So, you know, I don’t have to be standing here, having this awkward interaction.
With the man whose rideshare I stole.
With the man who’s unbelievably attractive and who I realized on the uncomfortable ride over—for I was sitting in the truth of my behavior—dropped a boatload of cash on a cake auction at the benefit I was attending for my boss this evening.
Jean-Michel can’t stand the chitchat that’s barely disguised as someone with their hand held out, ready to accept his black AmEx (with the intention to max it out), but that doesn’t mean he hoards his money like some demented Scrooge McDuck.
He donates to a lot of causes—including the one funding a new women’s health center at a local hospital that I attended tonight on his behalf and several pet charities that his daughter, Chrissy, and a woman who may as well be his daughter by now, Rory, run. He’s generous with both his time and his wallet. He just…doesn’t have patience for the glad-handing.
So, I do it.
I don’t mind.
Dressing up is fun.
Charging a gorgeous gown to the company account (and shoes and makeup and a hairstylist’s services) once or twice a quarter is a fun side perk.
Plus, it gives me a chance to scope out the competition.
Those who might try and slide in on Jean-Michel’s connections, those who might try to outcompete or sabotage him.
Or those who may be a nice compliment to his corral of businesses.
Like Jace.
Who I realized on the ride over—and thanks to the power of Google—looked familiar because he’s actually Jace Henderson, CEO of one of the fastest growing companies in the United States.
He’s in biomed with a focus on the technological side and…it goes without saying that he is one of those business people who may be a compliment to Jean-Michel.
In fact, I’m pretty sure we have a current contract at Titan Capital with his company, Genen-core.
Which is…
Well, a fucking nightmare, isn’t it?
The possibility of—after the events of this evening—having to interact with this man at my place of work.
Added on top of living in the same building as me, apparently.
Notapparently, I realize a moment later, catching the door before it latches shut, pulling it wide enough for me to step through…to step through and watch, Donnie, our evening security guard stroll back into the lobby and call out, “Hey, Jace!”
He extends his hand and Jace doesn’t hesitate to shake it.
Ugh.
It’d be easier if he was an asshole who ignored Donnie, who barely acknowledged someone lower in social standing than him—adding to the image I created of the jerk outside the venue.
Instead, he pauses, shakes hands, and asks Donnie about his family.
He’s personable, not really rubbing in the whole Lyft fiasco thing when he had every right to, and…he donates money at a charity event in an absurd auction for a cake he didn’t touch benefitting women’s health.
Ugh.
I want to hate him. Ineedto hate him.
“Check it out, man,” Donnie says, reaching behind the counter. He snags a picture, shows it to Jace. “She just had senior prom.” A shake of his head. “My little girl is all grown up.”
“You give that date of hers the side eye so he’d behave?”
