2. McCarthy
MCCARTHY
I am not an ethical billionaire.
I don’t even pay lip service to that shit.
You won’t find me donating my hard-earned and exploited cash to some charity—they’re all scams anyway. I take care of me and mine. Everyone else can get fucked.
I don’t just believe in an eye for an eye. You give me or someone I love a paper cut and I’m nuking your house.
Sounds extreme and mildly illegal? Guess what? The rules don’t apply to me because I’m fucking rich.
No, I’m not using my money for the good of humanity.
No, I don’t regret my choices.
No, I won’t have a change of heart.
I’m a monster, and I love it. So do my stockholders.
Not my board of directors. Traitors. How dare they try to control me?
They’re huddled like pampered backyard chickens in the chilly Seattle afternoon.
All except my older brother. Arms crossed, he glares as I lean into the microphone. Jenna the PR princess is standing next to him, her red mouth making an O shape as I lean in and address the scrum of reporters.
“Fuck this shit, and fuck all of you for showing up.”
Salinger mumbles curses as I continue. The little PR princess looks upset.
“We are all gathered here today against our fucking will because apparently I hurt someone’s feelings.”
My older brother’s hand twitches. He’s debating which would generate worse press: letting me keep speaking or just tackling me off the stage.
“My brand-new PR princess wants me to apologize.”
I hold up the piece of paper that has colorful lines of highlighter on it, make sure all eyes are on me, and rip it into pieces.
Below me, the PR princess’s red mouth is open, the corners turned down, slack with shock as the reporters titter.
“Let’s get one fucking thing straight.” I lean over the microphones as the reporters watch, rapt. “The only statement I make falls out of the sky, dropped by a B-52.”
I smile coldly.
“I’m only sorry that cunt Joseph from HopeWorks doesn’t know how to fight. He should go complain to his father instead of a judge. My dad is a piece of fucking shit, but at least he cared enough about me to beat my ass on the back porch of our trailer. That’s why I know how to fight.”
Several reporters clap their hands over their mouths .
“So no, I’m not sorry for anything. Fuck this shit and fuck you. Oh, and by the way, you’re going to suck my dick for this later, Salinger.”
I stride into the RDC headquarters.
The PR princess races after me, high heels clacking on the floor, her bright pink folders, the oversized sparkly accessory-laden cup, and a sparkly tote bag bundled in her arms.
“You have got to run these announcements by me!”
“And here I thought they hired you to keep me in line. Guess you failed,” I say over my shoulder.
“Help me help you help me.”
“Hard pass.”
My brother grabs me by the collar, hauls me into my office, and throws me into a chair.
“What the fuck is your problem, McCarthy?”
“People are my problem.”
The PR princess and all her bags and her dog and the multiplying cups she has in her arms push their way into my office, and that demented smile is on her face.
“Actually, scratch that. Just one person in particular.”
“Someone’s already gone viral.” She’s waving a phone at me on which a video plays. “Have no fear, Salinger. I’m working on a game plan.”
I preen.
Salinger glowers.
“This is not a good thing, McCarthy,” Jenna says, dumping her stuff in a chair and shuffling through all her papers. “It’s bringing back into the public consciousness that video of you assaulting that poor innocent man.”
I tune her out. If she thinks that HopeWorks director was a good person, she is as delusional as everyone else.
I prop my feet up on my desk as she rambles .
“Let’s pay attention.” The PR princess claps her hands in front of my face.
I slap at her hands.
Salinger grabs my stapler and hurls it at me, barely missing the side of my head. “ Pay the fuck attention. ”
“Now, like I was trying to tell you earlier today—”
“You mean when you snuck into my penthouse to try and surprise me naked in the shower?”
Her brown eyes go big, and she sucks in a breath. The smile drops. “ You… ” She grinds her teeth. “ Vile… ” She composes herself. “There is a ten step-plan”—she slaps the paper on the table—“to revamp your image in the press.”
I cross my arms.
“Number one.” Her eyes flash as she glares down at me.
I’m unrepentant.
“We’re going to get you involved in the charity scene.”
“No.” I flash teeth as she purses her mouth and sets her jaw.
“Number two.” She stabs at the paper with her pen. “Viral content creation so that when people google your name, all these unsavory videos don’t come up in the search.” She waves her tablet at me. On the screen is a .gif of me hurling Joseph into a fountain.
A smile spreads on my face. It felt so fucking good to lose control. What’s even better is that fucker deserved it.
“Content will include but is not limited to cute videos with senior citizens. You out in the world, doing random acts of pastry. We’ll adopt you a pet—”
“No pets, Jenna,” Salinger says quickly, before I can light into her, and flashes me a concerned look.
I cross my arms, just in case he thinks he’s going to treat me like I’m ten again and hug me or some shit .
“No problem!” PR Princess crosses it off the list. “We can just use Truman for cute animal content.”
“What? Who?” Salinger squints.
With a flourish, I wave to my right, where the dachshund is perched on my bookcase next to my NASA award.
“Down, Truman,” Jenna says mildly.
Truman pants.
I lean back in my chair, arms behind my head.
“I’m sorry, but how much money did you pay to go to school to do this?”
Jenna purses her mouth again.
“Actually, the better question,” I say before she can answer, “is how much did you ”—I turn to my older brother—“pay for her to be here? I mean, do you even hear her? How is this girl even employed?”
“Next on the list!” Jenna sounds shrill.
“For fuck’s sake.”
“You need to stop cursing.”
“Fuck you.”
“You just dropped fifty-two F-bombs, told your own brother to suck your dick, called multiple people a cunt—”
“You’re a cunt.”
My brother cuffs me.
Jenna holds up a hand. “I can handle him.”
“Doubtful.”
“I understand you are feeling a loss of control, but when we get angry, we should take a deep breath, count to five, ask ourselves if maybe we aren’t just tired and need better sleep hygiene. We need to ask ourselves, are we hungry? Maybe we need to lay down in the wellness room.”
“I want her gone.” I slam my hand on the desk. “I’m not listening to this shit for the next week or whatever. ”
“The ten-step plan has a six-week timeline.”
My older brother and I face off, ignoring her.
“In the span of a week”—my brother’s voice thunders—“you have lost your driver’s license, physically attacked a beloved citizen unprovoked, and aired dirty laundry about a board member that should have been handled internally.”
“Denise is a cunt who was funneling charity money so that Joseph could fund his hamster furry kink. Their incompetence is not my problem.”
“You have yet to produce evidence.”
“I have evidence.”
“Legally procured, court-admissible evidence.”
“Since when do you care about doing things the right way? Where’d you lose your balls at?” I ask.
Salinger grabs the collar of my shirt and shakes me roughly. For a second, it’s like he’s our father and I’m six again.
I grab his wrist, his platinum watch icy under my hand.
Salinger backs off a notch, loosening his grip, but he’s still got me half out of my seat. “You are fucking with my money.” His voice is low. “Now go do what she says.”
I stare straight ahead to the wall past his head.
He throws me back into my chair. “I am older. That makes me literally better than you, stronger than you, and meaner than you. Do not fuck with me.”
“There’s one fun thing on this list!” Jenna says brightly, trying to cut the tension between us. “That you can look forward to.”
She’s waiting for me to exclaim “What could it be?” I stare ahead mulishly.
“Guess!” She bounces up on the balls of her feet.
“I won’t. ”
“You’re going to get a girlfriend!”
Salinger barks out a laugh.
“You mean you?” I snap at Jenna.
She’s taken aback. “Uh, well, no,” she stammers. “I have a boyfriend. Fiancé. We’re engaged. But I mean, I guess I should ask… Are you seeing anyone?” There’s more paper shuffling. “I didn’t see anyone on social media.”
“I’m seeing you.” I let my voice drop like we’re in the bedroom and I’m telling her to take off her skirt.
She blushes just at the collar of her blouse.
Gotcha.
“I mean anyone that could pop up with an STD or a baby.”
“No.”
“Shocking.” Salinger snorts and heads for the door.
“Jenna, please let me know if my brother is not cooperating.” He doesn’t even have to say, “ Or I’ll make him .” With his tone, it’s implied.
The door slams.
The dog barks from his perch.
Jenna offers no explanation for why her dachshund thinks he’s a parrot.
“So, I have a list of charities.”
I hold out my hand.
She hands me the list.
I ball it up and toss it into the trash.
“I’ve got copies. All in color.” More papers are produced.
“Miss Parker.”
“Jenna’s fine! We’re all on the same team!”
I lean forward, resting my fingers on my desk. “But I want you to call me Mr. Svensson,” I purr, as the blush creeps up her chest. “Seems only fair that I call you Miss Parker. ”
“McCarthy, we need to strike while the iron’s hot.”
“Can we circle back to this later?” I mimic her soulless corporate speech as I stand up and button my suit jacket. I hate that HR way of talking, though it seems like that’s all Jenna’s good at. It’s like sandpaper on the back of my neck. “You can send me a follow-up email.”
“I have copies of the ten-step plan right here…”
“Come here.” I hold out a hand to her.
She’s uncertain. Suspicious.
Ah, so she does have a few brain cells and hasn’t been totally turned into a good little corporate drone.
“Jenna,” I croon. “I thought you wanted to be my friend.”