10. Something More Than Money
Something More Than Money
“... and that about does it.” Leaning into my mic drop moment, I toss my laser pointer onto the table. “Any questions?”
Fifteen blank faces blink back at me. Even Rhys, who served up so many skeptical looks and choked down many audible snorts during my entire presentation, seemed thunderstruck and, dare I say it? Impressed despite himself.
“Just to clarify, Carina,” Sam clears his throat, pointing to the line graph projected on the whiteboard. “You’re telling us the ASSET will increase our quarterly profits by...”
“110%,” I nod.
“110%! Did everybody hear that?” He smacks the table, gazing around as if he’d just had a mathematical revelation. “That’s 10% more than 100%. It’s practically 120%.”
The board members nod in appreciation of Sam’s deduction, all except Rhys, who muffles something that sounds suspiciously like ‘moron’ with a cough.
“Did you say something?” Sam frowns.
Rhys taps his chest. “Something in my throat.”
“Water?”
“No, no,” Rhys waves away the offer, “I’m okay. I’ll just swallow it.”
Sam snaps his fingers at my direct reports, prompting Lily to jump and run to Rhys with a bottle of water.
It’s my turn to clear my throat. “I wouldn’t call it 120%, but I’d definitely call it an ‘ASSET expansion for the ages.’ Maybe next quarter we’ll get to 120. Heck, why stop there? Let’s aim for 130 and beyond.”
Rhys stares at me as he sucks down his water. I turn away, shielding myself from his judgement.
Fortunately, Sam is gobbling up my promises like catnip. I suspect he slept through remedial math at boarding school, and it’s working in my favor. Meanwhile, the board members are either not the brightest stars in the sky or are all yes-men to the CEO. No one speaks up. No one questions me.
Wait.
Someone raises a grizzled hand. It’s Bob, old man Bob. God, he’s old. Must be pushing one hundred.
“Mr. Worthington,” I nod. “Do you have a question?”
He cups a hand to his ear. “What was that?”
“Do you have a question?” I repeat, raising my voice.
“Huh?”
“The meeting’s almost over, Bob,” Sam says.
“Meanwhile, Ms. Wu…” He gives me an admiring once-over that leaves me feeling a little icky, like he’d just undressed me with his eyes.
“You are a mathematical marvel. You’ve exceeded my expectations and more.
” Sam begins to clap, punctuating the stunned conference room until the board joins in, bringing down the office with applause.
My direct reports clap the hardest and loudest. If I’m not mistaken, I think I see tears in their eyes.
Bob gazes around, confused. “What’s that?”
Rhys is also clapping, but in a shitty way, unenthusiastically tapping his fingers on his palm.
“No, stop.” I flush, humbled by their adoration. “It’s just something I cobbled together.”
Sam springs from his chair and wrangles everyone to follow.
“Every ole bastard and uh.....” He cast a sheepish glance over at the four female board members.
“And lovely ladies, get your ass down to the bar. We’ll celebrate!
” He clasps my hand and draws me into a bear hug, rubbing my back through my gauzy blouse.
“Thank you, Carina. See? I was right. You are the true asset.”
I laugh at his pun. I didn’t think it was funny the first time, and I still don’t. But he’s my boss, and so I laugh. All life’s a stage, as Shakespeare said.
“As the employee-of-the-month,” Sam continues, “I expect you to get rip-roaringly drunk in celebration of your new bonus.”
“B-bonus?” My eyes widen. I wasn’t aware that there was a bonus attached to this presentation. “Thank you!”
“You’ll thank me when you see the number,” Sam winks. He pretends to sock me on the chin. “You deserve it. Come on, everyone...”
As I shake hands and bat away praise from every single board member, I catch Rhys’ eye.
He remains seated, an incredulous scowl etched onto his face.
He’s the only one who hadn’t sung my praises.
Throughout my presentation, I watched him like a ticking time bomb, ready to stop me in my tracks and expose me for the fraud we both know I am.
But he remained mercifully silent. Has he finally had enough?
Once everyone had filed out of the conference room, Rhys stands up and props himself on the edge of the table. “That was a fascinating presentation,” he says, “I was wondering if I could pick your brain about a few technicalities.”
I eye Sam, still lingering at the door. “I’ll join you in five.”
“Yes. Yes. Of course,” Sam says. “You two put your brilliant minds together and collaborate. I expect you at the bar too, Stiltskine!”
Rhys gives the barest nod of acknowledgement. “After that, I’ll need a stiff drink,” he mumbles, which tickles Sam pink because he shoots one cringeable finger pistol at Rhys. Naturally, Rhys is too rude to shoot finger pistols back, so I have to do it on his behalf.
“Have fun, you two,” Sam says, “And Carina…”
Oh God. What now? I smile pleasantly at my boss. “Hm?”
“Save some fun for me,” he calls over his shoulder.
I don’t know how to respond to that, so I opt for a lackluster finger pistol, and Sam seems to like it. He sees my finger pistol with a wink and shuts the door.
I whirl on Rhys before the door is halfway shut. “What the hell are you up to?”
“Wow.” Rhys shakes his head. “That guy… CEO, huh? It’s like the dumb leading the dumb.”
I’m not going to let Rhys distract me from the point. “I asked you a question. Why are you here?”
“I was invited,” he says matter-of-factly. “By CEO Chad.”
“You’re here to sabotage me, aren’t you?”
Rhys holds his hands up in self-defense. “Sabotage you by remaining silent during your amazing presentation?” He flips through his follow-along printout, each page filled with notes. “‘Amazing’ isn’t exactly the right word. It was an ‘experience.’ You’ve changed my slides to purple.”
“Lavender.” I purse my lips. “Why are you here, if not to screw me?”
“I came here out of sheer curiosity,” he pauses, “and to look after my investment.”
“What’s your investment?”
“You, of course.”
I cross my arms. “Me?”
“You are paying me to help you succeed. I couldn’t very well let you embarrass yourself in front of the board. It would cut off all prospects of a future partnership.”
“So you crashed this meeting to help me?”
“To offer my assistance,” he says. “But it looks like you didn’t need it.” He picks up my laser pointer and aims it at the whiteboard. “And here I thought you wouldn’t have a clue about how to present some of the concepts, but you just...” He laughs. “You just kept on going.”
I snatch back my laser pointer. “What choice did I have?”
“Did you even know what you were talking about?”
“Not a clue,” I snap. “But that’s not going to stop me.”
Rhys circles me. “Medically fascinating,” he says under his breath. “After your 50th error, I stopped counting. Where did you get a future projection of ‘110% increase in profit’?’”
“I made it up.” I arch an eyebrow, daring him to challenge me.
“Figures.” He stops circling, picks up a marker and traces the line graph. “I don’t know how you have the balls to do it.”
“I’m comfortable stretching the truth,” I say, watching him doodle on the whiteboard. “Look, if you’re not here to sabotage my job, what do you want?”
“Were you happy with my work?” Rhys asks. “The parts you were capable of understanding?”
I sniff, ignoring his jabs at my intelligence. “I suppose I am.”
“And you’re interested in continuing your farce for your next performance?” Capping the marker, Rhys steps toward me, his inscrutable eyes traveling over my face. “With my assistance?”
Is he proposing what I think he’s proposing?
He wants to continue our partnership. This is the best news ever.
Just when I thought paying him to do my work for me was a one-off, like slapping a band-aid on a bigger problem, Rhys wants to work with me again.
Inwardly, I’m jumping for joy, but I need to keep my cards close to my chest.
“I suppose I am.” I wrinkle my nose, soured by his wording. I’m not exactly acting. I am soured. His phrasing was very debasing. “You’re being exceptionally generous. What’s the catch?”
“No catch.”
“Is it money? You want a raise, is that it?”
He makes a point not to answer, which doesn’t bode well for my wallet. Instead, Rhys crosses over to the window and glances down at the beach walk. Sunlight slashes across his profile, illuminating his eyes and shadowing his cheekbones. “About that...”
“Okay. Give me a number.” My shoulders tense, bracing for a hostile round of negotiations. I’m mentally calculating how much I could stretch my budget. I could barely afford him as it is. Naturally, he’ll want a king’s ransom, but if I negotiate the price down and throw in—
“I don’t want more money,” he says, his gaze still fixated outside.
“You don’t want money?” His curveball knocks me for a loop. Frowning, I step closer, noting how ill-fitting his suit is. The jacket is two sizes too big, and his trousers pool above his shoes (dirty white Converses). He looks like a scrawny teen at junior prom. “What do you want?”
Rhys spares me a glance over his shoulder. For a fraction of a second, he doesn’t seem smug, just a little sad. “I don’t know yet,” he says. “But when I figure it out, I’ll tell you.”
“That’s helpful,” I say dryly. “So let’s see if I understand this right: you’re willing to do my homework for another two weeks, but you’re happy with your current rate?”
Rhys shrugs. “I suppose.” He couldn’t sound more apathetic if he tried.
“Because I can pay you more. Not much more, but—”
“The money’s fine,” he cuts me off. “I don’t care about the money.”
“What do you care about?”
He ponders for a while, his gaze traveling to the whiteboard and the final slide: the obscure line graph traced with a red marker.
I’d taken one look at it and spewed out a projection of quarterly profits.
That’s what I saw. If I recall Rhys’ incredulous expression the moment the lies flew out of my mouth, I knew I’d made up utter nonsense.
He could have corrected me at any time, but he allowed me to continue role-playing a corporate professional.
I wonder what the chart really means. Likewise, I wonder what Rhys is seeing on the whiteboard right now to warrant such an indecipherable expression.
If I’m not mistaken, the look on his face…
it almost looked like yearning. But for what?
Hopefully, not what I think a lonely incel in a bad suit yearns for. I won’t pay that.
“I’ll help you for a month,” he says, ignoring my question. “Do we have a deal?”
I gnaw on my bottom lip. “Suppose I finally want to learn how to fish?”
“Then I’ll teach you how.” He holds out his hand. “A month?”
I glare at the offer before me. There’s a somber aura around Rhys. He’s empty and beaten down somehow, as if he needed me just as much as I needed him. Some offers are too good to be true.
Then again, I’ve successfully lied my way up another rung of the corporate ladder, and the fall would be twice as far. When you’re ‘the shit who floats,’ you need help to stay buoyant.
“Deal.” I shake his hand, certain I’ve entered into a devil’s bargain.
“But if you try anything...” I tug him closer.
Standing at a statuesque 5’10”, I’m accustomed to meeting men at eye level, but Rhys is a few inches taller than me, causing me to tilt my head back, just slightly, enough to feel a giant pain in my neck. “I’ll kick your ass.”
His eyes flicker over my challenging expression for a fraction of a second before yanking his hand away from my death grip. “I know it.”