See? I’m not a complete asshole. I’m not throwing work in her lap—thereby saving her from a weekend worse than death—then calling it a day and leaving. Not at all. I’ll stay and work as well.
Of course, it’s possible working isn’t one of Amy’s hobbies, but hey, we can’t always do what we want.
Just like I can’t do what I want with Amy.
Chapter Four
Amy
Fuck my life.
No. Fuck my boss.
He has to be high to ask me to redo the projections with more “realistic” assumptions. All of them were already done with the most conservative outlook. He knows this. Hell, everyone at GrantEm knows this!
And yet he isn’t happy.
What does he want? A financial apocalypse scenario?
I glare at the closed door to his office. I can’t believe I ever found him hot.
Slowly, my anger builds to a raging fury. I’m an idiot, and all the fancy degrees I’ve collected haven’t helped me see anything more than skin deep.
Because I still find him hot, dammit! Sometimes when I just let go of everything in my head and stare at him, I can feel myself melting like chocolate on an equatorial beach. And that, more than anything, adds to my irritation and frustration. I should find him hideous. Grotesque.
What’s worse—I can’t complain about working for Emmett to anybody. All my friends who graduated with me at Wharton and went into finance are insanely jealous. “You’re so lucky! I’d give up a kidney to be able to work for Emmett Lasker!” And it’s not just from my MBA pals, but everyone in the field.
So I shouldn’t resent the fact that Emmett just torpedoed another of my romantic plans on the same day he asked me pick out a present for his lady friend. Once in a great while—when the stars from twenty galaxies go into alignment—he lets me go home early enough that I can grab a late dinner with Rick. Emmett’s become more demanding in the last six months. He might be thinking I’m senior enough to rise to higher expectations. Or he’s decided he needs to make me work harder to avoid the regret of hiring me. Or maybe he’s realized his two-year carte blanche is about to expire, so he needs to kick it up a notch.
Regardless, these endless late nights will end. No matter how much Emmett regrets hiring me, the headhunters are going to focus on the fact that in the time I’ve worked for him I’ve overseen two IPOs and numerous ventures that got noticed by the national media. I’m going to get amazing job offers with more pay, more benefits and better hours over the next eight weeks. I’m probably going to have an orgasm right here on the office floor when I throw my resignation in Emmett’s face and keep every last penny of my signing bonus.
For that, I can suck it up for the next two months.
I boot my laptop. As it comes back to life, my eye catches the five circles and a star on my calendar. Please. I need to get the hell out of here. Please let the Blaire Group make me a juicy offer.
Then I finally note the sad little 6MAT by the star. Damn it. Should’ve known the trip wasn’t happening when Rick texted me this morning. Our relationship has been anything but smooth sailing. If I were superstitious, I’d suspect we were cursed.
Just look what happened today. I gave everything to Emmett before lunch, and he waited until now to ask for changes.
Stop being upset. Dig into the various markets and statistics and redo the model. Pull out the pricing projections Emmett asked for. The faster I do it, the sooner I can leave.
I open the Excel file I sent to Emmett. Even now, my projections seem fine. I can’t make my assumptions worse than they are without making them about a crappy case of recession, which I don’t think is coming anytime soon. Indicators don’t support that.
Still…
He sees something I don’t, I tell myself, taking a long, calming breath. He sees something I don’t. If I don’t force myself to believe this, I’m going to bash him over the head with my heavy-duty stapler.
Before I start digging into the spreadsheet, I shoot a quick text to Rick. I feel bad for letting him down because he was super excited this morning, but I have no choice. At least I’m not telling him through a Pulse post comment.
–Me: Something came up at work. I think I’m going to be late. Sorry!
After I hit send, I contemplate the huge model. Rick shouldn’t have to wait for hours when he could be heading to Lake Tahoe and getting the maximum value out of the cabin rental. So I type another text and send it to him, all the while doing my best not to cry over the fact that I’m stuck in the office and will have to make the long-ass drive myself later. This seriously is not how I wanted my Friday evening to unfold.
–Me: Actually, this is going to take a while. Why don’t you send me the address of the cabin? I’ll drive out after I’m done. Thanks!
It takes ten hours or so to drive to Lake Tahoe. Shit. Maybe I should just fly, not for myself, but for the safety of other drivers on the road. I can’t be sure I’ll be able to stay awake.
I put the phone away and begin poring over the market data. Still can’t see how my projections were wrong…