Fighter

Twenty eight

You're welcome!

Your POV

Every chair around the huge mahogany table in the meeting room is occupied. The windows that go to the ceiling light up the dark room. the remaining partners chat monotonously as the last slides of the Powerpoint presentation detailing the potential businesses we are working on are shown. I look away from the window overlooking Washington and look up at the presenter for the first time. He's full of himself: young, handsome, in a suit that costs more than his weekly salary, he's practically salivating at the thought of the commission he'll get if he can close the deals he's been running.

He notices I'm looking at him and it makes him lose his rhythm but I don't look away. He tugs at his collar trying to be discreet but I can see him start to squirm. For some reason seeing his money-crazy motivation pisses me off, even though I should be glad since I'm going to earn a big commission with every deal he closes.

- Does anyone have any questions? - The associate looks around the room, avoiding looking at me.

- I have.- I clear my throat and speak loudly.- How many hours a week do you work, sir....? - I try to remember his name.

- Blake.

- What?

- My last name...... is Blake - He clarifies.

- Is that the answer to the question I asked you? - I say angrily looking directly at him.

- No but.....

- Do you have an answer then? - I interrupt him losing my patience.

- I don't know. Maybe eighty hours a week.

- Why?

- Sorry ma'am.- He stutters.- I didn't understand your question.

- Are you stupid?

- Y/N - Tom, my CEO and sometimes my best friend interrupts.

- What? I asked a simple fucking question and he can't answer. So he can only be stupid.

- Blake, why don't you take a five-minute break? - Tom suggests looking in my direction.

- Do not bother yourself. Keep going without me.- I stand up abruptly and the chair I was sitting on falls to the floor. I don't bother lifting it and leave the conference room slamming the door behind me so hard the walls vibrate with the intensity of my anger.

=======================

- The vigilante type doesn't suit you.- Tom says as he enters my office a little later. He walks over to the sideboard that I use as a makeshift bar, picks up a glass and pours two fingers of fifty-year-old single malt whiskey to match the glass I already have in my hands. Just this is my second.

Ignoring him, I continue to sit behind my desk, staring out the window, lost in my self-pity. Tom stops on the other side of my sleek, modern glass table and waits patiently, sipping his drink.

- So you want to talk about it? Or should I get another associate for you to reprimand for no apparent reason? - He asks bluntly.

- He's dumb.

Tom laughs

- He's really stupid. But that doesn't get to the point. He's a miracle worker and he put on a good show. You attacked him because he couldn't answer a meaningless question quickly enough.

- It wasn't meaningless.- I grumble under my breath.

- Right.- He lifts his leg and crosses it, resting it on his knee in a relaxed way as if he's getting ready for a long story.- Then update me. What is the purpose of the question?