Until I was ready to disrupt. I paused for a second in the doorway leading into his office. He was wearing a lightweight long-sleeved shirt despite the brutal humidity outside in July. I wondered if maybe the AC was up too high for him and made a note to check the thermostat.
He wore khakis today, but sometimes he wore jeans. I never did. As limited as my new wardrobe was, it was definitely more business oriented than his was. As the first face people saw of his operation, I thought it appropriate I appear less casual.
Often, I was the face or voice of no. I found it easier to say no in a button-down polyester blend blouse.
His hair was disheveled. A mix of red and gold like leaves turning in the fall. I’d never had my hair professionally cut, styled, or colored, but I imagined the women who did would gag for his natural hair color.
I shook myself loose from the thought. I shouldn’t be thinking about his hair.
One deep breath and I was ready to hit the internal go button on our day.
“WAPO, NYT and your coffee,” I announced. He didn’t startle. Either because he sensed my presence or he was used to my routine, I wasn’t sure. “Question? How come I don’t bring you the Wall Street Journal, too?”
I’d been doing some research in general about the start-up investment industry and the Journal felt like something someone in his position would naturally read, as the paper lent itself to more financial news.
I was sorting the papers out on the credenza as he liked them. And plopped his coffee on his desk by his left hand.
After a second, he looked up from his monitors.
There were times I wondered if that was all he did every second I wasn’t in his office. Just sat there staring at dashboards on his monitors.
It wasn’t good for his eyesight.
As evidenced by the way he always rubbed his eyes like a little boy waking up from a nap anytime he looked away.
“There are several things that bother me about that statement,” he began. “One. If I wanted the Journal I would have told you so. Two. You assume I can learn something from the paper. I can’t. I know more than they do. And three. I would like to repeat number one.”
I rolled my eyes, before I could check myself.
“Habit, Flowers.”
He liked to point out any time I failed to do so. He said eye-rolling wasimmature.
Whatevs.
“Working on it, E.G.” I said, but I was lying. “So you know more than the whole Wall Street Journal combined? That sounds a little hyperbolic.”
“It isn’t. I have better inside sources than they do. In fact, I have my own tentacles, if you will, inside all our major financial institutions and industries. I read these papers simply to confirm information I usually already know. Or sometimes, world events can trigger market changes most other people can’t predict or expect. The Journal,” he said, with the disdain of a Frenchman eating an American donut, “doesn’t interest me.”
Yeah. E.G. was badass. “That’s what I told Kenny,” I said, vocalizing my internal thoughts.
“Who?”
“Kenny,” I repeated. “My date on Saturday. I said I work for a really smart guy.”
His lips pursed again like the American donut was actually sour. “I’m sure Kenny was thrilled.”
I groaned. “Actually, I don’t think he was.”
“Excuse me?”
I shook off the memories, having zero desire to replay the events of Saturday night. My first, and possibly last, official date.
“You don’t want to hear about my awful date,” I told E.G.
He sat back in his office chair and stretched his hands behind his head. “No, no. Please enlighten me. Kenny was awful, was he?”
I grimaced. “Yes, no. I don’t know. I told you it was my first date. Not likeourfirst date. I’m talking aboutmyfirst date. Ever. Which, as pathetic as it sounds, I don’t feel bad about now. So awkward. Like…that’s what I missed during my high school years? Uh…okay.”
