Chapter Two

Troy

“You always do this,” Elsa said with irritation. “You blow me off until you’re drunk on a Friday night and then expect me to just jump for joy when you want to come over and get laid. I’m sorry, but you’re not worth that.”

I liked that she had a spine, but still rolled my eyes and leaned my head against the chair. “I know we had plans, babe, but I have a really long week and it’s only halfway through—” I stopped at the sound of her hanging up the phone.

“Ah, shit.”

Pulling my feet down off the desk, I groaned and tossed my phone to the side. This kind of crap was exactly why I didn’t get into relationships. I didn’t have the time or the strength to keep up with what someone else needed, especially not a woman; they were just so damn complex. I had tried with Elsa. She was beautiful, intelligent, and strong. But after just two weeks, I was tapped out. She needed me more than I needed her. End of story.

When I was growing up, my father instilled it in my soul that when I owned my own business, I wouldn’t have the luxury of time or relaxation. The owner of a multi-billion-dollar real estate corporation, he was gone pretty much all the time. He originally wanted me to take over, but I hated real estate, so he eventually sold the company and retired.

My future was further set in stone from the time I graduated from Brown University. Business always came easy to me, and though I was a clown, and usually on another planet, I excelled at everything I put my mind to. That was why, after getting my degree in marketing, my partner and I started T&R Marketing. It was an innovative approach to the marketing field, covering everything from normal business marketing to individual creation of a person’s public persona. We could craft anyone into a superstar, which was something only agents really did, and almost none of them were very good at it. T&R stepped into that niche and more than filled it. We dominated it.

Sure, you could say my personal life suffered because of my wholesale business focus, but my lack of interest really started in college, when I met Sally. We dated for three years before I realized that she had cheated on me with half the campus and I’d somehow missed it, even though I didn’t miss anything academically or (usually) otherwise. It was strange, though, because when I broke it off with her, I really wasn’t even that upset. I was more pissed than anything, and made it a point to remind myself from then on out that relationships were wastes of time. That and the fact that almost every woman I had ever met had been exactly the same, with the exception of Sister Brown and my mother, who I still wasn’t sure I could actually give much credit.

No, instead of long-term relationships I went with one-night stands. Usually they weren’t even a full night since I hated sleeping at other people’s places, and I never brought a girl back to my penthouse. A lot of times it was a quickie with someone from a bar that I happened to be frequenting at the time, a nice thank you, and then out the door. No muss and no fuss.

Elsa and I had had the no long-term anything conversation and she’d said she was on the same page. Guess not. And that usually wouldn’t bother me, but for some reason today it kind of did.

“Mr. Wallace,” my secretary said over the intercom, drawing me from my momentary musing, “everyone is in conference room B awaiting your arrival.”

“Thank you, Alice,” I replied.

I yawned and stretched my arms over my head, standing up and grabbing my notes. I was ready to get this show on the road and light a fire under my employee’s asses. They had become complacent; okay with the fact that we were number two in the city. Number two was not good enough for me, though, and I wanted that top spot so badly that I could taste it. I hadn’t been number two at anything, ever, in my entire life, and I wasn’t about to start now.

My rival, Creative Nature, had been number one for several years for one reason only: They were worked like animals. Maybe they also had a significant talent pool, but mostly, they were just legendary for their work ethic. My people, on the other hand, had gotten lazy, happy with the perks of using the name of the company to get what they wanted.

Anthony Cartucci, Creative’s Owner, was a good guy. Even though he was the rival company, we had a really good relationship. There was always that healthy dose of friendly rivalry, constantly pushing to outdo one another, but at the same time still able to sit down for drinks and enjoy hanging out. In fact, he had a wedding coming up that I was attending.

I walked out of my office and down to the conference room. As soon as I walked in the door, everyone became silent. It had become somewhat of a routine for me to chew them up at least once a month. I dropped the file I was holding on the desk and looked around.

“Do you know what this is? This is a client I pulled just last week.” I tapped the thick file. “I managed to secure them, process them, and get six marketing campaigns up and in production in one week. I am tired of being number two, and every one of you should be too, because it tells people you’re good, but just not good enough. Cartucci would laugh in any of your faces if you applied to work for his company. Now, listen closely to this meeting, because we are done being second best. Did you hear that? Done. And if you can’t perform, I have no problem kicking you to the door.”

I sat down in my chair as the meeting moved forward, watching my employees straighten up and carefully take notes. By the time I wrapped things, everyone else was visibly in speed mode, their energy so charged they were almost sparking off each other as they discussed prospective clients and ideas for upcoming campaigns.

Pleased, I looked down at my phone and noticed it was almost four. I checked my calendar but saw nothing scheduled until the next day, for once, so I decided to leave early. I hadn’t had a chance to go to the gym before work that morning, so I packed up my things and headed over to the new Zen Fitness in Manhattan, deciding to jump in on my standing yoga reservation.

It took a while to get across town, what with rush hour traffic. Once inside the studio, I checked in and went to the locker rooms to get changed. On the way there, I glancing over at all the hot women already stretching and preparing for the class. Though that was definitely a perk of the place, it wasn’t why I originally decided to take up the practice.

When the class began, I took in deep breaths, trying to push all the numbers and information that floated around in my head out for at least a little while. I could feel the tension in my shoulders begin to dissipate and my body finally sank into the mat beneath me, moving naturally into the exercises the instructor led us through. Which each position, I not only felt the tug in various muscle groups, I also felt a different kind of pull as my mind re-centered, coming down from the workday high.

This was exactly why I did yoga. It was the only thing that I had found, apart from Valium, that seemed to cool my emotions, relax my body, and keep me grounded in reality. Basically, the office had enough adrenaline that I needed something totally different when it came to a workout routine. While you wouldn’t ever find me burning patchouli in my penthouse, I was still definitely hooked.

“Slowly lower your head, placing your hands together, and thank the Universe for bringing you back to earth,” the instructor said at the end of the session. “Namaste.”

“Namaste,” I repeated.

I sat back on my mat and rolled my neck, feeling absolutely amazing. All around me the women in the class were getting up, chattering, and walking around in their spandex pants and tight halter tops. Though yoga had proven to be a lifesaver, I also looked forward to this part of the class plenty. Staring at beautiful women, watching their asses jiggle as they bounced around, was almost like what I imagined heaven to be.

After the class, I picked up a salad from the natural food café next door and headed the two blocks back to my place. I took my private elevator up to the top floor and walked into my place. Throwing my keys down on the small table by the door, I walked inside and looked around at my designer living room. The sun was still shining brightly through my floor to ceiling windows and I could see the gleam and shine the housecleaning staff had left when they did their daily cleaning. It was nice to always walk into a clean house.

I walked over to the fridge and opened the door, grabbing a beer and making my way into the living room. After setting my dinner down on the coffee table, I flipped on the television, trying to catch up with my baseball scores. I usually kept them up on my phone, but other things had gotten in the way lately.

When I was done eating I sat back and finished my beer, thinking about Elsa and how long it had been since I got laid. I usually didn’t go more than a day or two, but it had been at least a week. Okay, maybe a little less than that, but that for me was a dry spell. I was used to going out every night after work and letting my stresses out on a hot piece of ass. Work hard, play hard. Maybe tomorrow night I would go out to the little bar three blocks from work.

The girls I slept with, with the minor lapse in judgment here or there, always blew my mind in the sexy department. They went out looking for men like me, hoping one of their random lays or blow jobs would land them in the rich house. Of course, I wasn’t that guy, but there was always one out there. It was like the lottery for rich daddy’s girls trying to find a husband. I was never a winning ticket.