Own My Soul (Sixty Days 3)

It had been years since he’d called me boy. Years since he’d used that condescending tone with me, full fucking stop.

It took every scrap of my grit not to revert instinctively to the dynamic of my memories. To the looming stance of his strength above me when I was all but on my knees. Bereaved. Lost without my father. Lost without any road forward.

“Sixty days doesn’t mean we act like utter pieces of shit, Drake. We are offering a service skirting the edge of human decency, but we pay well and we stick to our contracts. We take care of the products. We set the girls back on their way when their time is served.”

I got up from my seat and paced the room as I waited for his response, wondering if we stood even a sliver of hope of resolving this mess as two adults working the same page.

I wanted to destroy him. Destroy his part in everything.

I wanted to see him on his knees, every part the egotistical cunt he’d become over the years and every part the asshole that deserved his take down.

“Sixty days, Mr Grant, are about offering our clients an impeccable service. They are about staying firm on our business practices. They’re about profit, boy. Profit.”

“Annabel Fisher’s dismissal of her contract didn’t cost you a penny in fees,” I countered. “I paid her from my own pocket.”

“She cost me a huge fucking sum in unfulfilled client bids. She cost the business a huge fucking sum in dissatisfied clients.”

“I had her replacement lined up in a heartbeat.”

“And then persisted in disregarding every scrap of business strategy we’ve been adhering to for years,” he hissed. “Paige Emmerson was anything but standard business practice. You were anything but your standard business self in your interactions with her onscreen.”

“And you were anything but operational by storming in here and turning the whole fucking business on its fucking ass.”

Another laugh. “The business isn’t on its fucking ass, boy. I’ve scheduled the clients in just as they should have been scheduled. The rest of the sixty days will go seamlessly to plan. Happy clients. Happy pay-outs.”

“No,” I said. “The rest of the sixty days will not go to your random fucking plan. You have no performance knowledge at all. No knowledge of how to best prepare the girls. Hell, not even any fucking technical knowledge about broadcasting.”

“So, what is your proposition?” he snarled. “Tell me, boy. What exactly is this call about?”

I took a breath. Lit up a cigarette. Made my way outside to the cool night air and cast a glance up at the sky.

“Give me Paige Emmerson back,” I told him. “That’s what this call is about. Give me the girl back and I’ll come good with my business commitments.”

“Give you the girl back?!” he spat. “So she can confess more whimsical little love mutterings for the cameras? So you can dote on her like a man out of his fucking mind while our whole client base watches on?”

Just like that, my own words dried up. I had no real idea how to make inroads with the cunt of a business partner. No knowledge of where he was. No knowledge of how best to counter anything. No knowledge of anything other than the lengths I was willing to go to for the sake of the girl who’d stolen my common sense along with my heart.

“Believe me,” I said. “You’ll want to hand her back over. Things will take a serious fucking turn for the worse if you don’t.”

His sneer was from the gut. “You’re threatening me? Our business? The fact you’re threatening anything at all after your sorry past tells me you’re out of your fucking mind, boy. Out of your dumb fucking mind.”

He was probably right, but I wasn’t about to tell him that.

“I’ve been the one running the business for years. You’re the one on the outside looking in. That’s been the case for too fucking long for you to charge in here and attempt to take the reins. You’re the one out of your dumb fucking mind if you think this is going to pan out to your liking.”

I heard the hiss of expletives under his breath before he spoke again. “I don’t see what’s got the populous so fucking crazy over this random slip of a girl. I have no idea what makes one little creature so fucking compelling.”

“So let her go,” I snapped. “Send her back here and I’ll be quick to generate another prospect.”

His chuckle was filled with spite. “I don’t think so, boy. Our clients are far too keen on this little opportunity to dismiss the girl without cashing in. Any sense in that head and you’d be toeing the fucking line.”

My temples were pounding. Jaw wired tight while I churned the options for reason.