“Oh yeah, well, you forgot about the time I ran into the burning building—”
“It wasn’t a building. It was akiosk.”
“That sold magazines and newspapers. Do you realize how flammable those are?” Why am I bothering to defend myself? The truth is, the woman who ran the kiosk wasveryappreciative. She thanked me for saving her.
“Ben. Please.” Clive’s voice is starting to sound a wee bit condescending.
“What?” I snap back. He’s really pissing me off.
“Face it. You’re no more a superhero than I am.”
I scoff at his words. This guy? A superhero? Ha! “For the record, I never called myself a superhero. That wasyou,” I say, pointing at him. “I’ve never given myself a label.” Not out loud, anyway.
“Yeah you did. That night we went out, you labeled the hell out of yourself.”
“I. Was. Drunk.” I mean, come on. We all say stupid shit when we’re drunk, am I right?
“Still.” Clive smirks. “You’ll never be able to live down ‘Sexy Savior.’”
Wow, he’s right. That really is a stupid superhero name. Couldn’t I have at least come up with something more dignified?
Sexy Savior.
Christ.
* * *
I was donewith my conversation with Clive. I was over his attitude and smugness. He just didn’t understand what it was like to be me. I should pity him, really. He’s just average Clive with the receding hairline and premature paunch. The guy is only mid- to late twenties or something and he already looks like he’s fifty.
He’s jealous. Yeah, that’s his deal. He’s just jealous.
I scoff. At myself. When did I becomethatguy? The one who finds physical faults in other guys? I’ve never cared about what other men look like, so why start now?
It’s becausethatguy has changed. We used to be sort of chummy, Clive and me. He’s been my assistant since I got this job, and at first, I felt a real sense of camaraderie with him, but over the past year or so, that’s deteriorated to look more like all this shit today.
Clive could be more than an assistant. I know he can; I’ve seen his résumé. It’s a hell of a lot more impressive than mine. I mean, graduating from a Big Ten school is good, but he’s Ivy League. I grew up in small-town Illinois and he’s from Boston. And he’s totally Boston, accent and all. The guy is a fucking Patriots fanatic, plus he loves the Bruins.
TheBruins.
The thought makes me shiver.
I had every intention of giving the guy a leg up when the time was right—until he turned into this sniveling asshole.
Damn it.
This isn’t me. Truthfully, it all makes me feel a little sad for the guy, and for myself. I considered him a friend. Honestly I did.
When did it all change?
Chapter Three
Ben
Stepping back into my office,I shut the door for some privacy. I need to get back to work and quit thinking about Clive. Worrying about what went wrong with my assistant and me isn’t going to change anything now. No, I need to work on the notes Graham gave me after my presentation. A presentation that went further south than I ever imagined after they were done laughing about my black eye.
Clive was right about that. I was a joke today, and it feels like shit.
Sitting, I lean back, rest my head on the back of my chair, and shut my eyes. It’s my way of meditating, regrouping.
