Hard For My Boss

The effect, if anything, backfired. The comments sections filled up with some of the nastiest things that can be said about a person. My business was likened to a whorehouse of boys, all of whom are required to sexually please me or be tossed to the curb. My character has been mocked, spat on, and slathered with exaggerations of what really happened, with misquotes of things I apparently said in some past interview, and with outright lies.

Now I’m really in the game of salvaging a ruined public image. This time, it’s my own scandal.

“Are you ready?” asks Ian from the front seat.

I shift uncomfortably, then give him a curt nod.

Fighting through a crowd of snapping cameras, accusations, shouted questions, and screams is something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. And there is no way to shield your ears from the onslaught of terrible names, ridicule, and scathing mockery. And there is no way to shield your eyes from the looks of disgust, from the hardened eyes of greedy reporters, from the large circular eyes of cameras as they aim, focus, and flash.

Then it’s over as quickly as it started, the door to the building closing at my back.

Today is a day I am not looking forward to.

But when I step into the main office, I’m taken aback by what I see. Hawk, the Jersey boy himself, is sitting on one of the desks in the center of the room with one leg hanging off and the other hugged against his chest. He’s talking to everyone in the room—interns, employees, all of my supervisors—and making them laugh, making them listen, and speaking with an unexpected eloquence about his words. I almost don’t recognize who he is for a while as I stare and try to make sense of the scene.

He spots me, then interrupts himself to shout, “Well there he is, the boss man Benjamin himself! Give your boss a big round of applause, folks.”

Everyone in the room is led into loud, excited applause, all their eyes on me. I blink, completely confused by the scene before me. Why does Hawk have all of my employees gathered, why is he still here in town, and what the hell is he telling them?

I clear my throat. “Would anyone like to explain to me what this is all about?”

“You,” answers Hawk simply, crossing his arms.

I lift my eyebrows patiently, then spread my hands. “Can we elaborate a little more?”

Hawk turns to the others in the room, cocky as ever, his eyes bright and his chin lifted with authority. “Can anyone tell me what the first thing is that comes to your mind when you think of the great and infamous Benjamin Gage?”

For a moment, the office is silent. Then, like a bird chirping in a nest, tiny, almost not there, the intern Ashlee speaks up. “He’s bold. He’s confident. He makes no apologies.”

“Fuck yeah!” agrees Hawk. “Anything else?”

One of my guys at the computers, Rob, speaks next. “He is unconventional in how he deals with celebrity scandals.”

“His methods are unpredictable,” puts in Lacy, another office worker, an inspired smile on her face. “He is brilliant. He is sharp. He is relentless.”

Hawk nods. “That’s right. You got it.”

“He’s a bad ass motherfucker,” shouts one of the interns, inspiring a tittering of excited laughter in the room. “He doesn’t answer to anyone. People answer to him.”

“And,” Hawk puts in, “when photos of his ass—which is a really beautiful ass, by the way, it’s like a fucking Rembrandt—make headlines twice in the same week, what does a bad ass motherfucker like Benjamin Gage do?”

“Sends them a third,” calls out another employee.

“He posts his workout routine and tells the world what kind of beef you gotta eat to get an ass like that,” states Julian, his voice deep and masculine, inspiring a wave of laughter.

“He owns the fucking web!” throws in Samantha, then lifts her eyes, surprised at her own outburst. “Wow. He really does own the web.”

Hawk faces me finally, a proud smile spreading across his face. “That sounds more like the Benjamin Gage I know.”

I purse my lips, studying the faces in the room as they look back at me. After skimming so many ugly posts and comments and remarks overnight, the effect of seeing so many friendly, warm, hopeful, inspired faces is humbling.

“Well then,” I say, straightening up my spine and taking a cue from Hawk as I address the room. “What’re we doing sitting on our asses when we got work to do?”

The room cheers, erupting into a wave of enthusiastic banter as everyone starts splitting off, asking the supervisors questions, consuming the computers and the boards and the desks. Life and morale is restored to the office in an instant, and I feel the first flicker of hope burst inside my heart. Maybe everything isn’t lost.