Then I remembered I didn’t need to care. Damon could take his “magical” pecker and stick it in a light socket for all I cared.
I was only here for the money. Not even a single part of this whole fiasco was about trying to give him a chance to prove he deserved to know he had a daughter.
Not even a little bit.
But… If I had to sit and watch Tia slather herself all over him for another minute, I thought I might end up tossing my water on her face. To make matters worse, Damon wasn’t exactly beating her away with a stick. He just sat there, letting her flirt.
Yeah. It was time for a bathroom break. The kind of bathroom break that takes a long detour to the bar. I doubted he’d even notice I was gone with Tia’s Instagram-perfect tits in his face.
9
Damon
This sort of thing made me want to find the nearest beach and start kicking down sandcastles. Fuck. Fundraisers in general weren’t the problem. Rich assholes like myself should open up their wallets and give back. The problem was nobody here cared about the cause. It was all about status and power.
From the top to the bottom, it was a pissing contest, and I was obligated to produce the largest stream to make a good show for Rose Athletic Representatives.
Yoo goddamn hoo.
Part of my image was being the best. I was the Rolls Royce of athletic representation, so I had to make sure I showed I wasn’t shy about throwing money around. That meant I was seated closest to the stage beside Tia Klein herself. I’d also paid enough that Chris, his date, and Chelsea had places at the table. It was all an extravagance, but a necessary one.
The dining hall buzzed with conversation as we took our seats and dishes started to be served. Normally, I would’ve gotten up from my seat and circulated the room, doing my best to shake the right hands and make sure athletes I had my eye on knew who I was and where to find me.
Tonight, I didn’t have the stomach for it. Chelsea had worn the most godawful assortment of clothing I think any woman had ever put on. Yellow. Every single thread was yellow.
Ever since I was a kid, I’d had a particular dislike of the color. And yes, the rumors were mostly true. I had fired Todd and his stupid named self from my office for wearing a yellow tie. The part nobody got right in the story was that Todd also had mustard smeared in his patchy mustache from his lunch. Dried, crusty, mustard. It made me physically sick to look at, and I fired him by reflex.
Knowing Chelsea, someone had tipped her off to the fact that I hated yellow and put her up to this. But I was a grown ass man. It was just a color. I’d survive the night, even if I would need to avert my eyes from the fluorescent blob that was my personal assistant.
Tia sat to my right, where she was busy trying to snap the perfect selfie for her Instagram account. Chelsea was to my left and somehow engaged in animated discussion with Chris’ date, who looked like her brain might’ve fit in a peanut shell.
Was there anyone this woman couldn’t get along with?
Yeah, me. We butted heads every time we were together, and when we weren’t fighting, we were fucking. What a beautiful relationship.
“Would it kill you to stay focused?” I said quietly in her ear, cutting her off mid-sentence.
“I’m so sorry, boss,” Chelsea said sweetly. “I sometimes forget that you own me, and I’m not allowed to pee without your permission.”
I knew she was only teasing, but even hearing her jokingly say I owned her made my skin prickle with heat. It brought up vivid flashbacks of my hand buried in her hair and her soft ass against my hips. “I need my personal assistant to act like she’s here as an employee and not at a social event. And I need her to show she has some common sense the next time she gets dressed.”
Chelsea’s cheeks flushed. “Somebody misled me. About the yellow,” she added in a near whisper.
I leaned closer. “What do you mean?”
Chelsea just shook her head. “I’m not going to tell you. It’s too embarrassing. Can we just pretend I’m not wearing any of this?”
“No,” I said, trying to expel the image of her stripped bare and naked. I did not need to picture that. “That wouldn’t be a good idea.”
Chelsea caught the look on my face, then grinned. “Like what you see, boss?” She wiggled her eyebrows.
“You said someone misled you. What did you mean?”
She sighed. “Daria said you love yellow. She said you’re super nice to people when they wear yellow. Then Dick told me on the ride over about how you tore some poor guy’s head off just for wearing a yellow tie. So…”
I cracked a smile. “You thought dressing as a lemon would get me to be nice to you?”
Chelsea glared.
“Did you ever consider not being a sarcastic, back-talking pain in my ass?”
“No. Wearing yellow sounded a lot less painful than having to kiss your ass. I was going to load my closet with fifty shades of yellow if that was what it took.”
“You probably shouldn’t trust Daria, by the way,” I said.
“Yeah, no shit. Why would she try to trick me?”
“Daria has a twisted sense of humor. It’s nothing personal, probably. She’s… not amused by normal things.”
“Well, I’ve got to use the restroom. Am I allowed to pee on the clock, boss?”
“I’d suggest the toilet.”
She stared for a few seconds, then half-smiled. “Was that a joke?”
“No,” I said sternly. “Now go use the bathroom.”
She got up, glanced back at me once, then left.
“You two have an interesting relationship,” Chris noted. “It sounds like you need to practice a little sexual therapy.”
“Hardly.”
I felt
