"Not to mention how fun the garden simulator is." He held up his phone. "I've already got sprouts popping up in my first rows."
I glanced at his screen, impressed with the graphics. Tasha's team had an excellent eye for details, and she had made sure the application had everything that a budding gardener might need or want. "Why don't you get a little planter box and plant some real seeds?" I asked Topher.
My assistant shook his head and adjusted the crisp white cuffs of his shirt. "I wouldn't want to get dirt in here. Virtual gardening is good enough for me. Wait until you see my GroGreen page tomorrow."
"Right," I said, vaguely annoyed by his response.
I moved past Topher's desk and into my office. At a loss for anything productive to do, I headed straight for the window. The view was significantly lower than the panorama of the penthouse office, but I was facing the right way and sure to work my way upstairs. I wondered how Tasha felt in her office overlooking the gray facade of another building. The contrast made me uncomfortable.
"Sir, you're on!" Topher scuttled into my office and turned on my large flat-screen television. "You're the headline story."
The business news segment started with a few still shots of me at the product launch party. The news anchor played up the angle of me as the industry playboy, always on the first wave of the best parties and trends. I cringed as I saw myself caught on camera with woman after beautiful woman. Sure, it was just publicity, but it all seemed so ridiculous. My stomach churned as the news anchor went on and on about the amount of champagne that flowed.
"And Hyperion Industries certainly has much to celebrate as the product sales are quickly outpacing any new app we've seen since PokeGo," the business anchor reported.
Topher was hopping from one foot to the other in his excitement. All rumors and reports were pointing to a huge success. "I can't wait for the meeting, sir. Can you even imagine the kind of bonus you'll be getting?"
"The profits get spread out over hundreds of people," I reminded my assistant. "And I just came in on the tail-end to help with public relations. I'm sure the long-term team members will get much more."
Topher shook his head. "No, sir, I checked. All junior executives are considered equal pay no matter how long they have worked on a project."
"Speaking of work," I said. "I need a minute to return some calls."
Topher nodded and trotted back out the door. I sat down at my desk and kicked my heels up on the corner, k
nowing full well my assistant would look back as he shut the door. The young man grinned, seeing me as the lounging picture of success.
If only he knew how my stomach worked into tighter knots as I smiled.
Once my office door was closed, the smile disappeared. I sagged farther down in my chair and stared at my shoes. Stupid, shiny things that I'd paid more for than most people spent on their cars. Those shoes were good looking but lacked a substantive sole. I slammed my feet onto the plush carpet and rubbed my hands over my face. If it was true what people say about judging a man based on his shoes, then I should have been exposed as a fraud a long time ago: I was all polish and no soul.
I fumbled for the remote and turned the television off. It was too ridiculous to see my smiling face all over the news. I scowled into the sudden silence. I knew there was no shame in playing the game, and it had gotten me far, but I was sick of my own hype. The office playboy who the women loved and the men wanted to be. The public relations man who could spin any situation. The junior executive with the solid gold charm. I was really going places.
The only reason I had been added to the GroGreen project was my reputation. The top execs knew they had a success on their hands and they wanted to make sure they stamped it with their brand of work. I was to represent Hyperion's old-school style while showing off the latest innovations. How did anyone believe that two-martini lunches, passing the buck, and stealing the credit created the next step in technology? Because I made them believe it.
It was a cheap trick and reminded me of the shell game I learned when I was little. I robbed my brother of all his quarters before he realized I was a cheat. When he complained to my father, my father only told pointed out that was the way the game was played.
"Mr. Maxwell? Your brother is on line two." Topher buzzed the call through to my desk.
"Speak of the devil," I said.
"Were you?" my brother asked. "I'm glad one of your colleagues pointed out those crow's feet. Television shows all the flaws. You tell them I can fix all that in an hour?"
I groaned. "What do you want, Evan?"
"Oh, so now my baby brother thinks he's the best because he was on television?" Evan sighed. "I keep telling you a real reputation can't be built on bottles of champagne."
"Are you trying to sell me on Botox injections again or what?" I asked.
"Nope. I'm just calling to show you how a real Maxwell makes the grade. Have you seen my review in the Best of the Bay? All the top critics are calling me the new face of plastic surgery," Evan said.
I dropped an elbow on my desk and leaned on it hard. "Father must be so proud."
"Yes, exactly. In fact, the old man's taking me out for a celebratory dinner tonight. You want in?"
I ground my teeth. It didn't matter that my face was now all over the headline news or that my name was trending alongside the biggest app launch of the year; my father was not impressed. Instead, he was taking my older brother out to dinner to celebrate. And I was being invited as an after-thought. Less than that, I was being invited as Evan's way of rubbing my face in it.
"I've got plans," I muttered.