You're now officially 15 minutes late, so I'm docking your tip for every second my dinner isn't in my hands.
By the way, this was my first—and likely last—time using this app…
The moment I received that message, I should've opened the guy's $300 pasta and wine order and thrown it out the window.
If I wasn't in desperate need of the money, trust me, I would've.
By the time I deliver the order to a hotel suite in Manhattan, I'm soaked from the rain, exhausted, and shocked as hell at who the customer is.
Dominic Sutton.
As inbillionaireDominic Sutton—and the selfish a$$hole who runs the other place I work.
I really should've kept my mouth shut…
When he has the audacity to tip me 3%—three freaking percent—I snap. I tell him exactly what I think of his revolving door of interns, his policy that staff can't evenlook him in the eyes,and let him know he's the worst CEO in the world.
The sexy smirk on his face makes it clear that my rant doesn't faze him in the slightest.
That's when I take his pricey food and storm back downstairs to my car.
(Yes, it tasted amazing…)
I honestly thought he'd forget all about me—he has far bigger things to worry about.
Until I get to work the following Friday.
There's an email waiting for me:
Subject:Report to the executive floor to see me. Now.
Something tells me I'm about to find out just how ruthless—and selfish—this man really is.
THE CEO
DOMINIC
The worst part about running a billion-dollar marketing empire is the fact that you have to sit through an endless session of stupid ideas before reaching an average one. The “brilliant” kind are one in a million, and most of the time, you’re left wondering why the hell you ever got into marketing in the first place.
I’ve always prided myself on being able to market anything, and after seeing so much success, I decided to give back. But sitting through days of terrible presentations makes me want to never do anything charitable in my life again.
“Now that I’ve introduced myself,” the man standing at the front of my boardroom says, “allow me to show you a product that’s about to revolutionize the car industry…”
He pulls a white sheet from a box, revealing… a tire wrapped in bright blue fabric.
“Behold, ladies and gentlemen,” he says. “Tire Toes! I.e., ways to make the tires on your luxury cars feel safe, secure, and cared for.”
Jesus Christ…
“Before you say it, we know that ‘tire socks’ already exist, but those are for cars in inclement weather, and they serve an entirely different purpose. These are for style, for class, for showing the world that you take your luxury car seriously.”
I glance at my partner—Braxton. I’m waiting for him to meet my eyes so I can give him the “Get them the hell out of here” signal, but he has the audacity to look intrigued about this bullshit.
“How do they hold up in rain?” he asks.
“Very well so far,” the guy responds. “The ten customers we’ve had so far haven’t had any complaints.”
“You only have ten customers?” I sit up. “How the hell did you get this meeting?”
