Four Weeks Earlier
Niall
“I have no idea why the hell I’m even here,” I grumble, snagging a donut from a breakfast tray as I jerk a chair out near the south end of the massive conference table. Taking a seat, I tug on the tie knotted at the base of my throat. With every person who slaps me on the back and takes their seat, it tightens by the second.
I hate corporate America. I hate meetings. But mostly, I hate the way the woman directly across from me smirks and licks her red painted lips the minute I step foot into the room.
Slumping into the chair next to me, Vince pops open his briefcase and yawns for the third time since we’ve walked through the door. “Stop being such an ungrateful prick, Niall. Look around, you’re the only photographer in this meeting. This could be big for your career. Besides,” he adds with a smirk as he reaches for the tray and holds up a massive pastry. “Free eats!”
Taking a bite of my donut, I shake my head and wonder how a guy like Vince, whose idea of getting ahead meant literally getting head—with some chick on her knees going to town on his cock—managed to climb the corporate ladder at Tate & Cane and not get slapped with a sexual harassment lawsuit.
“You know, there’s more to life than food and sex.”
“Sure there is.” Inhaling half of a pastry, Vince waves a hand, effectively dismissing me. “I like a good nap in between a good fuck and a good meal.”
I level a stare at him, and against my better judgment, push the issue. “The Ravenhill Gala Planning Committee has been in the works for months.” I cast a quick glance around the table, taking in the faces of Tate & Cane’s middle and upper management executives, along with their dutiful note-taking secretaries and appointed figurehead board members. “Everyone here has been in on this project from the get-go. Even your slack arse has made an appearance when you weren’t hungover or balls deep in some intern.”
“Damn, that’s harsh, Niall.” Vince manages to look offended for a full five seconds. “True, but harsh nonetheless. Besides, I told you, at the last meeting, Gloria volunteered your Lucky Charms-eatin’ ass to photograph the whole event.”
“Seriously? Do you hear yourself? That’s so politically incorrect, I don’t even know where to begin.”
He licks the icing off his lower lip and raises his coffee mug in the air. “Aye, she wants your shamrocks, man. She thinks they’re magically delicious.”
“Why do I hang out with you?”
“Because without me, you’d spend your weekends painting nails and playing pin the tail on the donkey…and I don’t mean the naked kind either.”
I roll my eyes and make the mistake of glancing across the table as Gloria stares hard at me and enthusiastically licks the rim of her coffee mug for the second time in ten minutes. I have no idea what in the hell the woman hopes to accomplish. The move does nothing to entice me. In fact, with every swipe of her tongue, the coffee and donut I just scarfed down threaten to reappear all over the polished mahogany conference table.
With a low chuckle, Vince lowers his chin and makes the most disgusting sounding kissing sounds I’ve ever had the misfortune of hearing.
“Shut your feckin’ cakehole before I knock you arse over tit,” I mutter under my breath.
Lifting his own coffee mug to his mouth, he fights a smile. “I’m just saying, man, she sucks a hell of a dick.”
“You’ve fucked her?” I blink at him for a moment, while out of the corner of my eye I catch Gloria making another pass of the rim with her tongue.
Vince takes a sip, setting down his cup, and grins that damn movie star toothy grin that makes women fall helplessly at his feet. “Dude, most men at this table, and probably a few women, have slept with Gloria.” Tilting his chin, he points them out, obviously not giving a fuck who notices. “Bob, Frank, Todd…”
My mouth drops open and I pin him with a blank stare, because honestly, I have no bleedin’ idea where the hell to go with that. “Christ…Todd? Are you kidding me?”
Silence rings out across the table as all eyes turn toward Vince and me.
Feckin’ hell. Okay, I didn’t mean to say it that loud, but seriously, Todd? What’s he thinking? Todd Reynolds is a family man. He has the life every man dreams of…a beautiful wife, two point five kids who get straight As and go to the perfect school, a house in the suburbs with a fence, and all that shite. Why the hell would he risk it all to screw Gloria?
As if reading my mind, a low laugh rumbles in Vince’s chest and he shakes his head at me. “Niall, don’t be so sanctimonious. How do you think I got promoted to project manager? Hell, half the men in this room are here because Gloria’s polished their knob.” Eyeing me curiously, he fights a smirk. “Besides, you know she’s going to try to collect sooner or later on getting Sophie into Ravenhill. Might as well man up and take one for the team.”
And there’s the reminder of the day I sold my soul to the devil. Or in this case, the bitch of the Tate & Cane board room. I wrote a contract in my own blood just to secure my daughter’s future. One innocent inquiry about my kid’s schooling ended up with me in debt to the black widow and no amount of financial reimbursement would get me out of it. Nope, that woman wants to take it out in trade on her knees or her back.
Free tip for clueless parents: make sure to plan for your kid’s future at conception. As a single dad in New York City, no one told me that getting your kid into the right school started at birth.
Seriously, am I the only person on Earth who had no clue this was a thing?
Well, apparently, in America it is. Only this shite begins with ensuring a kid is signed up for the right Mommy and Me class, which leads to the right daycare, which progresses to the right preschool, which feeds into the kindergarten that farts rainbows and unicorns. I’m an Irish buck. When I moved to America and had a kid, no one told me that everything I did from day one fecked said kid up for the rest of their life.
Vince kicks my chair as Mr. Navarro, the marketing director, stands and clears his throat. I struggle to pay attention and act like sitting in a business meeting and listening to a bunch of middle-aged men congratulate themselves on their worth is the best thing I’ve done all week. All I really want is to get outside and shed this damn suit. While I work for Tate & Cane Enterprises as a photographer, and don’t get me wrong, I’m damn good at what I do, immersing myself in the culture of New York City is what I love. Being outside, experiencing life, and capturing nature as it happens, centers me.
This? This is what my mother used to call an opportunity for growth. I just call it shite that pays the bills.
