Spoiled

by Elizabeth Cash

  I’m not gay. I’m also not stupid. I won’t settle for the kind of woman who plays with a man’s mind. I spent way too many weekday afternoons at the park with my mother’s “special friends” to ever fall for that.

  Tonight will be a blast. My uncles will tell me I look just like my father. They’ll tell me this in spite of the fact that my father is built like a twig and I’m more of a truck. They’ll act like they don’t remember his once dirty-blonde hair. Instead, they’ll fake like he’s always been bald and act surprised that my own very dark hair hasn’t started receding. I’ll sit there, humoring them, telling them I am my father’s son. The entire time, I’ll understand exactly what they’re doing and why. In return, I’ll let them think I’m gay. It’s fine.

  It doesn’t matter what any of them think of me. They don’t need to know the number of women I’ve brought to my bed quite successfully. I don’t care that they believe my father’s biggest mistake was not naming me after him. I’d have changed that name too—just to get away from it. Truth is, I may love the guy, but I don’t have a lot of respect for my old man.

  By age nine, I promised myself I’d never be him. I didn’t take a girl to the prom. I didn’t want to waste the money. I’ve never had a serious girlfriend. I wasn’t interested. Instead, I took women I knew would impress my bosses to company functions. I got them drunk, fucked them, and sent them on their way. I didn’t see the point in getting close to any of them. I refused to ever let a woman stand in my way.

  Not much has changed. Sure, I get lonely. And these days, as friends from high school start having kids and posting pictures all over social media, I do worry. It’s not that I don’t want to settle down and have a family someday. I do. I just refuse to say those words to any woman who even remotely reminds me of my mother.

  Cora is Jennifer all over. This much, I’m sure of. Even in the clicks of her heels I can hear it. They come harder, further apart than for other woman due to the overt shaking she does of her heart-shaped ass and perfect-for-screwing hips. I know why men want her. Frankly, who wouldn’t? But it isn’t happening. Not now or ever. I’m too close to the life I’ve worked so hard for.

  It’s easy to make money when you’re starting off with a big pot as Daddy’s little princess or a silver spoon in your mouth. I can turn thousands into millions in my sleep. But when you start off $123,000 in college debt like I did, it’s different. It’s taken me three years to get those bills paid off. Now, with $8,000 in my bank account, I’m on my way. By all reports I’ve run, I’ll have enough money for a down payment on a house a hell of a lot closer to work by year’s end. If I can stomach keeping my nose buried up Finley’s ass and not screwing up any reports or pissing off Derek, I may even get a promotion. From there, it’ll be a 350 Lancer or maybe a bike—something fast that brings the good kind of excitement back to my life. Until then, I’m stuck in this fucking commute. And it’s killing me.

  Apparently, it’s killing Gun Guy, too. He weaves his rusty civic to the breakdown lane, trying to edge up on other cars who will never let him in. I chuckle, moving forward in the line and locking him out. Sorry, idiot. You lose. Again, I fiddle with the dial on my XM radio. I settle on NPR. Throwing my car in park and stretching out my ankle that’s been too long on the break pedal, I reach for the extra strength Tylenol that I keep wedged between the dashboard and change pocket. I shouldn’t have drunk so much last night. But Thursdays are the one day I still let loose. I know everyone at the bar and have a great time squawking out karaoke tunes with acquaintances I’d never hang out with in my daily life. I wish they’d change karaoke night to Fridays. But then, I’d miss the shit show celebration tonight that my father swears will be “just the ticket” to make my mother love him again. Nope. I couldn’t be that lucky. That’s not my life. That’s the life someone like Cora, who probably grew up with it handed to her. Whose biggest problem is what kind of push-up bra to wear and if her panties match for a day at the spa. Fucking disgusting.

  Chapter Three

  I jog through the same long corridor I do every morning. It leads to two sets of elevators and always smells of cleaning solution from the underpaid janitors’ work the night before. Hitting the arrow that points up, I catch a whiff of familiar coconut and melon strong enough to override the bleach. I smile and look over my shoulder. Slowly, so as not to panic her, I nod at Laura Vincent, a fresh-faced, unpaid intern who must have the same commute as me. She’s panting, like usual, and balancing her regular Starbucks coffee on her tattered briefcase. She smiles, pushing hair from her eyes with her one free hand the way she always does when she’s nervous. Red rises to her cheeks, masking the freckles that dot both them and the tip of her tiny nose.

  “Going up?”

  She nods, staring down at her scuffed shoes instead of me. For her, this is progress. It’s been four months, and this week is only the first where she smiles back. I haven’t quite figured out why. The best I can surmise is she is intimidated by me. I’ve been working at Graham’s Incorporated since I was an intern myself. I know all too well the feeling of trying to keep up with fancy suits and even money for the parking garage while living only on a stipend and student loans for an entire year.

  Sometimes, when it’s not strange for me to be in her wing of the floor, I offer her my lunch; telling her I have a meeting and don’t have time to eat it. I lie, saying it’ll go to waste if she doesn’t take it. She looks at me with eyes so black I want to beg her to tell me what she’s hiding. Then, she always looks away just before reaching her hand out to take it and thanking me in quiet mumbles. In spite of the rhyme of their names and ironically, Laura is exactly opposite of a woman like Cora. This has not been missed by me and lately; I can’t stop watching her the very same way Cora eyes me. Not on your life, Queenie.

  The elevator door creeps open. I take two steps back, gesturing with my right arm for the skittish intern to go ahead.

  “Ladies first,” I whisper, sounding exactly like my father. Fuck. Why have I never noticed that before?

  “Thanks,” she murmers, stepping into the shiny elevator. She covers her chest with her briefcase, which she holds in both hands in front of her as she balances the coffee cup with her chin. It’s utterly adorable.

  “Do you want me to carry something for you?”

  With only keys in my hands, I can barely stomach watching her and this ridiculous juggling act that I’ve seen her pull off one too many times. Any second, that coffee is going to go flying and we’ll spend another three months in this game of cat-mouse as she dodges me in hallways.

  In our daily run-ins, I’ve surmised a few things about Laura. She’s clumsy. She’s quiet. She rubs her left eye or plays with her hair when she gets nervous. She bites her nails when she doesn’t know what to say. She has a fascination with Hello Kitty and her favorite color is purple. Hardly the type I’ve brought to corporate Christmas parties in the past, she’s ironically the very type I’d bring home to meet my crazy family. With them, she’d fit in.

  “No. Thanks though. Got it.”

  We ride in silence to the seventh floor, where most of the finance offices are and Her Highness has spent the last three months rennovating because it’s too much for her to actually do her job. She’d rather be shopping. When the doors open, Laura will head left and I’ll go right. I won’t see her again until morning unless I go out of my way to her side of the building. I’ve been doing that a lot lately—using any excuse I can. Yesterday, it was printer ink. The day before it was coffee creamer. Later today, against my better judgement, I’ll think of something—probably a stapler like the two I have in my office. Or maybe, before the end-of-the-day conference meeting to piss Her Highness off, I could stop in. Better, I could ask her to attend…

  I try not to look at her. The last thing I want to do is make her more nervous. I’ve got nearly a foot on her, and she’s trapped in an elevator with me. In moments like these, I wish I had a smaller frame. I often wonder if my size intimidates women like
her. Determined to get past the cordial small talk but knowing she’ll need an escape, I wait until the elevator stops and the doors open before telling her she looks nice today.

  Big mistake.

  Her head springs up, her chin protruding forward just enough to dump the coffee. It lands with a thud on the carpet of the brand new floor and seeps between the crack where the elevator meets it.

  “Oh my God. I’m so sorry. I’m such a clutz. Did it get on you? What did I do?”

  It’s the most I’ve ever heard her say in one run-in. In a normal situation, I’d be thrilled. This time, I’m more worried about the puddle of coffee on Cora Graham’s three-week-old carpet and what she’ll do when she finds out. Plenty of time to worry about that shit later. She’s already going to be pissed off about the meeting. It’s not like this will change her resting bitch frown. It’s kind of funny, actually. Rosey-faced, Laura stares up at me before scrambling to her knees to pick the half-empty paper cup off the ground. I pull the emergency stop button to suspend the elevator on our floor and bend down to help her.

  “Naw. Don’t worry about it,” I say, praying the cleaner will be able to get the mocha stains out of my brand new Armani pants and better, the maintenance crew the stain off the floor.

  If Cora finds out who did this, Laura will be canned before she has time to file her time card.

  “Shit happens.”

  With the coffee cup in her left hand and the briefcase now on the floor, we make eye contact for the first time. In Laura’s wet black eyes, I see everything I need to know. I want her. I need her. Like it or not, the woman I must have is Laura, the gawky intern with the crooked smile who can’t even manage a quality hello. I don’t get it. I just know.

  Unwilling to give my cards away just yet, I lean back and reach for her briefcase. I smile at the torn Hello Kitty sticker with devil horns on the handle. Oh, what Her Highness would think of this. With my other hand, I hold the door open. I don’t trust anything—not even an emergency stop. The last thing we need is another accident.

  “Thanks,” she whispers, brushing her chestnut hair, streaked with tiny splotty purple home-job highlights, out of her eyes. “I’m a mess.” Instantly, her fingers move to her mouth and she bites her index fingernail.

  I laugh too loud at this, instantly wishing I hadn’t.

  In one motion, she turns the color of Christmas, leaps up with the half-empty coffee cup, and heads down the hall in long strides. I watch her curvy legs, wrapped in opaque maroon tights scurry away before I can think of how to stop her. A hole in the back of them catches my eye, forcing me to cover my mouth with my hand so I don’t laugh again.

  “Wait! You forgot your briefcase,” I call after her, wishing I’d kept my cool.

  Something about her does that to me; making me forget my usual corporate world born fakeness. With Laura, I want to drop that shit. With her, I feel like I could actually be me—if she’d give me that chance.

  Fucking idiot. Now you’ve scared her.

  When she doesn’t look back and only quickens her pace, I realize she just gave me an opportunity to see her later. Smiling, I pick up her plastic coffee cup lid and briefcase. I can figure out what to do with it when she’s had time to get over this. I stand up, looking down at the stained carpet and thinking of Cora’s reaction when she sees it. Looking up and down the hall, I realize no one’s seen it. She doesn’t need to know a thing about it if I can get the shit off my pants. Thank God there aren’t carpets on the twelth floor.

  The rest of my day flies by. Between sending out memos and planning for the payroll meeting, I can’t wipe the grin off my face. Today is a rare one where everthing goes right. Cold water got the stain out just fine. Shit never happens like this. Not here. Today is the type of day where I don’t mind so much the drag of running reports and listening to Derek carry on about stupid fundraisers I don’t care about. I don’t even hit the head hunter sites. No. With Laura here for another eight months, I’m in for the long haul. There’s just something about her. I intend to find out what that is.

  Chapter Four

  Cora

  Today is a new day and with it, brings me a new sense of contentment. Today, after a much-needed slap in the face pep talk, I decided to take the reigns back in my life and make it my bitch yet again. I have no clue what got into me yesterday, feeling all sorry for myself. It disgusted me to no end to feel the way I did, but now that I have my sights set on Micah, I feel so much better. No one has ever denied me, and I expect the same from him. I will get what I want from him until he is useless to me and then I will move onto the next piece of dick I can find. So on and so forth.

  Ashley, one of the newly recruited interns, knocks on my door and instead of telling her to piss off like I normally would anyone who bothers me, I actually smile. Me, smiling at a rookie. I should have gone after Micah a long time ago. Maybe I wouldn’t have gotten myself in the slump I did. Then again, maybe I would have gotten bored of him and still dug the hole I did. I sit up straight and address Ashley.

  “Yes, may I help you?”

  “I—um, I was wondering if you needed a PA? I can do whatever you need me to. It doesn’t even have to be work related.” She babbles on, damn near begging. I hold my hand up, silencing her. What the hell would I need a PA for?

  “I wouldn’t ask for a pay raise either.”

  “Okay, Ashley, right?” I ask, she nods. “I run circles around you, and every damn employee in this building. Right now, while you're in here asking me this question, I am running this quarter’s reports effortlessly in my head. I don’t need a phone, a piece of paper, or a computer to do my job, or any other job I may have or need done. I appreciate your offer, but no. I do not need a PA.”

  She stands there, her hands in her raggedy, hand-me-down dress pockets, twisting her scuffed shoes on my clean floor.

  “You can leave now.”

  She jumps a little and scurries out of my office, almost bumping into Derek. He watches her run down the hall back to her desk, then turns to me and shakes his head. He knows how my authority affects people. He also knows how much of a self-righteous bitch I can be. I wasn’t one, just a moment ago, although I could have been. I think I was rather nice, considering how ugly I was yesterday. If she had approached me, then, I would have chewed her head off and threw her to the buzzards. Derek sits down in one of the black velvet plush chairs in front of my desk and props his feet up. I raise an eyebrow, looking at his squeaky clean dress shoe and shove it off.

  “That’s horribly disgusting. I don’t know what you stepped in walking here.”

  “Don’t be rude.” He says, sitting up. “Did you donate yesterday?”

  He is referring to the fundraising party our mother threw. This outrageous party was in honor of the orphanage they just built a few blocks down from Graham’s Incorporated. Carol had several donations well over a thousand dollars, why should I give her my money?

  “No.” I grunt out, “Have I ever given her a penny of my pretty money? Let her get that shit from those who actually give a shit.”

  He shrugs, ignoring my last comment

  “I did. Probably gave more than I should have but I thought this party was one worth donating too. Poor kids.”

  I scoff at him. This would be the first time he ever donated to one of Carol’s causes, but as long as he didn’t touch my money, I could give two shits.

  “Is that why you came in here? I have a meeting in like five minutes.”

  “Actually, I came to remind you that we have a business dinner with the old man tonight. He’s going to go over few things for this quarter and make sure everything is running smooth.”

  Huffing like an aggravated teenager, I get to my feet and gather my things.

  “Fine.”

  “Try not to walk out of this meeting, okay?”

  We both walk towards my door, but before Derek even opens it, I grab his hand, “Just so you know, this is our company. Dad may have age and experience on us, but
he doesn’t know this place like we do. Don’t let him ruin what we have.”

  With that, I push past him and walk out of my office and to the elevators. Meetings with our father always end up with him trying to buy half of our company, so he can “teach us how to run it the right way!”

  I think we run it just fine considering we make over three million dollars a year. We have mountains worth of investors and stock holdings. We make bank for others and for ourselves because we know what’s worth investing in and what isn’t. Anything that has ever been in the red, gets the finger from us. Yeah, shit happens and stocks crash and people lose money, but there are things that you just know will never crash and burn under your thumb. We ensure that everything we put our money in has a clean record, or one leading in that direction. If I’m going to wrack my brain, day in and day out, I will guarantee that my money is safe as well as the money of those who invested.

  To some, money means nothing and is just a piece of paper that allows them to buy their way in life and survive. To me, it’s a green, thin and crisp God that has the power to ruin anyone in a single second.

  The elevator door dings, and I step into the shiny metal box. Pushing the number twelve button, I wait for the door the close. A familiar husky voice calls out, telling me to hold the elevator. I hold my hand out, stopping the door from closing just as Micah jogs into the elevator with me. There go my thighs. He grunts when he sees me, actually fucking grunts. I swallow my angry sigh and step aside, allowing him to push the floor number he needs. When he doesn’t push any buttons, I smile at him.

  “What floor?” I ask.

  He shakes his head, sighing. “The same as you.”

  “Okay, then.”