“You’ll sue me for sexual harassment?”
“No,” Zoe huffs. Of course, she wouldn’t lie. That’s not her style. “But I’ll make sure everyone knows that you…well…yeah. You know.”
“I don’t…” As if my wet jeans weren’t any indication.
“You’re such a…a…a poop pants. You know that?”
“Nice. I’m glad to see you’ve graduated to using adult words.”
“Shut the eff up!” Zoe yells. “God! You can be so frustrating!” She stamps her foot. “You haven’t grown up at all. I have no clue how you have all this money and…and power, and how everyone thinks you’re something because you’re seriously nothing but an asshole.”
“I offered a second round, and I promised that this time, I’d pleasure you properly, but you were the one who declined. I’m assuming we’re talking about that. That being the thing that matters.”
“I hate you.” Zoe fumes. “We are done. I’m leaving.”
The instant Zoe spins around, panic slams into me like a rabid moose charging and hammering me straight in the chest with its impressive rack. So, it’s clear I know nothing about wildlife. I’ve never even been camping, but my mom talks about moose and deer and bears and stuff since she lives in Colorado. Me? I wouldn’t know the difference between a moose or a bear. Okay, in all honesty, maybe to that extent, I would. Who am I kidding about that?
But I do feel like I’ve just been charged at by something pissed off, wild, and dangerous. My chest compresses, my lungs deflate, and something weird goes on in my stomach. Even my limbs are tingly.
I leap up and stalk across the room. I don’t touch Zoe because she’s apt to spin around and kick me straight in the nuts or something, but I do tug on her purse hard enough to spin her around. “You’re not driving.”
Zoe rolls her eyes and tugs her purse away from me. “Of course I’m not. I’m going to call one of those services that pick you up and drive your car for you.”
“Okay, I just wanted to make sure.”
“Uh- okay.” Zoe shoots me another death glare.
“See you around then.”
“No! You will not be seeing me.”
“But you’ll be at work tomorrow. I know you will because you have no other job to go to, and you’re too nice to just leave everyone fucked because you decide to up and walk out. You’ll at least give your two weeks’ notice so that they can find a replacement, and also so you’ll have time to leave training notes or whatever you need to do to ensure a smooth transition.”
“So, you’ll let me quit?”
“I would have to. I can’t stop you. And I was bullshitting about the blackmail. Of course I wouldn’t fire anyone. There. You have all the power. You decide. I hope you do the right thing and choose to stay at something you’re good at.”
“You’re not going to get to me with your reverse psychology?”
“I think reverse psychology would be saying I hope you quit, get into some terrible accident, rot forever, and have worms eat your eyes.”
“Jesus,” Zoe hisses. “Don’t remind me about that.”
We read this poem back when we were kids. I’ve always hated the dark (yes, I know there are therapists and doctors for that too, and I’m rich enough to afford to get my problems and random phobias figured out because I’m a grown-ass man, and I should want to spend absurd amounts of money doing those things in order to better myself as a human being), and so, of course, one night, Zoe decides to turn off the bedroom light, get out her flashlight, and read this stupid horror book with all sorts of morbid poems.
Who writes poems about gross things like worms eating your eyes?
Anyway, I find it kind of fitting. My phone is in my hand, the light shining a straight beam at Zoe, kind of like how she held the flashlight against her face that night. I thought she was terrifying that night. I kind of still do, in a completely different sort of way.
Terror sometimes means awe-inspiring.
“Anyway,” I say, clearing my throat. “I’m not going to be around. I have other things I need to be doing, so quit or don’t quit. I won’t bother you. But you have every opportunity for advancement because I always make sure that everyone who works for me who has potential and wants to better themselves has the opportunity to do it, barrier-free.”
“Because you like to pretend you’re a nice person.”
“Because it just makes sense, financially.”
“I see. Everything really is about money.”
This isn’t nearly finished, so I just shrug. I won’t tip Zoe off to the fact that I have every plan to suddenly take a real interest in the business I just acquired. And in the potential leadership that I could plumb from the already existing employees. Just about every place could use a little fine-tuning. Usually, I pay people, experts, to do that kind of thing. I actually do care that the people who work for me have every chance to succeed and chase their dreams, and not just because it usually does mean better production, more money, and more success. To the outside world, it might appear that way, and I’ve never been one to care about correcting people’s assumptions. I always knew the truth, which was enough for me.
“Goodnight, Zoe. I hope you stick around. You always were smart.”
“Smart. Which is why you’ll have my two weeks tomorrow.”
“I don’t need it personally. Just put it in with HR.”
Zoe grumbles something, gives me one more scathing look, and storms out the front door. I can literally hear her outside as soon as the door shuts, calling for a cab or whatever the company is called. It’s actually a great idea. Maybe I should invest in
