Chapter 11
Baylor
“I didn’t expect to see you in today, Greene.” I turn away from my Manhattan view to see my boss walking into my office. Robert Goodman, current president of Taylor and Goodman, checks his gold Rolex. “And before two o’clock. No wasting time for you.”
He used to impress me when I was in my twenties, trying to climb my way to the executive floor.
Now, I see how he flaunts his past achievements boldly on his wrist with no effort to do what made him rich.
He just wants us to make him money. Maybe that can be said for the entirety of the corporate world.
“No wasting time,” I reply, moving around my desk and sitting.
“Good trip?”
Images of Lauralee naked under me come to mind.
The way her eyes clenched closed and her mouth opened wide when she came has run through my head a few times since I left.
So has her agreeing for me to go. I know it was the right thing to do, but I’m ready for it to feel like it was.
Because right or wrong, it still feels like a mistake.
I sigh. “Yeah, but it’s good to be back.
” Not a complete lie. Time and distance from what happened this weekend isn’t a bad thing for either of us.
He taps my desk. “How’s the week look?”
“Two new client meetings and four current clients for their yearly updates. I’ll be going over the progress, profits, and projections for the third and fourth quarters.”
“I’m sure you can get a few more appointments scheduled.” Taking a seat in front of me, he leans back and rests his ankle on his other knee. “What are the asset valuations for the new clients, at least?”
For quick reference, I flip a page in my notepad and scan down toward the bottom. “One is valued at seven-hundred and forty-nine million, and the other is at twenty-three million.”
“That sounds like potential.” He grins and glances out the window. “You earned this view.” When he turns back to me, he says, “I want you to start thinking more long-term with the company.”
“I’ve thought long-term since the day I was hired, Bob.”
Slapping his leg, he sits forward. “And that’s why you’re sitting on the thirty-second floor with the executives.
” He stands. “Good work, Baylor.” With a snap of his fingers, he grins.
“The summer company party is at my house in the Hamptons this year over the Fourth of July. We’re doing the big fireworks display and cookout thing.
A room is reserved for you and a guest. I’m hoping someone significant to mingle with my wife and keep her occupied while the boys smoke cigars. ”
When he says “significant,” I get the unsubtle hint. Don’t bring a fling or a one-night thing as my overnight date. The only thing is, I don’t have someone significant in my life .
“Or you can come alone, but we prefer these events to be family-focused if you get my drift.” Other than him just saying he’s trying to pawn his wife off on other guests to distract her from what he’s doing, he can’t be clearer than that.
“Understood.”
“That’s good.”
As he heads for the door, he adds, “And let’s try to be in the office before lunch next time. It looks bad to the other employees to see you coming in late.”
It’s tempting to tell him to fuck off since I left the Pass at three o’clock this morning to make sure I was on the first flight out of Austin, but I like my job and this view quite a bit, so instead, I reply, “Yes, sir.”
He points back at me. “You’re going places, kid.
” When he leaves, I continue staring at the empty doorway, unsure what to think about the interaction.
He’s right. I worked hard to earn this office and every client I serve.
I’ve made my clients millions, and I’m closing in on the one billion mark for career win investments.
But I’m not a kid. That he sees me as a cub among the tigers still trying to earn my stripes is a problem. Eighty-hour weeks isn’t enough? Has donating most of my weekends gone unnoticed? All the overnights before a big pitch pointless?
Why the fuck am I doing all this if I’m not getting noticed?
A head pops around the corner, and my assistant makes his way in. “I waited until the coast was clear,” Mickey says, crossing the office.
“Clear from Bob? He’s generally harmless unless you lose a client’s money or, worse, him.” Though he’s certainly on my shitlist. I leave that tidbit out.
In his mid-twenties and barely out of grad school, Mickey doesn’t need to be burdened with the reality of working in finance. Yet. He’ll learn it on his own soon enough. He sits in the chair that Bob abandoned. “He still insists on calling me Michael because he said Mickey is unprofessional.”
“What does he know? So many greats in history are named Mickey. Mickey Mantle. A power switch hitter, the Baseball Hall of Fame, World Series record holder. Damn, he was even a Triple Crown winner.” Kicking back, I lodge my feet on top of my desk and lean back with my hands behind my head.
“And then there’s Mickey Mouse. Look how his career blew up in a major way.
Can you imagine if he had been called David or Mark the Mouse?
It wouldn’t have worked. Mickey was the only way to go. ”
“Not sure that one’s going to convince him.” He chuckles, then tugs at the knot of his tie to straighten it. “He’s stuck on Michael, but the thing is, my name isn’t Michael. It’s actually Mickey.”
“I can’t say much. I was named after the university my parents attended. Go figure.”
“Good thing they didn’t attend Kalamazoo.”
“Ha!” I drop my feet to the floor and start punching on keys to bring my computer to life. “Good fucking thing. Good weekend?” He shifts as if he’s hesitant to answer. I look at him, recognizing the sly smile he’s trying to hide. “That good, huh?”
“Pretty great.”
I remember those nights. I had more of a life when Tagger lived here. When Beck was with his mom, Tag and I were unstoppable. We didn’t have to work for attention. We just walked in, and it fell at our feet.
Basketball on Thursdays .
Just fucking around the city with too much money to burn for guys in their twenties.
When he had custody of his son, we’d go to games or watch from one of our apartments, order pizza, and teach the little guy all about football, baseball, or whatever was on.
I had a life.
Now, I have work that’s not noticed by anyone. The fun is gone, which means, I need to make some big moves or move on.
Should I live vicariously through him? Probably not, but I need to know someone’s having a good time. “Night out with the guys?”
“It started that way.” He leans forward, resting his arms on his knees. Lowering his voice, he says, “You know how it is.”
“Vaguely,” I reply, grinning because I remember the good ole days a little too well when my best friend and I ran this city. Studying my schedule for the rest of the day, I then turn back to him. “Can you make sure conference room four is available for my three o’clock?”
Glancing down at his phone, he ticks off boxes listed on the screen. “I’ve already reserved it for the Sullivan meeting. I’ve ordered beverages and a tray of snacks just in case anyone’s hungry. It will all be set up before you arrive. Do you want me to have a drink cart brought in?”
“I made them twenty million in the first two quarters of the year. We definitely need the drink cart brought in. How late are you staying tonight?”
“How late do you need me?”
I redirect my attention out the window to mentally work through my past meetings with the Sullivans. I return my gaze to the computer screen and flip to emails. “Don’t stay past six.”
“Six? That’s early.”
Do I tell him how he might one day be sitting in this very office, and they’ll still think him sacrificing all his spare time was a waste? Nope. But I don’t have to be complicit. “Six is good.”
He stands and starts for the door. “There are four files with all the reports and bound for them to keep. But I also have the email ready to send with everything electronically.”
Mickey’s too on top of it. “You’re making me look good.”
“That’s my job, right?”
“No. Your job is to predict the stock market for clients. If you had to name one investment for me to sink a few million into, what is your recommendation?”
“On the spot?”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I chuckle. “Yep.”
“I’d go with Westcott Enterprises at the corporate level, but if you’re looking to make some real money and aren’t afraid of a gamble, I’d niche down to the Westcott Racing division for next season.”
My jaw practically hits the desk. “You’re telling me to invest in a race car team?”
Holding his hands in the air, he laughs. “I’m not telling you to invest in anything, but I feel confident in research.”
I run my fingers into my hair, thinking through his recommendation. “I’m not sure what to say.”
“Is that a good thing or bad?”
“Good, I think.” I glance at the TVs hung on the wall showing the markets around the world and the ticker banners scrolling across the top just to see if their stock shows up. “I’m impressed with the outside-of-the-box thinking. I’ll do some research and get back to you.”
“Sure thing.”
Just before he walks out, I add, “And Mickey?” He looks back. “Don’t let Bob call you Michael since it’s not your name. It’s good to stand your ground early on. You’ll get more respect that way.”
“Will do.” He shuts the door behind him, leaving me forty minutes to catch up on work before I need to be ready for the meeting.
First things first . . . I pull up Westcott stocks and start researching their profits and margins. I’m always looking for a good investment. Who isn’t in this business?