Winnie.
“All of you, leave. Dinner is canceled.”
The GMs and VPs wordlessly stand up.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Carolina throws down her napkin. “Winnie, I shaved my legs for this shit.”
“Aren’t you getting paid?” I remind her. Carolina gives me the finger.
“Not you, Creampuff,” I say. “You stay right here.”
“What the hell? Sit down,” Winnie tells the GMs. “Don’t listen to him. He’s lost his goddamn mind. Grow up, Fitzgerald.”
“Uh-oh,” Kathy says under her breath. “Now you did it.”
“They get paid a lot. No one here makes less than two million dollars a year,” I argue.
“Well, shit, maybe I should be a GM.” Winnie hums.
“You know what? You should. It pays better than prostitution.”
“You hired a prostitute?” one guy whispers to the VP.
“We’re doing favors for my sister!” Winnie shrieks. “Goddamn it. I could be at home rewatching Jane Austen remakes. Now we’re going to have dinner. I want this lobster mac ’n’ cheese.”
I still for a second. Is it a sign?
No. She just likes pasta.
“My lady has spoken. You may all be seated.”
“Knock it off,” Winnie hisses at me as I pass her the bread. “You’re just pissed about the sit-in. I know you.”
“The Titties and Knitties?”
The waitstaff brings out the first course.
“Did you want an update on our new players?” the hockey GM asks uncertainly. “I think Kn—”
I hold up a hand. “Winnie, how do you like the pasta?”
“Fantastic.” She turns to the men at the table. “Not to usurp this meeting, but how do you all feel about selling themed baked goods at your stadium? We did these cookies for an Instagrammer’s wedding and had her brand affiliates’ logos on them. They were a big hit.”
“Is this Loony Laura’s wedding?” Winnie kicks me and passes around her tablet. I poke at the tiny purse she’scarrying. “Did you have that tablet stuffed down your dress? Also, you’re co-opting my business dinner.”
“You mean your ego trip?”
“You could just schedule a meeting with me.” I peer at the cookies.
“You’re the owner. You don’t negotiate these kinds of contracts,” Winnie tells me, snapping her notebook closed. “It’s beneath you.” She’s tipsy from the wine, high on the win of the big contracts she just landed.
“They’re going to give you those contracts just because they want to get in good with me.”
Winnie snorts. “Please. They know you don’t actually care about me. You want to see quarterly growth, or heads will roll, and those cookies have a very high profit margin. Even Olive can bake them.”
“I’m shocked that you’re debasing baked goods with capitalism.”
“And I’m not shocked that you’re shocked.” She points with her fork. “You’re just another mediocre man with money. Has no idea how to run his business, just fails upward and hires his useless buddies.”
