Christmas Billionaire Page 3

The belt, of course, matched the shoes and the shoes matched the socks. Everything was exactly as it should be.

  By the time I exited my bedroom for the final time before going to the office, I couldn’t have been dressed sharper.

  Everything was in the proper place, and I was prepared to take on the day.

  When I returned to the living room, I found my friend had not moved at all, and I figured he might only be getting up when I returned.

  While I had opted out of another night on the town, Garrett had decided that the hair of the dog was precisely what he needed to make up for the sins of the previous night.

  Why he had chosen to return here, I didn’t know, but that was not uncommon.

  For all I knew, my friend didn’t have anywhere to go. It wouldn’t be the first time he had lived large in place of paying rent, and while that was pure stupidity to me, as my best friend, my couch was always waiting for him.

  I grabbed the keys to my Maserati and headed out to face the day, hoping to God this would be a step in the right direction for this meeting.

  When I reached the office, I had put aside all my concerns and perfected the face of a winner.

  Looking at me now, I was certain no one would know that I had a lot on my mind or that I was even thinking about the meeting.

  “Good morning, Gladys!” I called, hooking one elbow up and sliding it across her desk, “How are you this morning, beautiful?”

  “Good morning, Dex,” she giggled and blushed, “I’m well. How are you?”

  “Never better,” I exclaimed, “What’d you do over the weekend?”

  I had no interest in Gladys. She was a little older than me and attractive, but the only reason I flirted with her was because she enjoyed it. Neither one of us would ever cross that line, but after her dick of a husband ran out on her last year, she needed a little extra attention.

  “The kids had games. There were school projects…you know, the usual,” she answered honestly, which was part of the reason I liked her. She wasn’t complaining. She was simply telling me the answer to the question that I asked. So often, especially in the marketing world, that is generally looked down upon. Therefore, I found her honesty refreshing.

  “I don’t know how you do it and still remain as stunning as ever,” I told her.

  “You’re too kind,” she replied.

  “I’m honest,” I responded as I slid around the desk to greet a few of my other coworkers before dragging myself to my father’s office, hoping to God the judge had kept his word.

  I knocked on the door sternly, my posture straightening inherently, trying to lessen the ever-growing list of things my father found to bitch at me for.

  “Come in!” a stern voice boomed from behind the barrier.

  I let out a deep breath, rolled my eyes and opened the door.

  “Good morning,” I insisted, trying to keep things civil between my father and me.

  “Dexter,” my father responded in acknowledgment of my presence, for which I assumed he thought I should be grateful.

  The fact that I’m his son aside, the fortune I have made this man should have at least bought me a fucking nicety… I thought but knew that it wasn’t worth the effort to contemplate that any further. It would do no good.

  “I have the meeting this afternoon with Mr. Wilson,” I informed him, though I was certain he was aware of my schedule, “Did you get a chance to read over my proposal?”

  I heard my father snap a ruthless chuckle in my direction.

  “I thought you of all people would be above fishing for compliments. Have I taught you nothing? No news is the best news of all.”

  “Yes, Sir,” I answered immediately, wanting to replace the politeness of my words with a much cruder syntax. Although, I refrained, “The only reason that I bring it up, is that it is such a big client and I was hoping to—”

  “What? Get my approval?” he jeered, “Do you want me to pat you on the back and buy you goddamn ice-cream, Dexter? I’m your boss, and if you don’t have the balls to know what’s worth the client’s time, you don’t deserve to work here,” he shook his head, “I could write the damn thing myself and if you don’t present it correctly, the failure to close the deal is no less devastating to your career.”

  “I have no doubt that I deserve to be here and I certainly don’t want you to pat me on the back, considering you never did that while I was growing up but…”

  My father rolled his eyes.

  “Are you finished, Dexter? Have you said what you came here to say?”

  I stopped short, aggravated at being cut off but not in the mood to show it.

  “Yes, Sir,” I responded as another knock came from behind me on the already open door.

  “Brent!” my father exclaimed, standing up and putting his hand out, across the desk as though I wasn’t even there. “Come in!”

  Closing my gaping mouth, I turned and coolly greeted Brent Lawson, my father’s partner and partial owner of the marketing firm.

  My father, like myself, could talk to anyone and make them feel welcome. The man could charm a snake with his words, but when it came to his family, he was venomous.

  “Hi, Mr. Lawson! How are you doing?” I asked after Brent shook my father’s hand, as he reached for mine.

  “Great! How was your weekend?”

  “It was…as eventful as always, you know…” I chuckled, hoping the leap in my heart rate wasn’t as noticeable as it felt.

  “Same here,” Brent insisted, simpering slightly, making me wonder if he knew something that I didn’t.

  Brent Lawson wasn’t a bad guy, but he did seem to be a bit of a kiss-ass, even for owning part of the company. When it came to the decision-making process, it was my father who held the lion’s share of the weight. While Lawson would always give his opinion, if my father wanted it another way, it was usually his partner that conceded.

  Although, in all fairness, that was my father’s exemplarily employee, friend, and confidant. The more you did for him and the less you expected in return, the more secure your job in my father’s company, as well as what minuscule amount of respect Leo Myers decided to dole out.

  “Did I interrupt anything, Leo?” Brent asked, looking back at my father.

  “No, no! Not at all. Dexter was just leaving,” my father insisted, shooting me a sideways glance that spoke volumes to those who understood what he meant.

  “Yes, I guess we were done,” I hissed, turning to Brent, “Have a nice day, Sir.”

  “Thanks, you do the same,” he answered, and as he slapped my shoulder as I passed him, he asked, “Oh, hey, so, are you going to be going to the Christmas party this year? It’s at my house, you know.”

  I grinned, but my father answered.

  “Dexter, I really need to talk to Brent; would you mind?”

  “Of course,” I expressed, this time earnestly, not having any idea what I was going to do about the party. After all, I had damn community service to deal with all because Garrett couldn’t control his anger.

  “Absolutely!” Brent replied, letting my shoulder free as called after me, “Hope to see you there!”

  “Thank you,” I answered as I hurried out of my father’s office.

  Chapter 4

  Mazie

  By Friday, nearly every one of the kids, including the stragglers that normally waited until the day before a field trip to hand in their permission slips had them on my desk.

  Therefore, when I met the kids by the door as they walked in, hoping to collect the balance of them, most of the children were ready to oblige.

  However, there was one girl, Susie, who had recently been in trouble for behavioral problems, both in school and at home, who hadn’t given me her permission slip.

  Since there was no one else around when she walked into the class, I stopped her and asked if I could have a word with her.

  “Okay,” Susie answered with a slight hesitation, glancing around as though she feared she was going to be in trouble a
gain.

  I felt bad for her because I was certain that she didn’t have a stable home life. Her parents were in the middle of a bitter divorce, and the stress of her parent’s constant arguing and fighting over custody had caused the young girl to act out.

  It was an unfortunate situation because, through their own stress and grief, neither her mother nor her father had any idea how to stop this unwanted behavior.

  “Susie, you’re not in trouble for anything, don’t worry,” I insisted, and that seemed to help her to relax.

  “Okay,” she said again, more openly this time.

  “I wanted to talk to you about your permission slip,” I answered, sinking down to her level, “I haven’t received it, and normally you’re pretty good about handing them in.”

  “Yeah…I don’t know if I can go,” she replied, fidgeting nervously and refusing to look me in the eye.

  “Why is that?” I asked, knowing she was lying but wanting to gather more information before I decided what to do about it.

  “I’ve been staying with my dad, and there’s a lot going on right now. My mom usually handles permission slips and stuff, and I haven’t seen her.”

  “Should I call your dad and ask him to remind you to take it out of your backpack?”

  “No…that’s okay,” Susie replied as her eyes grew wide, as though afraid I might call her parents anyway.

  Knowing something wasn’t right, I peered at her carefully, but without judgment.

  “Alright, well, you know that if you have anything you want to talk about, you can always talk to me or you can talk to the school counselor,” I advised.

  She shook her head in agreement.

  “I know, but I don’t have the permission slip yet. That’s all. I promise I’ll remember on Monday.”

  I agreed, though I still didn’t believe her and she quickly scooted past me, into the classroom.

  Class went on as normal, and everyone was excited about the trip. After all, it was now only three school days away, with winter break following soon after. For a second-grader, that was nearly more excitement than they could handle.

  We continued our lesson about the way the holiday season was celebrated around the world, as well as working on normal schoolwork.

  I kept an eye on Susie, who I noticed didn’t participate as much as she normally did.

  While she was acting out, she was also something of a show-off. She was extremely intelligent and liked the attention of getting all the answers right, likely because that was the only positive attention she had received as of late.

  Although today, she sat with her hands folded on her desk and her eyes wandering around the room, refusing to make eye contact or raise her hand for anything. She looked concerned, but I wasn’t quite sure why.

  When the class broke for lunch, though, Susie stayed behind and asked if it would be alright if she talked to me for a second.

  “Of course, it’s alright. That’s what I’m here for,” I answered kindly as I waved the teacher’s aide, Charlotte, on ahead.

  When the line of children disappeared down the hall, Susie ran back to her desk and pulled out a piece of paper before returning to where I was seated at my desk.

  As she neared me, I could tell that the paper was her permission slip, but I didn’t say anything at first.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Lawson, I lied,” Susie explained as she flipped the paper down on my desk, “My dad did sign it and I’m afraid you’re still going to call him.”

  “Thank you for telling me,” I replied, trying not to sound the least bit judgmental, “The truth is always best because now I can help you. Why didn’t you want to tell me?”

  “Because I don’t want to go,” she answered simply.

  “Why not?”

  “Because,” Susie answered as tears filled her eyes, “I’m afraid to see Santa. He might tell me I’m bad and…I don’t mean to be bad.”

  “Oh, Susie!” I exclaimed, trying to be reserved but honest in what I told her, “You aren’t bad. I know you have a lot going on at home and Santa knows that too.”

  “He does?” she inquired as a small grin tugged up at the corner of her mouth.

  “Of course! Santa knows everything, but…what gave you the idea that he would say you were bad?”

  “My dad,” she answered as her lip pouted slightly, “When he signed the permission slip, he said that I could go, but not to be surprised if he said I wasn’t getting anything for Christmas this year because I haven’t been a good girl.”

  My heart broke for this poor girl, but I tried to hide the feeling of anger I suddenly had toward her father and insisted, “Like I said, Santa knows everything and whether you are good or not should be between you and him. You know how in class we talked about how it was always good to get the whole situation before making a judgment?”

  “Yeah?” Susie replied, swiping a runaway tear off her cheek.

  “Well, Santa is especially good at finding out the facts and making his own judgment because that’s what he does. He takes everything into consideration, and I’m sure you are going to get everything you want this Christmas.”

  “So, you don’t think he’s going to be angry with me?”

  “Not at all! I think you’ll have a great time.”

  This time, a big grin crossed her face.

  “Thank you, Ms. Lawson!” she exclaimed.

  “Of course!” I insisted, “Anytime. Are you ready to go to lunch now?”

  “I think so,” she answered, and so I walked her down to the lunchroom before coming back to finish up some paperwork, prepare for the second half of the day, and make a phone call to Susie’s father. I didn’t want to start any trouble, of course, but I did want him to know about the conversation I had with his daughter.

  He seemed to be contrite about it and understand the effect the comment, which he swore was a joke, had on his daughter.

  We agreed not to mention it to her, but he promised to be more careful about what he said to her, especially considering everything that was going on at home.

  After I hung up the phone, I was pleased. Yet, I hoped that her father did as he said he would and genuinely understood the repercussions of taking out the stress of his failing marriage on Susie.

  The rest of the day was uneventful, and after school, I met with my friend, Laura, for our yoga class.

  “So, what’s going on in the teaching world?” Laura, a dedicated marketer and public relations woman, asked as we waited for the class to start.

  “Well, we’re going to see Santa with the kids on Wednesday. That should be fun.” I told her, fully expecting to get teased for my obvious excitement.

  “That’s funny. I’m going to see Santa this week too, but it’s for a client and promises to be far less fun,” she replied.

  “How’s everything in the marketing world?”

  “Always changing, progressing, and striving for bigger and better, but never actually achieving the Holy Grail of advertising,” she laughed, “You know, the same. The ever-exciting hamster wheel.”

  I chuckled, knowing all too well the incessant, twenty-four-hour, seven-days-a-week potential for disaster that my father’s company somehow manages to avoid for its clients.

  The burden had lessened in the past few years since more people joined the company, but when I was younger, the family could hardly get through a vacation without him being called away on business. It was ridiculous, which was why I wanted no part of it.

  Laura, on the other hand, was a friend of mine since grade school and took to the business almost immediately.

  In high school, she asked my father to be her mentor and that decision, after a lot of hard work and dedication on Laura’s part, landed her a well-paying job in my father’s company.

  She loved her job but hated the co-owner, Leo Myers, as most people did. Though my father shielded her from a lot of his bullshit and she was good at what she did, so she could wade through it without going completely insane.

>   As the rest of the class gathered, Laura and I brought our mats up to the middle of the community center where the class was being held, and we positioned them.

  “Seriously?” Laura giggled, watching me agonize over putting everything in its perfect place, “We’re supposed to be here de-stressing, not finding things to stress about.”

  “You know me, I have to have it perfect, or I’ll never relax,” I replied insistently, “And if you keep complaining about my methods, I’ll come over there and organize your belongings too!”

  “Girl, keep your crazy perfectionist paws off my mat,” she retorted playfully, “But if you need to organize my stuff, I wouldn’t mind you coming to my apartment and cleaning up a bit.”

  “Um…I do…Every time I come over,” I insisted.

  “Oh yeah! That’s right. You start having a panic attack if you don’t clean for the first hour we’re hanging out.”

  I shot her a dirty look but didn’t reply, so the two of us sat in silence until the class started, which was only a few moments.

  I wasn’t angry with her since I was used to her and everyone else that I knew teasing me about my habit of being a neat freak

  However, when the class was finished, Laura was eager to make conversation, which indicated she thought I might have taken her teasing the wrong way.

  “So, are you coming to your father’s party tomorrow night?”

  “Of course,” I grinned, “I wouldn’t miss it…couldn’t miss it.”

  “Oh, you know you like it! You’re the only one who isn’t a part of the company that gets to go to this grand event,” she chuckled.

  “That’s not true. You were able to go long before you could even work, let alone be part of the company.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s because I’m a protégé,” she teased and I chuckled, though I knew it wasn’t far from the truth.

  To my father, Laura was something of a godsend because I wasn’t interested and he wanted to be able to share his experience with someone who understood his dedication to the craft.

  “You know I was only teasing you before, right?” Laura insisted, wanting to make sure the air was clear.

  “Of course, I do,” I answered honestly, “And besides, I’d be in denial if I didn’t embrace my anal tendencies.”