5

37

BODI

“Whatisthisbullshit?” I glance around the boardroom, my eyes shooting lasers at everyone around the table. They all look at me with frightened expressions, completely frozen as if they are scared I’ll snap their necks if they move. I might.

“These are good authors, Bodi.” Viciously, I twist my head at Rachel, who’s clearly the bravest of the lot.

“Not fucking good enough!” I roar. “This is pulp. We can’t sell this shit.” I pick up the manuscript of the thriller they opted for the highest budget. “This! Predictable.” Then I pick up a romance, throwing it across the table. “This! Fluff.” My finger jabs into the options in front of me as I continue.

“I’m not spending a dime on this shit. You better find me something to blow my mind by the end of the week, or you can all find another job!” My rage is filling the room and when I storm out, I notice how their gazes are all fixed on the table. I slam the door behind me, loud enough to echo through the entire floor, before I stomp back to my office.

How the fuck is it possible to run a company with an incompetent bunch of idiots? There are a million books released every week; it shouldn’t be this hard to find the next bestseller. Or at least give me something with the potential of becoming one with the right marketing.

When I reach my office, Agnes gives me a judgy frown that I decide to ignore.

“Mr. McKay, can I have a word?”

Clearly, she’s thinking otherwise.

With my lips pressed together in annoyance, I nod my head.

“For the last month, you’ve been raging through this office like a hurricane. It’s always been a joy to work for you, but lately, it’s been extremely stressful because of your loss.”

I push out a breath, refraining myself from rolling my eyes. “I’m sorry, Agnes. You’re right. My father’s loss has taken its toll. I promise it will get better with time.”

“I’m not talking about the loss of your father. I’m sorry for you, and I know it has been difficult for you, but I’m talking about Kayla.”

My jaw ticks.

“I don’t know what happened between the two of you and, frankly, it’s none of my business, but ever since she quit, you’ve been a tyrant to work for. I heard you yelling at every single one of your editors just now, and the boardroom is on the other side of the floor.” I feel like I’m being scolded by my mother, and I hate it. Mostly because it fills me with an amount of guilt I’ve been trying to avoid at all costs. “I’m too old to deal with a dictator. I like to get to work because I enjoy it, not because I feel a responsibility to comfort my co-workers every day. I’d really like it if you changed your behavior in the following weeks. If you don’t, I’ll find a place to work where I feel more comfortable.” With that, she gives me a curt nod, then prances off, leaving me standing there, stunned.

I shake my head while my chest heaves, and I walk into my office. Instead of slamming the door like I did in the boardroom, I close it softly before sauntering to my desk with a daze sitting in front of my eyes. My eyes turn glossy as I take a seat, disgusted by my own behavior, and I bury my face in my hands.

What the fuck am I doing?

The next day, I feel just as bad when I walk into my office. I halt when I see my best friend sitting behind my desk with his feet propped up on the surface. There is a smug grin on his face when he locks his eyes with mine and I feel like slapping it off.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I scold.

“I heard this was the seat of the biggest asshole in the country. Figured I’d take my place.”

“Funny.” I pull out the chair in front of the desk and take a seat.

“Agnes called me.”

“What the—” Of course she did. She shook me awake yesterday, but after she told me she was taking the rest of the week off, I should’ve seen something like this coming from a mile away.

“Oh, yeah,” he beams cynically. “Said you were storming through the office like a raging bull. Making everyone cry and all that shit. “

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, I didn’t make anyone cry.” I think. God, I hope I didn’t make anyone cry.

“What are you doing, Bodi?” Jensen puts his feet back on the floor, leaning forward on the desk. His gaze is etched with concern, creating a lump in my stomach because I don’t want anyone to worry about me. I just want everyone to fucking get off my back.

“Trying to run a company, but apparently I need to treat them all like porcelain dolls,” I sneer.

“I thought we established a long time ago how I’m the asshole out of the two of us.”

“You are.”

“Then why the fuck are you competing with me?”

I grunt, rubbing the back of my neck. I wish everyone would stop trying to fix me. I’m just mad. Mad at the world. Mad at myself. I have an angry ball of fire inside of me, and considering I rarely get mad, I feel like I’m allowed for once, right?

“Look, these past weeks have been a lot,” Jensen offers. “Take a break.”

“I don’t need a break,” I snap.

“You don’t know what you need, fuckface. You’re taking a break.” Jensen gets up with a glare on his face that matches my own while he rounds my desk.

“You’re fucking annoying.”

“Thanks. Let’s go.” Reluctantly, I get up to follow him, because I know he’s an asshole enough to hoist me out of my chair and drag me with him. I can take him, but I’m really not in the mood to fight my best friend. Like a toddler with a tantrum, I stomp after him with grinding teeth.

“Where are we going?” I question when I press my back against the wall in the elevator, and the doors close.

“Maine.” There is amusement in his voice, ticking me off even more.

“What? No. Why?” It’s a stupid question, because I know why. It’s the one place where I can’t hide my feelings, simply because my uncle won’t let me. It’s the one place I still have family left.

“Because I have a craving for lobster.”

“Sure, you do,” I mock. “Asshole.”