10. Salinger
10
SALINGER
“ W here is she?” I growl.
“Who?” Mandy is breathless and flustered when she and her dog careen out of the elevator, loaded down with a multitude of bags.
“The girl. Escort. Whoever you hired.”
“Please,” Mandy says brightly as she dumps all her things on my couch. “An escort? You can’t show up to a charity dinner with an escort. I found you a very nice, adult woman.”
“I don’t like nice women.”
“To be fair, she’s not that nice,” Mandy mutters.
“What?”
“Nothing! I’ll set up… in there, I guess?”
She races off to the living room before I can answer.
Loosening my tie, I head upstairs, ignoring the million-dollar view through the two-story window to the Puget Sound.
My focus is elsewhere, rehearsing my pitch. No, I’m not like those business-school novices. My pitches don’t sound like pitches. Mandy said Mr. Isaacs’s latest girlfriend has a corgi. If my assitant’s stupid dog does its part, it will manage to befriend the other corgi without having a panic attack. I’ll have my date casually introduce the dogs, then I’ll make a funny comment about canines being Mr. Isaacs’s business.
He’ll probably say something like, “No, I’m in shipping,” and maybe make a joke about his ex-wife, and I’ll nod sympathetically.
Assuming Mandy did her job right, my date should know to start a conversation about my work. I’ll keep it light—Isaacs isn’t an engineer. He’s failed upward, receiving ever-higher positions at his father-in-law’s company.
This is the biggest contract of my life. It is going to cement me as the top investor in the country. All the pieces are lined up. I just need this evening to go perfectly.
I throw the suit on the back of the couch in the master bedroom. The maid will take care of it.
The shower runs. A suspicious lack of doorbell ringing continues.
After a cold shower, I wrap a towel around my waist as I step out then lather up to shave. I’m just rinsing off the straight razor when something slimy and rough runs against my leg.
I strangle a curse as the pudgy corgi stumbles back, tripping over the bath mat.
“Mandy!” I bellow, wrenching open the slightly open door. “Mandy! ”
“Scram,” I tell the animal. “Out.”
It runs under the vanity and stares at me.
Dammit.
“Mandy!”
Her footsteps are soft over the carpet as she hurries to the bathroom.
“Salinger? Salinger, what the—” The door opens a crack.
“Eep!” She jumps back out of view behind the door.
“Your dog, that’s what.”
The animal lets out a whine.
“Oh, Pepper, come. Come!”
The dog ignores her.
“Get in here now and get that animal.”
Mandy makes that squeaking nose again. The corgi sneezes.
“I can’t. You’re not wearing any clothes.” She’s still hiding behind the door.
“Mandy…” Warning laces my voice.
The door creaks open. Mandy, hand over her eyes, takes a hesitant step inside.
“It’s under the vanity.” I point.
Mandy walks into a wall.
“Oof.” Groping around with her free hand, she begs, “Pepper, come on. You know you can’t be in here. We talked about this, remember?” Her hip bangs into the side of the vanity. “Ow!”
“A few feet to the left.” I run some product through my hair. I’m not one of those men who rolls out of bed, washes their hair once a week with dish soap, and calls it a day. It takes time to look like someone you would trust with billions of dollars .
“Pepper!” Mandy’s voice is pleading. “Pepper, please just get out of there.”
“Christ.” Grabbing the robe that hangs on the back of the door, I shrug it on, sidestepping her as she walks straight into the glass door of the shower.
“Uncover your eyes.” I tie the belt.
“Nuh-uh.”
“ Mandy. ”
Her fingers spread slightly, and her brown eyes peer at me.
“I’m wearing a robe. Get your animal. This is absurd.”
Mandy’s still peering through her fingers, and she gropes under the vanity, trying to grab the dog. It. Does. Not. Want. To. Leave.
It makes a wheezing sound as she finally drags it by its back feet out from under the vanity.
“I’m so sorry about that, Salinger.”
Mandy’s corgi side-eyes me as Mandy tries to scoop it up with one arm.
“You see me every day,” I remind the dog.
Its lip curls up.
“Mandy.” I point to her dog.
“She went out before I brought her up.” Mandy sounds out of breath.
“No. It looks crazy.”
The whites of the dog’s eyes are showing, and her ears are laid back against her head.
“That’s just how she is,” Mandy says.
“She’s not going to freak out at the charity function. Is she? Do you have medication for her or anything?”
Kneeling down in front of the dog, Mandy whispers, “Let’s try and keep it together. I’ll take you to Olive Garden for a personal plate of pasta, no garlic. But not ’til after the event because I know you’ll get an upset tummy.”
“This is going to be a fucking disaster,” I say to the ceiling. “And where is my date?”
“She’s coming,” Mandy promises, checking her phone. “She’s on her way.” Her smile is forced.
I know Mandy. She’s worked for me longer than any other assistant. I know when she’s on top of a task because she’s in this Zen flow state, completely confident. This? This is not one of those times.
“How long?” I ask.
“Um, fifteen, twenty minutes?”
“Goddamn it.”
I try not to worry as I dry my hair then put on my tux, selecting two heavy sterling-silver cuff links and one of many Patek Phillip watches, all lined up neatly in their drawer.
The port contract is mine.
And yet there has been no doorbell.
I walk downstairs, my steps in time to the ticking grandfather clock my brother regifted me a few months ago.
Time is running out.
I will have this contract.
Mandy and her incompetence will not ruin it for me. If she fucked up, she’s going to pay.
The lock on the safe in my study clicks as I punch in the combination.
The jewelry that I had specially ordered for this night is waiting inside. I tuck the flat box in my tux jacket. Ready to present it to my date, if she ever shows up.
Mandy is crouched down in the kitchen behind the island, whispering angrily into the phone .
“Swear to god, answer, you—” She shrieks when I step around the island, and the phone clatters to the tile floor.
“ Mandy. ”
“Um, she’s going to be here,” my assistant assures me as she hastily scoops up her phone.
In the next room, the clock chimes.
The dog pants.
The fury curdles in my gut.
“Do you want to, um…” Mandy gulps. “Listen to some music or something while we wait?”
“Where is she, Mandy?”
“I… um, I… She—”
“Mandy.”
She scuttles away from me as I advance on her. “It’s… um...”
“Don’t fucking lie to me.”
Her back hits the wall with a thump.
“Mandy.”
Her face turns away, and she closes her eyes and says in a rush, “I’m so sorry, but I can’t get her on the phone, and I don’t think she’s coming.”
Ice. It’s like someone has dumped a bucket of ice water over my head.
The port contract, the money, the glory—it’s evaporating right in front of me, all because of my stupid, useless, dumpy assistant.
No. I do not lose.
“I’ll fix it. I promise I’ll fix it.” Her tone is pleading.
The palm of my hand slams the wall next to her head.
She lets out a little scream. “I’m so sorry, I—”
“Take off your clothes.”
“What?” Her eyes open wide.
“You heard me—take off your fucking clothes.”