“Numbers? Work numbers or…”
“Work numbers are fine. I seem to do a lot better with what I do here.”
“Maybe it’s not quality or quantity but rather subject matter?”
I had an appeal, but targeting certain markets was trickier than others. But I didn’t have a chance to get into that when we were interrupted by Steve. My boss, Steve Vanderburn, was actually a stand-up guy, but he looked pissed off when he beckoned for me to join him in his office.
“Hey, Steve. What’s going on?” My stomach quivered. It was the whole authority thing again, like being called to the principal’s office.
He shut the door but started talking before he even circled his desk. “You can’t work on your private project on company time.”
“I was on break.”
“Other people don’t know if you’re on break.” He sat in his big chair and glared at me. “I don’t like reprimanding you. I’m well aware of your performance here, and it’s beyond exemplary. But.”
“But what?”
“When your co-workers complain, I have to put my foot down. Don’t log into your accounts here at work.”
“It’s practice for my clients.” Even I knew I was reaching on that one.
Steve sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Don’t do it, Joe. In fact. Go home. You’re suspended for the rest of the day. Come back tomorrow with a better attitude.”
Better attitude? Fuck that. Fuck him. I nodded and left his office. I went to my stupid cubby and logged out.
“Hey, where you going?” Ben called out to me, but I waved him off and kept going.
I should have gone outside to use my fucking phone to review my platforms, instead of staying at my desk. Going forward, that’s what I would do. Inconvenient, but bills had to be paid. Thankfully, I was on a salary, not hourly, which meant I wasn’t being docked pay.
It was like being gifted a free half-day off, and I wanted to be happy about it. It meant I could work on my own shit the rest of the day.
But.
I wasn’t. I was crushed and hurt with a thousand and one scenarios running through my head, mostly about who the fuck had complained about me. I was at the top of the scorecard, bringing in the biggest returns. Surely, someone was jealous. That meant I couldn’t give them anything else to bitch about. What a shitty thing to deal with at work. Now I had to watch my back. I didn’t know who to trust.
What the fuck? Maybe I needed to look for a new job. In fact, maybe I could get more money somewhere else. I hated that it came down to that. Money and being comfortable in a trusting environment. The former didn’t outweigh the latter, or the other way around. Both mattered.
I didn’t know what to do. So I went home and crawled into my closet with my comfort things. A nap with my stuffie and my binkie was exactly what I needed.
I took a deep breath, smelling the salt in the air of the fresh, sunny day. This was why I wanted to live here. We’d raced here over the years, and I loved it every single time. Florida was beautiful, and St. Petersburg was a cool place.
Finding a house was challenging, though. There wasn’t a lot on the market, and what was available and in my price range wasn’t ideal. Tyler had been exceedingly patient in showing me all the properties, and he listened to what I had to say about them.
“I think this one might be it, Vince.” Tyler punched in the code and used the key from the box to open the huge front door. This one had a very white exterior with a Spanish tile roof. The contrast was stark, but not outrageous. It was on a cul-de-sac, on the water, with a dock in the back. I didn’t know what I’d do with that since I didn’t have a boat. The pool area was fantastic. Perfect for parties or lounging or getting some exercise.
Inside was beautiful with personality, and at this point, was my favorite. Priced just under five million, it was under budget, but not by much.
“This is the best so far. But I’m not sure.”
“What’s holding you back? I mean, this is an exquisite property.”
“Well…” I stood in the living room, looking around at the big, open area. “The kitchen is big, but it’s ugly. Come on.”
Tyler waved me off. “That can change. It’s only cosmetics, and it has great bones. And that pass-through window.”
I shrugged. I could probably walk through and pick the place apart, but he was right. It was all about taste in finishes. “Something about it is just not me.”
“I got you. Well. Hmm…I think I have something else, but it’s on Davis Islands. Tampa side. Are you open?”
