by Carlos Dash
“Yes. He said he wanted to talk to you about something.”
I’m not afraid. Not for a moment. I have nothing to be afraid of. Short of sleeping with the boss’s wife, sister, or daughter, nothing I do will get me in trouble.
Even though I’ve only been with the company for less than a year, I’ve already made a name for myself. I’m basically like one of the bad guys from a cheesy action movie: Diplomatic immunity regardless of what crime I commit.
So why does the head of the company want to speak with me? We’ve talked here and there, usually on the phone, but he’s never sent a formal message before.
“Did he say what exactly he wanted to talk to me about?”
“No. He just said he’ll come to your office sometime after lunch.”
He doesn’t ask to see me right away, nor does he want me to come to his office. That doesn’t sound like he has anything serious in mind. My curiosity, however, is piqued.
“What time exactly?”
Teresa waves a wrinkled hand in front of her in a dismissive manner. “Oh, you know how he is. He just said sometime after lunch. Those were his exact words. Nothing more specific.”
“Wonderful,” I say with sarcasm dripping from my voice. “So I’m going to get blindsided.”
“Pretty much.”
The woman sounds so relaxed about it that I can’t help but laugh. I think if an asteroid landed on my head right at this exact moment, she would merely blink once before composing herself and calling a janitor to clean up the mess. No panic whatsoever.
“Alright. Well, what can you do.”
It’s a rhetorical question, but I’m not sure Teresa is aware of that. That’s why I walk into my office before she has a chance to offer a response.
I sigh as I slide into my chair and lean back against the leather material. I feel the armrests before moving the chair forward a few inches. With the press of a button, I bring the computer screen in front of me to life and type in the six-digit mandatory password. That done, I get right to work.
I go about the rest of my day, the meeting with Mr. Reed being pushed to the back of my mind.
Lunch is a very vague term as different people within the building take their lunch at different times. I have no idea when Mr. Reed takes his, but I expect it to be between noon and three o clock. Any later than that would be too unusual.
Maybe he just wants to express his appreciation for all the amazing work I’ve been doing.
Yeah, it has to be something like that.
I can’t be in trouble.
In trouble for what? I haven’t done a damn thing wrong. Not one toe out of line.
I tell myself to just calm down and relax. Whatever has to happen will happen, and there’s no point worrying about it.
Chapter 28
I don’t know if it’s the impending arrival of my boss that does it, but I manage to finish all of my work for the day by 12:14. After that, there isn’t much else to do but wait for things to play out.
Putting my hands behind my back, I let a large amount of time elapse before I sense that I should straighten up.
He’s finally arrived. Jonathan Reed. One of the few people in the world I actually admire. He has his usual easygoing smile on his face. It can disarm even the most guarded person. The man comes to a stop a few feet away from my desk and puts his hands into the pockets of his trousers.
All the other men who work in the building wear suits. We have to. It’s an unspoken rule.
Not Mr. Reed. One of the pluses of being the man in charge is that he can excuse himself from his own dress code, and he’s doing just that.
“Nice shirt,” I comment with a small smile as I look at the casual t-shirt he’s wearing over a pair of khaki shorts. He looks more like a fisherman from Florida than a PR guy from Virginia.
Mr. Reed isn’t ruffled at all. It isn’t in his nature to get offended about such things or take himself too seriously. He just keeps the same look on his face as he sits down in a chair across from me and taps his knuckles on the edge of my desk. “We have to talk.” I lace the fingers of my hands together as I wait for him to explain what exactly he wants to talk about.
“I like to keep an ear out about what’s happening in the office,” the man says, scratching his clean-shaven chin. “And I’ve been hearing some interesting things about you.”
“That’s impossible,” I quickly reply. “I haven’t done anything the least bit controversial. Whatever you’re hearing is probably a lie. I’m sure there are plenty of people around here who are jealous of me. It must drive them crazy that I’ve come out of nowhere and become so successful. I didn’t need family connections like they did.”
Mr. Reed’s goes up to tell me to slow my roll. He looks surprised at how defensive I am, but can you blame me? If you were in my position, wouldn’t you get pissed off about juvenile rumors being spread around about you? It would enrage any man with an ounce of self-respect.
“Relax, Dorian. I’m not here because someone is accusing you of something.”
I take a shallow breath of air and settle my temper. “Really?”
“Yeah. This isn’t about what you’ve done. This is about what you haven’t done.”
“If you’re implying that I’ve been skirting my responsibilities, I have to say that’s—”
“Easy. Easy.” Mr. Reed chuckles like a father being amused by a small child. “You’re too confrontational for your own good, kid. It’s not about your work ethic, which is excellent.”
“Then what’s the issue?”
“The issue is that you haven’t made any sort of effort to get to know anyone. Or at least that’s what people are saying.”
“People? What people?”
“Oh, you know. People here and there. Your colleagues inside this building.”
That comment does nothing to decrease my irritation.
“I didn’t know that being friendly was part of my job description. I’ve never been much of a people person.”
“Well, you can’t go through life that way. Once in a while, you have to make some sort of effort to bring others into your existence.”
No thanks, I say inwardly. My philosophy is that if you don’t let anyone in, you won’t feel any pain when they leave.
Better to be safe than sorry.
“With all due respect, sir, I’m not getting paid to be anyone’s buddy.”
Mr. Reed scoffs with a grin and shakes his head. “You’re not going to make this any easier for me, are you?” I just shrug in response. “Okay then. Let me explain the situation to you. I like to run this company my way, with everyone being friends. Or as close to friends as you’re all capable of being. That’s why I like to keep things on a first name basis, so no more of this ‘sir’ crap. Mr. Reed won’t do either. I’m calling you Dorian, so I want you to call me Jonathan.”
Could have been worse. He could have asked me to call him Johnny.
“And with you,” the man continues, abruptly getting up from the chair and pacing around in front of me, “I see an intelligent man with a bright future ahead of him, but he just seems so damn antisocial. He acts like the mere thought of having friends and loved ones disgusts him. A lot of potential clients aren’t going to want to be represented by someone like that.”
“Disgust isn’t the right word.” Frighten would be more accurate. I can’t afford to let anyone in. With attachment, things like jealousy, sadness, and anger can make an appearance. I figure that the further I stay away from everyone else, the better off I’ll be.
“I think you’re lonely, Dorian.”
“I’m not. Honestly I’m not. I like my life the way it is. Not everyone is meant to do the whole social butterfly routine.”
“It’s not a routine. It’s life. If you don’t get to know people, how are you ever going to get married and have kids?”
I bite back an angry retort about how my love life is none of his business. He doesn’t seem to know that he’s really steppin
g over a line here. This is a place of business, not a shrink’s office.
“Who says I have to get married and have kids? Maybe I want to be a bachelor my whole life.”
He scoffs again, which makes me feel very young. “A lot of guys say that. Hell, I said it when I was a little younger than you are now. Believe me, that feeling doesn’t last. All it takes is one girl. One girl who stays with you in your head for a while. You find that you have to work really hard to think about anything else.”
I gulp.
No other way to describe it. I gulp like my boss has just read my mind. What he’s describing… it sounds very similar to what Emily has done to me.
Does he know?
No, of course he doesn’t know. How could he? He’s just talking about his own past experiences.
But he’s hitting very close to home.
Chapter 29
“So are you going to play matchmaker for me now, Jonathan?” I say it in a hurry. I’m desperate for anything to propel the conversation forward so that Emily’s face won’t appear in my mind again.
“No, I wouldn’t dream of invading your privacy to that degree.”
Too late.
“But what I will do,” he says quietly, pacing a bit slower now, “is invite you over to my home for dinner this Friday.”
I feel like I’ve been hit over the head with a frying pan. “Dinner? What for?”
“I think it’ll be good for you. You obviously haven’t gotten close to any of your colleagues here, so I’ll take matters into my own hands. I’ll be your friend.” And he tops that off by offering me a wide childlike smile.
It’s all I can do not to laugh at the look on his face.
But what’s all this about me going to his house for dinner… and on a Friday, no less. What if I feel that itch again? The one that demands I go somewhere, seduce a beautiful woman, and spend the night with her. Friday would be the ideal time to meet an attractive member of the opposite sex. Now apparently Friday night is booked, much against my will.
“Who else will be there?”
“Oh, just my wife and my daughter.” A slightly sour look comes on his face. “And my wife’s sister. She’s been visiting for a few weeks now, and there doesn’t seem to be any end in sight.” After a second or two, he goes back to smiling. “But don’t worry. She doesn’t bite… usually.” He laughs at his own joke, and I don’t feel any compulsion to sycophantically join in.
“Do I have any choice in the matter?”
“Nope.” And he says it like he’s informing me that I’ve won the lottery. What a guy.
I run my hands through my hair and try to force a smile to my face. “Right. What time then?”
“Eight o clock. I’ll text you the directions on Friday.” He turns to leave, but hesitates at the threshold to my office. “I’m doing this for your own good. You’re one of the top risers in this place. People can’t be thinking that you’re a serial killer.”
I roll my eyes. “Is that what they’re saying about me, that I’m a serial killer?”
“No one has said it just yet, but your attitude and good looks do have a certain Ted Bundy vibe to them. This dinner party will help you loosen up. It’ll be good for you in the long run. Trust me.”
And with that, he shuts the door behind him and leaves me alone with my troubled thoughts.
A part of me really wants to hate the man for how he has entrapped me into attending the dinner. But I can’t bring myself to do it. That’s because I know he means well. His heart is in the right place. Most bosses won’t give a damn about how “lonely” an employee might look… that includes James Gideon, the co-founder of the firm, who retired last year.
And you know what, I would never admit this to Mr. Reed but deep down it feels good to have someone care about me—not just because of how important I am to that person from a business standpoint, but because that person actually gives a damn about my happiness.
It’s so new to me. So foreign.
I’m not happy about the situation, but I have to make my peace with it. Short of faking an illness, there’s no way out, so what would be the point in throwing a fit?
Besides, it’s probably just going to be a regular dinner party. Come in, meet Mr. Reed’s family, sit down for a meal, answer a few obligatory questions about myself, and then thank everyone for inviting me over and go home.
Simple.
What could possibly go wrong?
Chapter 30
I don’t see my boss again until the Friday of the party. At around four o clock, he does exactly what he said he would—he texts me the address of his home—adding in a smiley face at the end of the message. Man, what a cornball.
Finishing out the rest of the day, I leave for the parking lot at six. Thanks to Friday traffic, it’s six-thirty by the time I get back home. The journey to the Reed residence from my place will take twenty-five minutes… if I get lucky with the lights.
I’m determined not to be late. Fortunately, I’ve never been one of those guys who needs a lot of time to become presentable. No hair products. No gazing at the mirror for extended periods to make sure everything is in order. I just change my clothes, and then I’m ready to go.
I arrive at a gated community ten minutes before eight o clock. The guard asks me for my name, and once I tell it to him, he lights up like a Christmas tree. “Ah, he said you would be coming.” The guard follows this up by telling me how to navigate around the community so that I can easily find my destination. I thank him and shake my head the moment I’m out of his sight.
It seems Mr. Reed is well-liked by everyone. That guard has to be a friend of his. Wouldn’t surprise me if the two of them are on first-name terms.
A few minutes later, I’m parking my car near a driveway that’s dwarfed by the home behind it. A mansion more so than a house. Three stories. I can tell just by the sight of the bricks that the place was built several decades before my own home.
Putting my left hand into the pocket of the jacket I’m wearing, I raise my right one and press the button for the doorbell. I turn my neck a little and look back at my car. It’s the only one in the driveway, so unless the other guests have parked inside of the garage—which could easily fit three cars inside of it—I’m the only person Mr. Reed has invited.
I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing.
On one hand, if I’m the only guest that meant I won’t have to mingle with too many people, just Mr. Reed and his family. On the other hand, without anyone else there, all the attention will be on me. I’ll be the unwilling star of the show.
Come on, Dorian. Just stop worrying about it and try to have a good time.
I hear the sound of someone approaching the door, and moments later, after the locks have been undone, I’m looking at the face of a woman who appears to be in her late forties. She has dark eyes, a bright smile, and brown hair that makes my stomach lurch.
Oh great. Just what I need to see. Another woman with the same template as Emily.
Visions of Emily’s face comes flooding back to me. I wrestle them into the darkness.
“You must be Dorian,” the woman says in a cheerful voice. “I’m Sarah. I’m sure you’ve heard all about me from my husband.”
Not at all.
Being tactful isn’t a quality that everyone has, but I’ve thankfully never lacked it. “Yes, ma’am. He’s been raving about your cooking all week.”
Mrs. Reed looks like someone has just told her that she resembles a supermodel.
“Really? Well, I hope I don’t disappoint you then.”
“I’m sure you won’t, ma’am.”
I’m not sure about that at all. It depends on what she has prepared. I’ve never been very fond of exotic dishes. Give me a good old-fashioned cheeseburger any day.
“Come in,” the woman says as she gently ushered me through the threshold. “Go into the living room. They’re waiting for you.”
I fight the urge to groan. “They? How many people
exactly?”
Mrs. Reed just waves my question aside as if she thinks it’s a rhetorical inquiry.
I run a hand through my hair and progress further into the home. It’s a nice place, but not somewhere you would expect a millionaire to spend his nights. And in that regard, I suppose it’s perfect for Jonathan Reed. He isn’t a penthouse suite sort of guy. His idea of being rich is having a loving family.
The mere idea of such values makes me feel a little sick to my stomach.
I pass by two picture frames that are right next to each other. They each show younger versions of Mr. and Mrs. Reed posing with a child. A girl. She’s inherited her mother’s coffee-colored eyes and brown locks and is smiling widely, like she doesn’t have a care in the world.
How nice it must be to grow up in an environment like that. Loving parents who are more than capable of taking care of you. Parents who you know will be there for you. Parents who you don’t have to worry about dying in the middle of the night.
What a life.
I turn a corner, passing by a wall that has additional pictures on it. I don’t bother to look at them. I just keep my feet moving, apprehension filling me at the thought of meeting Mr. Reed’s daughter.
Having to look at more pretty women with brown hair is the last thing I need. I don’t want anything to further remind me of Emily.
I brace myself and step into what has to be the living room. Sitting on a couch are two people.
What a relief. No crowd of strangers. Just two people… and one of those two people is Mr. Reed himself. He’s with a female who’s also a brunette, but unlike Mrs. Reed, this woman has clearly dyed her hair a few too many times. There’s a burnt and damaged quality about it, but she’s put on enough product for it to look presentable.
Mr. Reed smiles and laughs at nothing. Maybe seeing me for the first time outside of the office is too much for him to handle.
“Look who it is,” he says, getting up from the couch and walking over to me. He claps me on the back and gives me a critical onceover, taking in what I’m wearing like he’s a fashion expert. “Nice jacket. You look like you’re in a motorcycle movie from the fifties. The ‘rebel without a cause’ look.”
