“More fool you.” I give a disgusted shake of my head.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tristan snaps.
“Just . . .” I cut myself off.
“Just what?”
“Just that I thought you were the parent,” I reply casually as I sip my water. “Why on earth you would let your child sleep in the bed while you sleep on the floor is beyond me.”
“Summer isn’t herself; she has a cough,” Tristan justifies himself.
I wince back from him. “Don’t breathe on me, then, you germy prick.”
“If you had kids of your own, you would understand,” Tristan snaps.
Elliot chuckles. “As if that’s ever going to happen.”
Tristan laughs. “I know, right?”
“Can we focus on the fucking topic here?” Jameson taps the whiteboard.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I fire back as I look between them. “I’ll have kids of my own one day.”
“Nope.” Jameson writes on the whiteboard as if remembering the next topic. “There’s no chance in hell you’ll have kids.”
“What?” I shriek in outrage. “That’s bullshit. You have no idea.”
Tristan rolls his eyes as if I’m clueless. “It’s you who has no idea.”
“You’re way too selfish to have a wife and kids. It’s never going to happen.” Elliot smirks.
“He’ll still be gangbanging chicks when he’s ninety,” Jameson replies casually as he draws a graph on the whiteboard.
The boys both laugh.
“For your information . . . I do not gangbang chicks.” I readjust my tie in annoyance. “I encourage group activities where everyone is treated equal.” I square my shoulders. “There’s a big difference.”
The three of them laugh, and I begin to see red. “You three are awfully judgy, seeing you used to be exactly the same as me.”
“No, we weren’t,” Elliot snaps. “Nowhere close. You’re broken.”
“I’m not fucking broken.” I gasp in outrage.
“You are thirty-one years old and never had a girlfriend. Not one,” Tristan says.
“You take nice girls on token dates to try and kid yourself into believing that they stand a chance, and that’s beside the fact that you only fuck women in pairs so that there is no chance you can fall for one of them,” Jameson replies flatly.
My mouth falls open in horror. “This is how you see me?”
“This is how you are,” Jameson replies. He begins to tap the whiteboard. “Now . . . back to the tracking,” he continues.
My angry heartbeat bangs hard in my ears as I look between them. I can’t believe this. “I am not broken.”
“Spoiled,” Elliot adds.
“How am I spoiled?” I gasp in horror.
Jameson screws up his face. “Oh, please.”
“I am not fucking spoiled.”
“Yes, you are,” Elliot replies.
“Name one way,” I snap.
“You have never had a job interview but have your dream job. You have penthouses in New York, London, and Paris, staff all around the world. You have a sports car collection worth ten million dollars. Somehow people think you are stupidly good looking, and you only have to look a woman’s way and she drops her panties . . . regardless if she’s married or not,” Jameson says calmly.
I open my mouth to defend myself, but no words come out.
“And . . . you won’t date an average girl because they are below you,” Tristan adds.
“Nobody wants to date an average girl,” I cry, outraged.
Jameson looks me fair and square in the eyes. “Name the last time you had to work for something, Christopher.”
“Fuck off,” I huff.
“No, I’m being serious. When was the last time you set yourself a goal and didn’t have it the same night?”
Elliot smiles as he rocks back on his chair, and I look between them as they all wait for my answer.
“He’s got nothing. Not one single time.” Tristan smirks.
“I have goals I haven’t achieved yet,” I stammer, embarrassed.
“Sleeping alone?” Elliot suggests.
They throw their heads back and laugh out loud, thinking this is the funniest thing they’ve ever heard.
Betrayal washes over me.
This is how they see me?
“Fuck you.” I stand. “And fuck your stupid meeting. I’m not staying here and listening to this bullshit.” I storm from the office and slam the door hard.
“Get back here, wimp,” Jameson yells from behind me.
I hear them burst out laughing once more . . . fuckers.
I march past reception, and the secretaries all glance up at my angry demeanor.
This is probably a first. I’m never angry.
“Everything all right, Christopher?” Victoria frowns.
“No. It’s not,” I huff. “Those fuckers in there think that I’m spoiled.” I throw my hands up in the air as I march past. “Can you fucking believe that?”
“No. Not at all.” Victoria rolls her lips to hide her smile.
I narrow my eyes in a silent warning and continue marching for my office. I hear the secretaries all snicker from the reception area.
I see red.
The world’s gone mad. I begin to pack my briefcase with force.
I.
Am.
Not.
Spoiled.
I take offense at this accusation. How dare they? Do they even know what spoiled is? I really don’t think so.
I walk back out to the elevator, and the girls all look up, surprised.
“I’m leaving,” I announce.
“To go where?” Victoria frowns.
“Wherever I want to.” That sounded bad. I point at her. “Because I’m pissed off, not because I’m spoiled.”
Victoria widens her eyes to accentuate the point.
“Shut up, Victoria,” I spit.
“Yes, sir.” She smiles.
“And don’t patronize me.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
I fume some more.
The girls all drop their heads to hide their giggles.
“Stop laughing or I’m firing you all,” I demand.
They all burst out laughing hard this time. I’m usually the funny guy of the office. Never the cranky one.
“That’s it!” I explode. The elevator doors open, and I storm inside and push the button hard. “No Christmas bonuses.”
They laugh harder again.
Witches . . . I take the elevator to the ground floor and walk out to the parking garage and look around. My car isn’t where I parked it.
I march over to the parking attendant. “Where’s my car?”
His eyes widen in horror. “Um . . .” He looks around nervously. “We weren’t aware you were coming to collect it, sir. We put it on the bottom level to make room for other cars that are leaving before you.”
What?
I raise my eyebrow, infuriated.
“When I park my car in a reserved parking spot, I expect that the fucking car will be left where I put it.”
The attendant opens his mouth to speak and then closes it again before saying anything.