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Public disclosures show he takes home far less salary than he could, even if it’s still a staggering amount. He has no golden parachute waiting on the other side in offshore accounts and vaporware companies.
By every measure, he pays his people well, triples their 401(k) contributions, and Foster Holdings’ charitable contributions are legendary.
It’s just kept weirdly quiet, without any big fanfare.
Just like charity work shouldbe, honestly, and that’s what bothers me.
Why isn’t he like the others?
Why isn’t the good he does an enormous dick-waving symbol of pride?
I hate to admit it, but I’m as impressed as I am suspicious.
Though the people here seem to want to do honest good without looking for praise and quick leaps up the career ladder.
Of course, the smears from Vanessa Dumas could be true.
I’m not stupid.
There’s a distinct chance he’s a sharp businessman and perfectly generous, but he’s also a womanizing asshole. Maybe that’s why he likes to be so secretive.
But if the rumors are only that, and this actress is blowing everything out of proportion for attention, what does that mean?
Is Shepherd Foster just a workaholic freak who wants to be left alone?
I’m still wrestling with the possibilities as I work until Carol taps her fingers against the door and pokes her head in.
“Hey!” she says. “How’s it going with the big proposal?”
Mark looks up with a scowl, which is weird for him.
“Good,” I lie. “Just fine-tuning the layout now.”
“Nervous?” She gives me a sympathetic smile.
I hesitate. “A little. It’s a quick turnaround. There’s more I’d want to do if I had the time...”
“Don’t overthink it! This isn’t grad school and those suits grade on ideas, not fancy words.”
Oof, yeah.
That’s what worries me.
“The idea part is fine. Mostly. I just wish I had a little more practical experience to point to with something this new.”
“You could always speak to Mr. Foster about it,” she suggests. “I’m surprised he didn’t give you more time. Two to three weeks is standard for a normal internal development proposal, and this is pretty close to that. It’s not usually so tight.”
No, of course.
Because Mr. Foster is a dark prince of all pricks who enjoys making me miserable.
“I bet he’ll make time to see you if you hit him up,” Mark says hopefully.
“Maybe,” I say.
And by that, I mean he will, because I’m not going to allow him to dodge me until it’s time to wow him like a surly professor waiting for my thesis paper.
I have to sell this idea, and that means talking to him at least one more time before I turn it in.
