CHAPTER 14
NERO ZANTHOS
The voices around me are nothing more than further incentive for my irritation levels to hit the ceiling.
Apollo and Drako are wrapped up in the same nonsense as always, while Atlas—like me—is focused on his tablet, trying to figure out how to deal with the absolute mess that exploded in my face three days ago, when the power house at Zanthos Exports’ main farm caught fire.
I seriously consider kicking Drako and Apollo out of the room, and I’m just about to decide to do it when Icarus enters my office for what must be the tenth time in the past hour—and I’m not exaggerating.
The man in his early thirties looks at me fully aware that his insistence is only making me more irritable than usual, and I blow all the air out of my lungs through my nose.
“Mr. Nero Zanthos.”
“Yes, Icarus.”
It takes considerable effort not to grind the response through clenched teeth.
“I need to know what you’d like to do about the inoperative machines. Should we arrange for them to be repaired, or will they be sent for disposal?”
The effort I made not to snap at him outright isn’t enough to stop me from clenching my jaw to the point of pain now.
“I swear to God, Icarus—if you ask me one more stupid question, I’ll throw you into one of those machines and make damn sure that, new or old, it’s running at the time.”
The man’s dark eyes widen until his eyebrows nearly hit his hairline.
“Mr. Nero Zanthos, I’m very sorry, but I need your answers. Because if I do something wrong, how many times do I have to die inside a cotton gin before it costs me my job?” he asks, not a trace of humor on his face.
That’s enough.
“That’s a stupid question, Icarus. Congratulations—you’ve hit your quota. Do both of us a favor and get out of my sight.”
He pushes his rectangular black-framed glasses up the bridge of his nose, his mouth opening and closing several times.
Icarus turns and takes two steps toward the door he came through, stops, then turns back toward me. I catch it in my peripheral vision—I’m no longer giving him even a shred of attention.
He sighs and finally leaves.
“And the award for asshole boss of the year goes to—” Drako starts.
I close my eyes and silently beg the heavens for patience.
“Drumroll, please,” he adds, tapping his fingers against the coffee table in front of him. “Nero Zanthos!” he declares, applauding himself.
I ignore him.
I reread the reports open on my computer. The information there is even more irritating than Icarus’s incompetence, because it makes it painfully clear that there’s no one to blame for the absolute disaster unfolding around me.
The cotton gins are the first stage of processing after harvest. The work they do is at least a hundred and fifty times faster than manual labor. The fact that the very shed housing them caught fire can’t be described as anything less than catastrophic.
Because no matter how quickly we manage to replace them, the production delay will still be staggering.
Not to mention that storage facilities will eventually fill up with unprocessed cotton—because the harvest can’t be stopped, or we’ll lose a significant portion of it.
We’ll need external storage, additional logistics, an alternative transport fleet, and a thousand other things.
A fucking nightmare—that’s what this is.
Of all the problems that could have arisen, this is without a doubt the worst possible one.
From the corner of my eye, I see my office door open again a few minutes later. Icarus stops there when Apollo raises his hands and waves him away.
The man sighs and leaves.
I continue reading on my screen, but I’m interrupted again minutes later by the door opening.
This time, Drako waves Icarus away—and he obeys.
The third time my assistant tries to enter, my friends finally refuse to stay quiet about my behavior.
“Care to explain why you’re acting like a complete asshole?” Apollo asks, forcing me to lift my eyes from my computer screen.
I find Apollo, Drako, and even Atlas staring straight at me.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m literally trying to put out a fire here.”
“Bullshit,” Apollo scoffs with a dismissive wave and a click of his tongue. “You’ve dealt with way worse without getting this pissy.” He leans forward. “Is this lack of sex? When was the last time you got laid, Nero?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Apollo! Sex is not the solution to every problem in the world!”
“Typical answer from someone who doesn’t get enough sex to know he’s wrong,” he mutters.
“Seriously—what’s really going on? We’re here to help, but we can’t do that if you keep being a control-freak asshole.
And I’m starting to worry about Icarus. The last time he tried to come in, he looked like he was about to turn green. ”
“There’s nothing you can do,” I admit, dropping back against my chair. “It’s just—”
I pause, reluctant to admit it, because I know my friends well enough to understand how merciless they’ll be about it.
“It’s the third day in a row I’ve had to cancel on Nina, and it’s driving me insane.”
The silence that follows my words is nothing but a prelude to chaos—I have no doubt.
“You’re voluntarily admitting you’re being an asshole because you wanted to see your girlfriend and couldn’t?” Drako is the first to speak.
I don’t bother correcting him by saying Nina isn’t my girlfriend. That would only make him more determined to say she is.
“You know you could just… not make plans with her, right?”
“Exactly,” Apollo jumps back in. “Just say you’re dealing with a fucking fire and that you’ll see her once things calm down. I’m sure she’d understand—unless, of course, your problem isn’t disappointing her, but the fact that if you don’t see her, you don’t get laid.”
“Except for the sex part,” Atlas says, shooting a judgmental look at his twin, “I’m forced to agree with them. And you know how much I hate that.”
“That’s it. You’re all leaving,” I announce, completely ignoring the fact that yes—they’re right. All three of them.
I could—no, I should—stop making plans with Nina only to cancel at the last minute, because I won’t be able to leave the farm on time.
And yet, just thinking about that leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
I don’t want to start my day knowing for a fact that I won’t see her at the end of it.
They all ignore my dismissal.
Drako narrows his eyes at me as a mocking little smile curls at the corner of his mouth. He stands up from the couch and plants his hands on his hips.
“Careful, Nero. You’re starting to act like a lovesick idiot—and God knows I don’t know if I’d survive a gift like that. I’d never sleep again, thinking of all the ways I could torment you over it.”
“Out,” I say, using only that word.
Apollo laughs loudly, still seated on the couch.
Atlas watches me carefully, but being the only one among my friends with actual common sense, he chooses to stay silent and stands—also the only one willing to do what I asked.
“I’ll go to my office. If you need anything, just call. I have an idea for the logistics—I’ll map out the plan and send it to you by the end of the day.”
“See?” I say to Drako and Apollo. “That’s how you’re useful.”
I gesture toward Atlas as he leaves.
“I prefer it this way,” Drako replies, bent over the coffee table, scribbling something on a Post-it. He straightens up, gives me a wink, and heads for the door as well.
The idiot sticks the Post-it to the inside of the door before leaving.
“Tell Icarus to come in, Apollo.”
“May God have mercy on that soul,” Apollo replies.
Judging by how fast my assistant appears in front of me, I’m certain he’d been standing right outside the door, just waiting for the chance.
“All right, Icarus. Tell me everything and ask all your questions at once. No more going in and out of that door. When we’re done here, I want you to cancel all my meetings. If anyone wants to talk to me, it’ll be by phone or message. Understood?”
Icarus nods, pulls out the chair in front of my desk, and launches into a barrage of demands.
I listen to all of them carefully—and at one point, I bring my fingers to my temples and massage them.
It’s only at the end of the day—long after the time I’d agreed to pick Nina up—that I finally manage to leave the office.
The paper stuck to the inside of my door catches my attention, and I remember Drako placing it there.
When I read it, I regret it.
There’s only one word written on it:
Asshole.