by Falon Gold
“No, you don’t ask all that of me, just compromise my morals with requiring me to be a voyeur in your sex life. Don’t mistake me for a prude. The human body is a beautiful thing.” God knows his is, and every other woman in New York knows it too.
Petty again.
Am not. Now, where was I? Oh, the human body.
“But I have no desire to see yours wrapped around someone else’s at any given minute of the damn day. Who’s to say with your ‘thy is your king’ attitude, you won’t be demanding I take off my clothes or clean your house at some point? I sure can’t say you won’t do it because nothing else is off limits to you, and you don’t pay me enough to buy my ethics. You don’t have enough money.” Not even with his billions.
He smiles. It’s more of a contemptible leer with one side of his mouth raised.
“Oh, but I do have enough money to buy anything I want, Amari. Or did you forget that too?”
How could I forget that he comes from money when he’s around? He wouldn’t let me. He even smells like cash. Yeah, that’s probably the soap or the cologne he wears, and it’s mind-scrambling right now.
I take a baby step back. “Money doesn’t rule everyone’s world and give you the right to treat me how you deem fit.”
“Actually, it does. Without it, no one has nothing, are nothing, will amount to nothing, and will be pushed around until they have enough money to push back.”
Bullying people. Yep, that’s pretty much what he’s confessing to. Something inside me fractures—whatever it is that’s breaking wanted better from him. I’ve accepted that I wasn’t going to get it a long time ago. The part of me that’s splitting in pieces should too.
As long as I’m a thousandnaire, I’ll never mean anything to this man or be treated as a person with feelings by him and his family. They’re even bigger snobs than he is. I have the misfortune of being in the same room with all of them every year, when they come together in Italy.
Their family reunion is a conference around a table at the parent company that started the Powers’ global rise in… well, power. Each member that runs an umbrella company in the corporation reports their individual failure and successes at the meeting, as if they’re still children bringing home report cards to their parents. Suddenly, Mr. Powers’ behavior makes sense to me, and only the good Lord knows why it does at this moment after all these years.
“Who specifically taught you that baloney about the meaning of money and what you’re allowed to do because you have it, which you obviously fell hook, line, and sinker for, Mr. Powers? Enquiring minds want to know.”
You sound like you’re leading group therapy, Amari. You can’t save this man from himself. It’s the last thing he thinks he needs or wants for you, of all people, to attempt.
His demeanor morphs from smug to insulted. “It’s not... baloney.”
He sounds disgusted. I’m not certain if it’s because he’s tasted the mystery meat once, or he thinks the almighty dollar defines him. It’s likely both that has his luscious lips stretched taut and the bridge of his aristocratic nose wrinkled.
“Oh, but it is baloney that you’ve been conned into believing. I feel sorry for you. All your money will never compare to the treasures that come from love, respect, and sharing your life with people who you’ll happily give your life for in exchange for while they feel the same about you. Those treasures cost nothing, are priceless, aren’t touchable. Yet, they touch you in places the most skilled of surgeons will never reach with a scalpel. Some people even kill for them. Yes, you’re rich, Mr. Powers, but you’re poor in all the ways it truly counts. Filling up their hearts with love is how people of every race in every country made it in this world before money became the root of all evil. Trust me, your family was underprivileged once. Someone in your family still is. So, no matter what gibberish someone has filled your head with about the superiority you think money gives you over others, you still put your pants on one leg at a time like everyone else. It’s your view of your bank account that makes wealth so poisonous, and you can’t take it with you when you’re dead. You’ll need something else to get you into heaven, if there is one. For your sake, I hope there isn’t, or you’re just… exactly what your women are when you’re done with them. Ironic how that puts you on the same level as the trail of bodies you leave behind in your wake, isn’t it?”
I pity the fools that he traipses in and out of here. He won’t ever be the whole package for any of them, and frankly, it’s the waste of a beautiful man that has so much potential to better those around him. Instead, he just thinks he’s better.
And why do you give two shits, Amari?
Maybe I’ve gone completely nuts finally.
Fine, keep pretending you’re crazy, but your purge is complete. Now, get the hell out of here before you’re being fitted for a straight jacket.
“With that said, I quit,” rips out of my mouth.
Our jaws go slack simultaneously. I’ve stunned us both. I didn’t intend to throw in the towel on this job just yet. Evidently, my subconscious seems to know what’s best for me, and that his office shenanigans will never end. Nor will he ever understand how his character makes me despise a man I admired while studying for my business doctorate, aspiring to copy his accomplishments after graduating college, which he came to speak at once.
I missed his speech, which I heard was awe-inspiring. Because of it, many of my peers have gone on to start successful businesses of their own. Yet, he sees me and anyone else as prey if we don’t come from a dynasty formed four generations ago that backs us in every idiotic and genius move we make.
When today didn’t start like all the others, I should’ve known something would go sideways, but what’s done is done. I shove the contract in his chest. He catches my wrist against his skin burdened with scattered dewdrops. My mouth waters. Mini-bolts of lightning strike overly sensitive places within. Drenching rain soaks my underwear, and he’s only touching my wrist. I’ll be surprised if my thighs don’t squeak when I walk. What the mother-loving hell? I’ve never felt any of that before.
You’ve never touched him before either.
I snatch my hand away, banging my knuckles on the door behind me. The pain isn’t even an afterthought. I’m more afraid of what else he’ll effect on me if I let him touch me any longer.
“You should rethink about what you’ve just said, Amari,” he snarls, balling his hands into fists at his thighs, one crushing his phone in a white-knuckled grip. “You’re throwing away a good job.”
I sidestep toward the corner desk positioned diagonal to his that’s facing the door. Then I swivel to him before backing away, refusing to give my back to him. Some people need to be watched with both eyes, and they’re not all criminals.
“You wouldn’t believe how many times a day I’ve thought about saying ‘I quit’ since I came to work for you. Should’ve done this sooner. You’re not the only one who’s been conned. You’re not the man I thought you were, nor do you deserve anything you have, and you damn sure can’t teach me anything from behind that wall. I thought you were the best at business. That’s why I took this job. You’ve mastered something alright. I don’t need lessons in that area though.”
In reverse, it’s a much longer hike to the glass wall opposite the solid one concealing his bedroom. Perhaps, it feels that way with him staring me down, eyes roaming over my off the rack, white dress with crisscrossing straps over my cleavage. I’ve never felt so old-fashioned and plain under anyone’s gaze. Mr. Powers manages to make me feel this way every day when he shouldn’t, undeserving of the worst of my emotions.
“Are you judging me, Amari?”
I almost laugh, and I would have if I didn’t think he was judging me, finding me lacking.
“Why not? You’re looking down your nose at me right now. Turnabout is fair play, right? Oh, that’s right, you don’t believe in fair play, just fair preying on those that don’t have as much as you do.” I bend at the knees and relieve the bot
tom drawer of my purse. “That’s preying with an ‘e’ by the way.”
“I know what you mean. I couldn’t have graduated Stanford at the head of my class if I couldn’t spell and read between the lines.”
“Kudos for you. I graduated from a regular old university, and I still quit this job. I’d wish you a nice life, but you’ll have that anyway with your lifestyle. It’s all you need.”
“Isn’t that what everyone needs? My lifestyle.”
I shake my head. “Most of us just want to receive the respect that we give to others. It isn’t too much to ask for, believe it or not. You be amazed at who couldn’t be persuaded to stand anywhere near your lifestyle, and who all just wants the money to make life more comfortable for their families. Some even would use it to make a real difference in the world. Unfortunately, it does take money to do what giving your time and heart can’t. We both know what you do with your time. If that’s all you want the flashbacks of your life to consist of before you kick the bucket, then your life here on earth has been well spent already. Congratulations.”
I bet his unused heart is as dusty as an attic.
“I won’t tolerate your smartassness, Amari.”
“You won’t have to for much longer. All I have to do is get my purse, and I’ll be out of your hair. Thank you for your cooperation in advance.”
It’s a relief I didn’t fill my desk up with personal knick-knacks. The less to carry away from here, the faster I can leave. The cactus plant loitering on the edge of the glass surface was here when I took possession of the desk, or I would take it with me. It’s the only thing flourishing from this work environment and the endless sunlight that pours in from the floor to ceiling panels.
“You’re not leaving me, Amari,” he growls.
I get a mental picture of an animal about to go rabid. He can’t want me to stay that bad.
“You can’t stop me. We don’t have an employee contract for you to enforce.”
If he’d insisted on one, I’ll be stuck in his employ like Malisa Owens was with Apollo Nordic-Ford. The situation turned out beautifully for her though; she’s happily married to him and the mother of his two boys and a girl, though the ultrasound alleged it was three boys. Can’t visualize Apollo scrambling for girly baby stuff, but he’d have done it happily. He’s not an asshat like Mr. Powers is.
On the contrary, Apollo’s an extremely nice billionaire that I met in Arrow when he dropped by the sheriff’s station to check on Blake, who introduced Apollo to Mr. Powers and me. That is, after I served the contents of that damnable basket to Mr. Powers, Blake, and his girlfriend, Astrid.
If it wasn’t for Blake and Astrid, I’d have stood at the back of the room like a waitress, waiting to clean up, while blending in with the wall. Instead, Astrid chitchatted with me while I stood as far back as I could from the small breakroom’s table where they were seated, until Blake bought over a chair. There’s no way I’ll ever willingly share anything, even food, with Mr. Powers. However, I did enjoy swapping gossip with Astrid, who eased my homesickness and improved my mood before Malisa waddled in, to Apollo’s disapproval. Apparently, she was supposed to be at home in their castle, with her feet up, heavily pregnant at the time, being waited on hand and foot.
A man’s concern is something to look forward to when I find my favorite piece of ass, but the resemblance between Malisa and Astrid, who were both pregnant at the time, is freakishly freaky. I barely managed to not comment on it. Mr. Powers didn’t hesitate to, creating an awkwardness that didn’t depart until Malisa and Apollo left and Astrid struck up another conversation about the nursery she hoped to build for her baby boy. Mr. Powers can learn a thing or three hundred from the well-mannered people in Arrow, but I highly doubt if anyone can teach him any new tricks.
I walk toward him. He opens the door for me, his first chivalrous act that I’ve seen. Of course, it would be to show who he considers a lesser being the way out. Perfect.
“Fine, Amari,” expels out of his gritted, pearly-white teeth. “Take the day off. Celebrate your birthday, but be back in the morning.”
“Not in this lifetime, Mr. Powers. Thank you for opening the door for me.”
For a moment, he just stares as if he’s issuing a silent challenge as I approach him.
“You’re welcome, and I’ll see you tomorrow, Amari.”
I smile up at him, then exit the room, retracing the path I take every evening to the elevator at the end of the corridor, with his eyes burrowing into my back. Only thirty-four floors to the lobby to go, seventy-eight paces to my Hyundai Accent parked in the underground garage.
It’s liberating to be on this journey for the last time. Although, there’s a conflicting heaviness in the bottom of my stomach. That’s to be expected when I’ve tossed my livelihood in the dumpster. Nothing that getting another job won’t cure though.
********
~Camron~
After Amari disappears into the elevator, I shut the back door and tread into my bedroom where I dial Blake’s number. When he picks up, I sink down on the tousled bed linens, with my chest hollowed out like someone blew a hole in it. No, not someone. Amari.
“What happened, Camron?”
“Your steps backfired on me. She came in, tore into my ass about the woman that isn’t here, then she quit. You’ll be happy to know I opened the door she walked out of, while hoping she’d stay on this side of it.” Why did I ever listen to Blake’s advice? I practically let her walk out on me myself.
“Did you tell her that you didn’t have a woman in there with you?”
“What part of ‘tore into my ass’ did you not hear? No, I couldn’t get a word in. When I could, I was more concerned about her trying to leave me and convincing her that I’m not the monster she thinks I am.”
Obviously, I didn’t think she cared about what I did, as long as I paid her on time, sure she’d never want me. Now, I’m sure she’ll never want me because of what I did, which are mistakes I stop making a while ago. I feel like I’ve been caught up and spanked. Hard! Everywhere!
“She’s not yours, Camron, so she didn’t leave you. She left the job.”
“Feels the same to me. I got to get her back by any means necessary.”
“No, not by any means necessary. That kind of thinking creates stalkers. And maybe she needed to quit. Or you’d still be tiptoeing around her. What did you say to her by the way?”
“Nothing that should’ve made her quit… I think.”
“‘You think’ is double talk for everything you said to her was wrong.”
“I might’ve repeated something that my father has said to me about a hundred times, and I told her to be back at work in the morning or she’ll regret it.”
I can hear, plain as day, Blake slapping his forehead.
“Good God. I’m surprised she didn’t swing on your ass, fool. You basically threatened her, killed any chances you have with her before you had any, and you told her she amounted to the trash under the bottom of your shoe if you said anything that Christophe has told you. Step three, which should’ve been step one; never threaten or repeat anything your father or mother said to you to anyone else. Nor anything my parents say. It’s all bullshit. Money doesn’t make you more than anyone else or them lesser, unless you’re talking about most of the people who have money, especially the Powers. They live on baser instincts and have no emotional connections, which makes them the poor ones.” And animals who thrive on the ‘survival of the fittest’ rule.
Blake won’t ever identify with that or completely embrace our family, even after agreeing to reenter the family just to make money with us. At this point, I can’t blame him, especially not when according to him and Amari, my upbringing has left me lacking in a lot of departments. Right now, I just need to fill up the one for love.
Bless Blake for trying to help me by becoming to me what the Owens are to him: a link to the world where normal people are the ruling majority, money just a necessity to live in it. This m
akes me a minority and the ways of my world useless. I didn’t think my wealth would ever fail to get me what I want, and maybe, Blake shouldn’t be the one to teach me how to care for other’s like he seems to have mastered.
But maybe, Amari should... on my territory.
“Camron, I can hear your brain working all the way here in Colorado. What are you scheming up?”
“She said something to that effect, too, about rich people. I need a plan to get her back. Yours isn’t working.”
“Whatever you’re thinking of doing, Camron, don’t!”
“Have to, cousin. She’s not coming back to me on her own. I can feel it. I need to make some calls. You can monitor the situation if you want to. It’s time you came for another visit anyway. The party’s in a week.”
I don’t know why I enjoy my time with his family. He takes every chance to tell me how much of an ass I am to Amari. No one else would dare, save for him and Amari. And yet, I want them both in my life because it feels right to have them in it. Yep, I’ve lost my damn mind, over love no less. My father would be scandalized.
“Monitor what situation, Camron? You know what? I hate to ask what you’re about to do. You’ll probably incriminate me in a crime that your clout will get you out of doing the time for, so I’ll repeat myself. Don’t do it, Camron.”
I grin for the first time in a month, looking forward to something since I don’t know when, actually. Just because I smiled before today doesn’t mean I was happy.
“Don’t worry. I’m respecting Amari’s decision to quit on me.”
“Only because you have that contract to deal with, I bet. She has the right to quit, Camron.”
I know that. A part of me just doesn’t care. I can’t make it either.
“Fuck the contract, Blake. Something else is at stake right now.” My happiness and happily-ever-after, the only things that will fill the void in my chest. I want them both in the worst way now.
Even more since Amari grew the balls to kick me in mine. Watching her stand up to me is the hottest thing I’ve experienced... ever.