"Just go on in; you'll see." She sauntered away.
I entered my office and froze for half a second before regaining my composure. I locked the door swiftly before crossing the room to shake his hand.
"Charles Dorsey. How are you?" When we shook hands, his was sweaty and weak. He looked like shit. Even though we were both around the same age, he looked 20 years older than I did, with wrinkled jowls, a balding head, and a paunchy gut that hung down over his waistband. It made me glad that we'd taken different paths, or that could have been me, too.
"I'm good, ya know, I'm good," he stammered in a rush of words. "How are you? It looks like you're doing good; yeah, it looks like you're doing really good. We shared a lot of good times together back in the day; yeah, a lot of good times. Remember all the good times we shared?"
He sounded like he was itching for a fix, and the sight of him with his twitching eye and restlessly moving body sickened me.
"I don't remember those times as being quite that good. If I recall, they sucked pretty bad. I was always broke, unable to pay rent, barely able to focus. I lost my girlfriend and my friends, and I nearly lost my business and everything I owned.
“If it hadn't been for being locked up in that rehab center, I would have. Thank God Gwyneth loved me enough to dump me. It was the wake-up call that got me committed into rehab and saved me from losing everything else I had left."
"Yeah, so you know how rough it can be when you’re down," Charles said, missing the point entirely. "What do you say you help an old frat brother out? Fraternity brothers for life, remember? I just need a few thousand bucks to pay off some debts and get some medication that I need. You can see I've been sick."
"Yeah, I know just what kind of meds you need. Forget it. I'm going to help you in the best way I can — by not helping you at all. Get yourself checked into rehab, Charles. I'll even help cover the cost. Other than that, you're not getting a dime from me."
"How about a job then? I'm about to lose my house. I can't tell Lisa I got fired from another job; she'll leave me. Help me out. You owe me."
"How do I owe you?" I was getting pissed off now and started guiding Charles to the door.
"We were frat brothers. We were part of an unbreakable bond of brotherhood. All that you are is because of me."
"All that you are is because of addiction. Get out until you get yourself cleaned up." I shoved Charles out of my office door and called for security to escort him out.
"You haven't seen the last of me. Brothers don't stab brothers in the back like this," he was shouting hysterically as they hauled him away.
"Angela, how could let him in my office? He's obviously a wreck," I barked angrily, looking for my assistant.
"Oh, sorry. He said you were old friends, so I figured it would be okay." She smiled at me with exaggerated sweetness.
"Don't let him in the building again. In fact, don't let anyone in my office again without my permission, got it?"
"What? Sorry, but I can't take orders from you right now. I'm on my way out to lunch with Steve from finance."
"You mean my CFO?" I was flabbergasted. Why would she would be having lunch with him?
"It turns out that he needs a new assistant, so I'm transferring there. He invited me out for a champagne lunch to celebrate. I guess you're on your own for the rest of the day. Oh, and don't forget you have an interview in 15 minutes."
She gave me the finger as she blew me a kiss goodbye and then sauntered away. Shit! What a time to have my assistant quit, but I guessed I got what I deserved for thinking I could screw around in the office and never pay the price.
I was still struggling to delegate all of Angela's duties to other members of my staff when the interview reporter showed up with his cameraman.
"Never a dull moment at Speed Motorcycles," I joked as I guided them into my office. “I’m always racing around doing something."
The interview went smoothly. He had lots of questions about the All American, and I was able to really talk up the selling points of the bike in a conversational way. His questions about my relationship with Kayla gave the interview a little spark of gossip I knew would attract readers, and I was careful to keep my answers vague to keep them wanting more.
"Miss Brandt did a terrific job showcasing the All American in this month's issue of Speed Magazine. I respect her tremendously and felt a real connection with her when we were working together on the cover shoot. So, it was really good to see her again at the party."
"Are the rumors true that you two are now a couple?" the reporter pressed.
I knew Kayla would want me to say that we were, but my negative experience with Angela that morning had shown me how ugly break-ups are and reminded me just why I never wanted to be in a relationship. It put a blockade up in front of my heart, which had been opening up when I was alone with Kayla at the hotel all weekend, and slammed it shut again.
"No, we're just very close friends," I copped out, even though it made me feel disgusted with myself. "We had a very nice time at the party and I enjoyed working with her professionally, but I am still a confirmed bachelor with no plans to ever be in a committed relationship."
"I see. A lot of single women out there will be happy to know you’re still unattached, but disappointed to learn you plan to stay that way forever," the reported chuckled. He glanced at his watch and said, "I see our time together is up, but do you have time for one last question?"
"Of course, anything," I grinned. The interview had been going great and I wanted to end it on a high note for the company. I was hoping he'd ask me one last question about the future for Speed Motorcycles or what innovations we had planned next. It would be the perfect way to wrap up the interview and wipe out my guilt for betraying Kayla.