Played By Riggs

1

Nine times out of ten, my assistant would have the coffee on my desk before I arrived. She knew the immediacy around getting my first dose of caffeine. 

It was on this occasion, however, that my assistant hit that one percent, and let me down.

I removed my phone and keys from my bag before throwing it under my desk, and glanced at my watch. 8:04. Well, my coffee was only four minutes late. If my mouth wasn't so dry and my head wasn't pounding from last night's events, then there was a chance I'd let my assistant off and simply thank her when she arrived, but she came barging in through the glass doors to my office, panting, red faced, with apologetic eyes, and I felt no sympathy.

"My morning coffee is essential to start my day, Tina," I said, watching her place the white mug onto the coaster. "When it's late, I'm not happy. And when you're late, the system is behind."

"Yes, yes, and I'm awfully sorry, Riggs. My alarm didn't go off, then my car wouldn't start..."

"Tina," I sighed, "you know how I dislike excuses."

"Yes, I know that." Tina's eyes fell from my face and towards my chest. Some sort of smirk then curved onto her red-coated lips. "But I'd love to hear yours."

"You would love to hear my what, Tina?"

"Your excuse, Riggs. Why are you wearing a neon pink bra underneath a white shirt?"

I swallowed my gulp of coffee, tried to jump my memory back to this morning's rush to get ready and attempted to at least recall what bra I grabbed from my drawer,  and yet, sadly, but most expectedly, I couldn't remember a thing. How many tequila shots did I throw back last night? 

"Last night went well, then?"

There was laughter in her voice. It's odd, hearing it directed towards me. I never give people something to laugh at. I tell myself to make a mental note to never drink wine, or tequila, or whatever beverage I inhaled last night again; perhaps then I would be able to grab the right bra in the morning, at least one that went with my outfit, and didn't shine through like flashing strobe lights.

"Stop laughing, Tina, it's not that funny."

She grinned at me - a smirk, really, I could never tell the difference between them when it came to Tina. "Oh, it is though. The first interview starts in 10 minutes and you're wearing a pink bra. 10 minutes. That's not even enough time for Keith to drive you home and change, either. You're screwed, really."

I grabbed the blazer from the back of my chair and, thankfully, it didn't need to be buttoned in order to hide the pink. Yet the anger wasn't subsided, I was still pissed that I had been so careless in my actions. I was a CEO, mistakes were not a part of my ethic. 5 years running and no mishaps occurred within my company, and yet I fuck up with a choice of bra? Tequila! Never again.

"I'm going to check on Kevin," I told her, pulling open my glass doors. "Oh, and Tina, set 2 alarms next time. If my coffee's late again, you're fired."

I ignored her loud, obnoxious snort and continued on my way. Tina's humour was just about the only kind I could accept, the only person I could handle to talk back, because Tina had things on me. She knew secrets that I never wanted voicing, so I held a soft spot for her somewhere. 

                                                                                      *

I was close to giving up on finding a partner to develop my new project. For the past month I had carried interviews through email, through Skype, even over the phone and yet none appealed to my liking, no one had that spark, the same enthusiasm as I for this new idea. It did occur, when I first began interviewing, that I might not find anyone, that I would have to go it alone – which was fine, clearly given I took control of all things in my life, as it was – but this aspect of knowledge was, per say, out of my reach? The business side, the paper work side was where I scored, and 5 years ago, when I came out with my fitness line Rigsby, I was buried in it, and sure, aspects like designing I took part in too, but it wasn't my comfort zone. My new project needed someone who drove on the other side, who could handle it.