Chapter 4 - Speed-dating disaster
Dex
Life is good for Dexter Hayes!
Life is good for Dexter Hayes!
Life is good for Dexter Hayes!
If I say it enough times, maybe I'll believe it again...
This has become my mantra for the past thirty-something days while I have been experiencing, without a doubt, the most stressful time of my life.
First, my old clients didn't want to let me move on and didn't want to work with new people. Go figure. Guess it doesn't matter if you're a gloomy gloopy or a prickly porcupine (Thanks, Macy!) if you get the job done.
I was supposed to have an easy, quiet transition that changed when every single one of my clients complained to Richard when they found out I was moving onto a managing position and would manage a small team for premier clients.
And don't get me started on trying to explain to these people why they are not premier clients.
I've never spoken this much in my entire career and, at the end of every single day, my throat felt like it was scratched with sandpaper from so much yapping.
I fucking hate people and I hate this shit and if I didn't love money or my boss, I swear I would move to the mountains and chop wood.
Who am I kidding, I would need to hire someone to chop the wood.
For all the going to the gym I do three times a week, I'm still a tall, slim guy.
Guess years of malnourishment will do that to you.
I'm proud that I managed to maintain a toned body and whoever doesn't like it can fuck right the fuck off.
This week was the first week I managed to actually work with my new team and my new clients, and boy do we have some asshats to please. Apparently, being a premier client means coming with a silver spoon and your very own personal Dex-boy with his ass in the air waiting to be fucked raw.
The only marginally better thing is that my team members are not incompetents.
I only have two working under me at the moment, with the aim of growing the team as we gain more clients and experience.
It has been easy managing these two and I could not be happier about the small sliver of hope it gives me.
Charlize is a strong, no-bullshit emo chick that reminds me of myself when I started.
Her short spiky hair combined with the baggy pantsuits and clunky docs she wears puts her marginally on the line of professional office wear.
At least she's not the heavy make-up type, her almost angelic face contrasts heavily with the rest of her.
She has round hazel eyes, a button nose and full pink lips on porcelain skin so bright I honestly don't think she has ever stepped in the sun.
At work, she puts her head down and does her work everyday, finishes everything I give her way before the deadline and doesn't bother with office chit-chat.
If anything, she isn't great with interpersonal relations and will need to work on this, but I don't let her speak to the clients just yet, while we cultivate the professional side of her personality.
The tips that Richard gave me when I first started will really come in handy when she starts building her own relationships with the clients.
Right now, she's just interested in the numbers and I'm thankful I can count on her consistent results with the reports.
Not having to correct her work is a motherfucking godsend.
The only people she speaks to are Preston and I, when discussing the reports.
Preston is the complete opposite and really rounds up the team.
He's the most patient dude on the planet and his mousy demeanor really contrasts with his basketball player build.
He's a tall black guy with lanky limbs and fluffy hair, but he wears geeky glasses and a permanent smile.
I'm slightly annoyed with the fact that he doesn't manage to get any calls under twenty minutes of talking and could really focus on the numbers more, but he is great with the clients.
They all love his soft-spoken tone and easy demeanor and I swear I don't know how he gets away with talking to them like they are children.
If he wasn't a total finance nerd, I could definitely see him as a preschool teacher.
He's only twenty-three, already married to his high school sweetheart and brings homebaked cookies to the office in the mornings, which Charlize scarfs down everyday like she's gone through a food strike.
The only smiles I've seen on her face were directed at the caramel chunk cookies.
While it's only been a few days, I've gotten to know them both with daily team lunches, aiming to bring us together and get us to know each other, so we can work effectively as a team.
With Preston oversharing and Charlize undersharing, we have created the perfect balance.
Luckily for my slight impostor syndrome, they were hanging on my every word that first day, so my confidence swung back fully after the first few hours.
To top off all the stress, Macy has been relentless with her reminders for the speed-dating thing she pushed on me.
I was really hoping she would ease off with the amount of death glares I sent her way the past weeks, but she would only giggle and walk away from me.
What is the point of being intimidating if I cannot drive away my one (and possibly only) friend?
In the height of ridiculousness, since Monday she has been doing drive-by desk visits singing in an overly pitchy tone It's the final countdown!
If I didn't hate that song before, I would most definitely start now.
Can you start a petition to erase a song from the Earth? Pretty please?
Speaking of the devil, I can see her approaching me with a wide grin and the heaviest sigh on the planet leaves my body.
"So, tonight?" she asks, overly bubbly.
When I don't say anything for a few seconds, she frowns and looks down on me. Although with her height, she's almost at eye-level with me seated. "You promised, Dex!"
Another day, another sigh. "I'm really busy, Macy. We just started gelling." I wave to the two desks at my side. We were lucky to be given an oversized office space, but it's still overcrowded with three desks in it. Can't say I miss the bullpen much, though.
"Dex, there will always be an excuse. I'm only pushing because I think it's good for you. You need something to mellow out that glare. So what if it's corny speed-dating? You talk to people and then move on if you don't like them." She says, sounding exasperated.
Preston pipes up from his desk, as he always does when there's office gossip, "She's right boss, you always have to make time for romance!" Why does he sound so peppy?
A snort comes through from my other side, attracting Macy's attention.
"Huh, what a surprise that Gloom number two doesn't agree with that." Macy injects every bit of venom towards Charlize.
"Didn't want to disappoint, Barbie!" Charlize throws back casually, still not lifting her eyes from the screen.
"I'll have you know Barbie is a feminist and I don't care what you think!" Satisfied with her comeback, Macy ignores a second snort from my right and focuses on me again. Oh joy! "So you're going." She proclaims.
"Was that a question?" I say, slightly amused by the conversation. If you can't beat them, laugh at them.
"No." Macy yet again proclaims. "You are going to leave the office at six sharp, you are going to go home and change into normal-people clothes and show up at The Swoonfest in Brooklyn at seven thirty.
I will drag you there myself if need be.
And don't forget I can find out where you live, buddy.
You're not the only one who can log into the HR portal.
" She raises a brow along with her mild threat.
"Fine, Macy. You win. You are also relieved from any escorting duties, seeing that the guys showing up tonight won't be remotely interested in you." I try to appear resigned so she buys it.
"Ok, good!" The bubbles are back in her voice. "I'll FaceTime you to pick your outfit."
"Macy, despite what you may think, I'm perfectly capable of dressing myself. I'm a twenty-seven-year-old gay man."
"Yes, and you somehow managed to build a fully black wardrobe with all your gay style." Macy looks mighty proud of that comeback.
"I'll have you know I own several pairs of neon shorts for when I go to the club." I say, even prouder.
A splutter sounds to my left and I just now realize I completely forgot I'm in a room with two other employees.
Which I manage. Fuck my life, professional who?
Clearing my throat, I finally manage to wave off Macy with another promise of attending tonight and my body finally relaxes when she is out of sight.
Slowly opening my eyes, I find Preston has now buried his whole face in some printouts while Charlize softly snickers, probably finding this as ridiculous as I am.
Oh well, can't go back in time and ignore Macy when she first spoke to me four years ago, although even if I did try I'm sure she would have worn me down eventually. Must be her pixie-devil superpowers.
To no one's surprise, I do not log off and leave the office at 6pm sharp.
Macy comes rushing down the hallway at 7pm and doesn't fail to tell me how disappointed she is in me, while leading me out of the office and onto the street.
A cab miraculously appears just as she raises her hand and I'm starting to think it's not just a theory that she has magic devil powers.
What are the odds of getting a cab in Manhattan that easily?
I'm still in my all black suit and shirt, smelling vaguely of office coffee and hating my life.
What a catch! Macy gives the driver the address and makes sure to tell him not to stop anywhere along the way.
Guess I'm really doing this then, go me!
The drive to Brooklyn is under thirty minutes, which is a good thing since I've almost managed to talk myself out of this.
I step out of the cab and take a selfie at the front of the bar, which I promptly send to Macy.
At least now I can head home to my tiny studio in Chelsea.
It's not much, but it helps being financially responsible and I can walk to work on the good days.
Although I'm here already, what's the harm in going in?
I'll just scan the crowd and be out in five, once I know for sure I don't have any prospects.
With any luck, I'll find a big guy to take to the bathroom once the talking part is over, get a quick orgasm and never see him again.
Come to think of it, I've only had one of those in the last three months and can't remember the one before that. God, I'm really depressing.
Stepping into the bar, I'm welcomed by a petite caramel-skinned woman with a seductive accent that sounds South American.
She smiles widely at me and lets me know I've almost missed the main event.
If only! I get a small pin with the number thirty taped onto my suit lapel and am told that the first fifteen to arrive have been seated, while the last fifteen will rotate between the tables every two minutes when the gong sounds.
Simple enough. She also explains that since I'm last to arrive, when the doors open I should start with the furthest table on the left and rotate back to the first, once the round is complete.
Satisfied with her explanation once I nod back, like it was rocket science to understand or something, she leads me down a small hallway where presumably the fourteen other rotating members of the party are waiting to be let into the room.
I spot mostly twinks and a couple of bears.
If this is what's waiting on the other side of the room, prospects are very slim indeed.
Finally, when the clock strikes 7:30pm, the doors open.
As I scan the room… guess who was right again?
I can see a couple twitchy nervous guys at the front that do absolutely nothing for me and, the more I move to the back, I'm already resigned.
But then, as I spot the last table that I'm meant to start with, the luck finally shines down on me.
Sitting down is one of the most spectacular man I've ever seen in my life.
Big wide shoulders, impressive height even seated, dirty blonde longish hair that curls towards the ends, and wide blue eyes, the color of the sky on a summer day.
He's wearing a navy Henley with his sleeves slightly pushed up to reveal tan veiny forearms and my mouth instantly waters at the thought of those pinning my hands to the mattress.
My steps falter for a second before I right myself and pull the chair to sit in front of him. Before I can even get a "Hi" in though, he looks up confused, then does a double-take around the room and gets up so suddenly the chair topples back.
What in the actual fuck?