Jigsaw

4. Omar

Rage.

That was the only thing I felt as I stormed out of the conference room towards my father's office.

Pure, unbridled rage.

It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling. With every passing day, my anger management skills depleted. I was breathless, clenching and unclenching my fists as the tightness in my chest increased. I was anger. Anger was me.

As I plopped down in the chair opposite my father's huge one, I took deep breaths. Just like the ones I took at the meets.

In. Out. In. Out.

It helped me calm down a tad. Though I still wanted to punch that high and mighty piece of shit investor in the face, I had to sit still, and wait for my father to arrive and scold me. Again.

The office was quiet. The small black clock ticked quietly on the equally black table. The  theme of the office was black and grey and white. From the air conditioners to the expensive Versace rug.

I leaned back in my seat and sighed. I may or may not have caused the company to loose millions in investments when I decided to shoot a string of colorful insults at that burly old man. Though our construction company was among the top three in the state, we still needed pricks like him to help us grow even further.

Fuck, Dad is going to fry me.

The silence was pierced when my father came in. My eyes trailed after him as he strolled to his massive chair and took a seat. He was quiet. That was never a good sign.

I swallowed the lump in my throat as I moved to speak, but he help up a firm hand.

"Not another word. You've said enough"

"But he--"

"Omar"

His voice was heavy with authority, the one he only used with me when we were behind closed doors. Where no one could see what a heartless and uncaring father he was.

I sat back in my seat, and bit back on my words. He continued.

"I don't want to hear your excuses"

His voice was low, almost a growl.

"Yes, sir"

"Do you know what you've done? You almost caused us a major loss. Don't you understand your actions have consequences?"

Almost. So the deal was still open. Well, thank fuck.

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry." I forced out. One thing I hated more than my father was apologizing to said father.

"Next time, learn not to involve personal issues with work"

Now that, was the last damn straw.

"Personal issues? Are you kidding me right now? The bastard was hitting on your wife, right in front of you. The meeting was about bringing our companies together not 'buying' my fucking mother!"

"Not another word"

"Our company doesn't need that douchebag and you fucking know it"

"Omar!"

My father stood up from his seat, slamming a hand on the table to shut me up. It worked. My mouth clamped shut and I leaned back in the seat again, seething. My father was livid. His sunken eyes glared at me, threatening. If I said one more word I was finished.

"If that is what it takes to rake in more money and keep this company going, you do it. It doesn't matter who is involved. Do you understand me, boy?"