She could get creative, ask the clients for a summary of what they wanted, and another internal attendee to give her their notes.
But Debbie didn’t need ideas from me. The woman was able to get me out of dinners with my parents and my brother on a monthly basis without my having to ask.
Not that I avoid them often, just when it interfered with work. And anything that wasn’t work, was an interference.
My mother meant well but getting her to understand that my job didn’t end at five o’clock was trying.
At some point on Sunday, I stopped answering my brother’s calls when he started begging me to play one more for him. Just one more to prove he was back and that last week’s game, where “Troy” Hartman helped bring it home for the team, wasn’t just pure luck.
The man was hurting, I got that. But I wasn’t his therapist. I wasn’t his backup plan when shit went wrong in his life.
I sat at my desk, running my hands through my hair and resting my head in my hands. Images of Harper in pain back on Prom night when she pushed me away and ran out the door, seeing my brother in a compromised position.
“Why couldn’t I have covered for you then?” I murmured.
Troy kept me from going after her that night. “The Hartman boys don’t chase, August,” he’d snapped.
I turned back and shot back, “Last I checked, we didn’t get blow jobs on school grounds either, but that didn’t stop you.”
I had raced out to try and find her and ignored his call to “Let her go.”
I wouldn’t have if I were him.
Never.
But she was gone. She couldn’t have gone far, so I figured she was hiding until her ride came. Tear streaked and alone.
I was no better for her than my twin. I didn’t just make her cry, Iscaredher. All because I was too much in my own head.
My office door opened and Debbie waltzed in, avoiding eye contact. My assistant had a peculiarly special talent for knowing when I was in one of my moods. She’d purposely walk in like everything was fine but wouldn’t look me in the eye. I didn’t blame her. Though she knew better than others, my glare was stronger than my bite.
“Mr. Hartman, some papers here for you to sign when you’ve got a few minutes.” Debbie, with her slender frame, dark rimmed glasses and reserved attitude, placed them on my desk. “Also, Mr. Jones from Rickley’s Capital is here for your four o’clock.”
“He’s seven minutes late. Reschedule.” I rubbed my temples and pulled out my chair to go through the stack she’d laid out for me.
“He’s already been rescheduled twice and—”
“Then maybe he should be here on time,” I snapped.
Debbie’s mouth parted and she blinked away.
My teeth clenched and I rolled my eyes. “I apologize. Please tell him to wait outside while I finish this up.”
“It’s…I’d rather if…well last time he got very upset and…”
“Jesus, just send him in.”
She nodded once and muttered a thank you before rushing out.
I shook my head at myself. That woman needed a raise. I’d been giving her one on nearly a quarterly basis for the past year, since the year before, I’d gone through assistants like paper towels. Debbie was the first one with any competence—and patience.
“August,” Eddie walked in. “You running a business here or just dissing clients.”
“You’re not my client,” I reminded him, signing the first set on the stack.
“I should be. Jason’s not right for my firm. He doesn’t negotiate the way you can. He takes the second deal, if not the first.”
It was true. I lived by a nothing to lose strategy. You believe you don’t need their business and they will too. It’s the only way they put out their best offer. I was the best asset manager in the industry. Squarely due to my ability to show lack of interest.
