“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” I tell her. “Wasn’t he being forced out because of something or another?”
“That’s the scuttlebutt,” she says, “but it looks like he’s not too worried about it anymore.”
“Scuttlebutt?” I ask. “And you’re telling me that my terminology is opaque.”
Really, I just said that last part in hopes that she doesn’t know the word and would give her classic fake grin and wide-eyed expression that she thinks, for some reason, isn’t a billboard every time she doesn’t know a word.
There it is.
“Opaque means that something is difficult or impossible to see through. In this case, it could be said to mean that it’s simply unclear,” I explain, and wait for the series of too-quick head nods and assertions that she does, in fact, know what the word means.
“I know what it means,” she says, and I’m wondering how she’s managed to stave off whiplash this long.
“What do I have after lunch?” I ask.
She pulls her planner from her purse and looks through it.
“It looks like you’ve got a teeth cleaning at 4,” she says.
I’m waiting to hear what else I have, but it’s been a growing trend that there’s not much what else to have.
“Seriously?” I ask. “We were moving forward with Ainsley and the board. Are you really telling me that there’s nothing else on the schedule?”
“Oh, you’re right,” she says, tapping the page of her planner with her finger. “Your mother called and wanted to make sure that you haven’t quit your job and started doing porn. She told me that she’d call back around 2 o’clock.”
“Ah, Mom,” I yawn. “I really do have to figure out a way to get her to lose my number.”
“Good afternoon, ladies,” Mitch, one of my boss’s bosses says, approaching our table.
“Hey, Mitchell,” Mags says, and I don’t hide the rolling of my eyes.
Mags, my dear sweet Margaret, secretary extraordinaire of mine, has a thing for old money. By old, I don’t mean that the money’s been in the family for generations. I mean that she loves the idea of marrying some rich bastard and having him die just after he puts her in his will.
So far, it hasn’t worked, but she has had a lot of disgusting nights that I’ve had the displeasure of hearing about over the last year or so.
“Mr. Young,” I say, as always, making a conscious effort to avoid cringing at the irony of a man of his rather advanced age having a surname like that, “we were just talking about what our next step should be in approaching our expansion.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t trouble yourself about that too much, dear,” he says. “We’ve got some of the best people working on it as we speak.”
You son of a bitch, I am the best people — person, and this whole thing was my idea, you wrinkled, old fuck.
“That’s good to hear,” I smile. “You know, I’ve got some great ideas that I’d like to run by you sometime when you’re not too busy. In fact, I think we might be able to increase our presence in the Midwest for less than we’ve got budgeted for-”
“That’d be great,” Mr. Dickhead answers. “Margaret, I was wondering if you might be able to help me with something in my office.”
I’m thinking about puppies and unicorns and trains crashing into orphanages to fight the urge to vomit at the thought of what’s about to happen between the two of them.
“I’ll be right there,” she tells him.
“You know,” I say, “Mags and I have a lot of work to do this afternoon, but I’m sure we could get Daniel from accounting to give you a hand.”
“You know,” Mr. Young says, “as I think about it, I think I might have a few minutes this afternoon to discuss your ideas. You always do have the best insights into these things, after all.”
“Have Mags put you in my book when you?
??re done with her,” I tell him.
Yeah, that’s right, you old leech. I know what’s going on here, and I’m not above light blackmail to make sure I benefit from it.