What a garbage human being. He reminds me of my dad—without the money and drive.
“And when the time is right, I’m going to surprise her with something romantic I picked up from a cute booth at a fair. It’s a bit nontraditional, but it has the coolest design. I’ll share a picture of it once I give it her.”
Uh, no. Amy likes diamonds, not some cheap costume jewelry you picked up from a fair.
Given how little he’s spent on this so-called milestone celebration, I’m sure he waited until the last minute of the fair and bought whatever was half off in the seller’s desperate attempt to offload unsold inventory.
“Share how you’re romancing your girl with #rickonromance so I can be sure to check out how you’re doing!” he says cheerily.
I close Pulse and check the time again. Five thirty-four. Amy’s probably ready to head out. To Lake Fucking Tahoe. That bit about “6MAT” on her calendar didn’t fool me for a second. Five circles and a star. Pssh. Like an outing to Tahoe is some big deal.
I have no idea what bullshit Rick fed her to get her excited about the trip, but when a guy says “rustic cabin” with that insincere aw-shucks-I’m-just-an-everyday-guy-romancing-a-cute-girl smile, he means a primitive shithole without electricity, running water or room service. A quarter step above a cave, possum-pelt rug upgrade optional.
If I were to take Amy on a six-month anniversary, I’d spring for an overwater bungalow in French Polynesia with a glass floor so we could see all the sea creatures swimming in the crystal-clear water underneath our feet. A place so exclusive and secluded we’d need to charter a yacht to get there and a full staff to cater to our every whim.
After all, Amy is a sparkly diamond kind of girl. She shouldn’t have to settle.
Maybe she knows that deep inside, which is why she lied to me so shamefully about what the circles and star meant. I’m not sure about the 6MAT she added today, but it has nothing to do with making me her priority.
I look at the Excel projections on one of the new business ideas we’re funding. Amy sent them this morning before heading out to a long lunch, undoubtedly to pick up last-minute stuff for her trip. She probably doesn’t think I noticed, but I notice everything about her.
Her work is good. Only needs a few minor adjustments. But I’ll be damned if she goes to some Tahoe cave this weekend.
Besides, it’s good training for her to do some negative projections and rebuild the entire model. I’ve done that many times, just for fun.
Five thirty-seven.
I get up and head out. Some of the staff are ready to call it a day; some are still working away on their laptops. At GrantEm, Friday doesn’t always mean you get the next two days off. But that’s why we pay top dollar. You can’t expect people to work the hours we demand and not compensate them properly.
Amy’s desk isn’t far from my office. From where I stand, I can see her well. Intelligent baby-blue eyes framed by thick, dark lashes. High cheekbones that would make most models shriek with envy. A slightly pointed, pixie-like chin. A wide and soft mouth that reminds me of Japanese camellia blossoms in full bloom. Her golden hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail, making her look like a kid fresh out of college. A pale cream top and charcoal-gray skirt fit her slim body well, showcasing the swell of her breasts and long, pretty legs. She’s lost some weight since she joined GrantEm, which is a shame, because she didn’t need to.
But I’ve seen what Rick’s been feeding her on the few dates they were able to sneak in despite my best efforts to save her. I’d lose weight too if I had to eat what passes for food in Rick’s world.
As I study her, need clutches my gut, hot and brutal. It’s grown more intense over the past several months. But I shove it aside, put on my most charming boss smile and go over.
“Amy.”
She looks up at me, all professional and pleasant. “Hi, Emmett. Heading out?”
Her tone says she already knows the answer to that: No, I have work to do.
“No,” I say, refusing to add the rest. I’ve been working more and more since Amy started. No interest in dating, clubbing or going out. No interest in devoting more hours to working out, playing tennis or scuba diving. That leaves me with work as the only activity left to fill my free time. It’s a good thing I enjoy working.
“Then…?” Wariness creeps into her gaze.
She has nothing to worry about. I’m saving her from a weekend in Hell Rustica. “I reviewed the projections you sent me. I think they’re too optimistic, given the industry and some of the market indicators, which you should l
ook up and incorporate into the model you’ve created. So. Can you adjust it, using more realistic scenarios?”
“Sure.” A properly cooperative tone. “When do you need it?”
“Today. I need to review it to make sure it’s ready for the meeting on Monday. Plus, it’d be great if you could find the pricing projections for the raw material needed for production of water filters, as well as labor costs in Vietnam and Thailand.”
The bottom half of her face remains friendly and professional. The top half? It’s shooting death laser through her furious eyes. If life were a cartoon, there would be a thought bubble over her head with a lot of fuck yous and assholes.
Perversely enough, the notion heats my blood. I’m fucked up. But then, being normal would be a miracle, given my background.
“I know you’ll be able to knock it out the park, no problem.” I beam. “I’ll wait for the updated Excel in my office. I have a few things to go over anyway.”