Paolo Chapter 1
PAOLO AND TAYLOR’S STORY
My fingers dance across the keyboard, basking in the afternoon glow that floods my corner office every Friday.
The skyscrapers outside my window stand tall, silent sentinels guarding the bustling financial district below.
This view used to fill me with pride, but now it's a constant reminder of the lifestyle that holds me captive.
Golden handcuffs are what they call it. Making too much money to walk away and with too much work to feel accomplished at anything.
The moment I opened that bedroom door and saw them entangled on our bed, my world tipped on its axis.
My heart shattered into a million pieces, and the pain was excruciating.
In the aftermath, I became a different person.
I threw myself into my career with an intensity I had never known before, hoping my success would fill the void the betrayal left behind.
There are days when the questions still haunt me. How did I miss the signs? How could I have been so blind in the first place? The painful days are few and far between, but the loneliness is almost daily.
My phone buzzes, interrupting my thoughts. Glancing at the caller ID, I see it's Chloe, my best friend and colleague. I chuckle because she’s probably still in the office too.
“Hey, Chloe.”
“Taylor, I just heard Williamson’s charging down the hall like a dark storm cloud,” she whispers through the receiver. “He's looking for you.”
By Williamson, she means Theodore R. Williamson III. Firstborn son and current Chairman of the Board of the expansive investment house that bears the moniker of his grandfather. Rarely is he on this floor. Even more rare is that he’s looking for me.
My heart rate spikes as I furrow my brow.
“What for? He never talks to me, not directly, anyhow.” He goes through my boss, the Chief Executive Officer, who’s a stickler for following the chain of command and never stepping outside of it.
When I glance across the glass offices, the CEO is already gone for the day, and his secretary is packing her bags to leave.
“I’m buried with the quarterly filing due in two weeks. ”
Before I can continue complaining to her, Mr. Williamson bursts into my office. His usually impeccable gray hair is in disarray, and his face is a roadmap of bulging veins and angry red splotches.
“Taylor, just the person I wanted to see,” he barks with an open collar and his tie hanging askew. “We've got a mess on our hands.”
I replace the receiver in its cradle and gesture toward the guest chair on the other side of my desk.
“Please, have a seat.”
Mr. Williamson remains standing, slamming a thick folder onto my desk. It hits with a resounding thud, startling me.
“This is Mr. Jacobsen's file, our most lucrative client. He's been with us for over a decade and is threatening to leave.”
I blink at the name on the folder. Jacobsen & Associates has been a loyal client for years. They have an extensive real estate holdings company in addition to their oil drilling and mineral rights leases. I can't fathom why they'd want to cut ties now.
“What happened?”
“He's furious about some miscommunication regarding his portfolio. He's been trying to reach Jim all week about some recent trades he took the liberty of making into volatile international stocks, which directly conflicts with Mr. Jacobsen’s risk tolerance. And now Jim isn’t returning his calls.” Mr. Williamson's voice drips with fury.
Fucking Jimothy.
Jimothy is what I call him. It’s a disparaging nickname since he doesn’t deserve the respect of being called by his proper name, Jim.
The man is nearly twenty-five years older than me.
He is a narcissistic egomaniac who regularly cheats on his wife with the country club beer cart girls.
He broods about the office like he owns the place and treats me as if we are not equals when, in fact, we are.
Something I remind my male chauvinistic boss of all the time since he continues to let Jimothy run amuck.
“I’m sorry to hear that, sir.”
I’m not. I hope this is the straw that breaks the camel’s back and gets him fired since the last three hostile work environment complaints against Jimothy haven’t done the trick.
“I knew you would be. Since you’re the only one of my senior executives still here, I will need you to get right on it. Familiarize yourself with his portfolio and trades, then be prepared to present your recommendations on Monday on how we save this relationship.”
My stomach churns. My inbox is overflowing with emails, and my calendar is a cluster of back-to-back meetings. I don’t have the time nor the inclination to handle this just because I’m still here on a Friday afternoon or to save Jimothy’s ass yet again.
“Mr. Williamson. With all due respect, I’d love to help.
As you know, I’ll do anything for the good of the company.
However, I have my accounts to handle, and I'm double booked with the quarterly filings due in two weeks. Perhaps another executive . . .” I crane my head to look back to the row of empty glass offices, knowing full well I’m the only one here.
“Or perhaps Jim could come in this weekend and work on it. Since he’s responsible—”
“Taylor, he’s in Mexico on vacation with his wife.”
“Oh.”
I haven't had a vacation all year, prioritizing work over everything, even my well-being. Now I have to clean up the mess made by this rotten, scheming, and lazy bastard.
“It’s settled then.” He doesn’t look pleased by my objection. That makes two of us. I’m not pleased either. “You’ll present first so we can open it up to questions before proceeding with the regular agenda.”
I hate Jimothy for this. And right now, I hate Mr. Williamson too. Mostly, I hate my loyalty to this company, which goes unacknowledged and unrewarded.
“I'll get right on it and reach out to Mr. Jacobsen.” I reach for my phone when his waving hand stops me.
“No need, I already did. Just see what you can find. Then we’ll regroup before approaching the client.”
He doesn’t wait for my reply when he strides out of the office, leaving me alone to grapple with this situation. With an exasperated sigh, I pick up my phone and dial Chloe's number. She’s always the one I turn to when work becomes unbearable, especially since I got her the job here.
She picks up on the first ring. “What happened?”
I lean back in my chair, feeling the weight of the world suddenly on my shoulders.
“You won't believe the mess I'm in right now. Mr. Williamson just dropped this colossal problem on my desk. Jacobsen & Associates is about to jump ship because of some disaster with their portfolio. And guess who's responsible for this disaster?”
“Who?”
“Jimothy.”
Chloe lets out an empathetic groan. “Jimothy again? That guy is a menace. I don't know how he keeps getting away with things around here.”
I shake my head, my frustration mounting.
“You and me both. I've had it with his antics. The guy must have glossy pictures on someone here because nothing ever happens to him.”
As I sift through the mess on my desk, I sigh into the phone.
“I hope this colossal blunder will be the final straw that leads to Jimothy's long-overdue termination from the company. Maybe, just maybe, it's time for him to face the consequences of his actions once and for all.”
She grunts in disbelief. “I doubt it. Nothing ever happens to him. Not even when the Head of Human Resources filed a complaint. You know she left because of him.”
“I didn’t know that,” I murmur, flipping open the client folder. “But right now, I must figure out how to salvage this relationship. I am going to have to work late tonight and all weekend to sort through this mess.”
“Taylor, you're overworking yourself.” Chloe's voice softens with sympathy. “This isn't healthy. When was the last time you went out and had a little fun?”
I can't remember.
“I don't even know, Chloe. It feels like forever. But I can't afford to drop the ball on this.”
There's a brief pause on the line before she speaks again.
“I get it. Just promise me you'll take some time for yourself soon. We can plan a weekend getaway or something. Maybe get laid. Oh, wouldn’t that be nice? To find two hot guys to wine and dine us, then drill me into the mattress.”
I manage a faint smile. I can’t remember the last time I had sex. At least no one since the ex. That’s absolutely something that needs to be rectified once I get past these deadlines.
“Yeah, a wild and carefree weekend is long overdue. I'd like that, but after this and after my quarterly filings.” I sigh for the third time as if the exhalation will somehow change my reality. “Anyway, I need to order my dinner since security won’t let anyone up after 6 pm.”
“Okay, call me if you need me.”
I put the receiver down, pull the folder closer, and begin poring over the documents.
Fucking Jimothy.