Nicky and I exchange a look. I open my mouth to say something, to tell Dad that he can’t keep getting himself worked up this way. And beyond that, it’s damn time for him to slow down. But my sister subtly shakes her head, reminding me that now isn’t the time to get into it.
The elevator arrives on the ground floor. I wrestle my balloons out the door and try to hurry off with a quick goodbye, but my dad hustles on right alongside me, beating away the balloons that smack him in the forehead.
