Office work. I could stab my eyes out with a pen as I sit behind my desk aimlessly responding to emails and filling out paperwork. Sometimes I wonder if Eddie would have been better suited for this crap. I lean back in my chair and rub my temples. I am so bored. I pull out my cell phone after hearing it go off. Much to my pleasure, Éclair is up for some dirty sexting. Thank God. She knows me really well. I had told her I had a long day at the office coming up, so I know she is doing this for my benefit. We text back and forth as I work, and I can feel a tingling sensation in my pants. I have to avoid texting her back for several minutes to keep from getting a serious hard on while I’m working. That’s the last thing I need, although I’ll probably be alone in my office for most of the day.

Suddenly the phone goes off again, and I receive really filthy pictures of Éclair in her office without her panties on –showing off her hips, but that’s it. Is she serious? That’s so not cool. A new text arrives: Send me one, and I’ll send you something steamier. Damn, woman! What am I supposed to send her? Chest picture? A cock shot? I decide to go for a chest picture. I hurry out of button up and stand to take a picture. I take two and then choose my favorite. As I am sitting back down, still without my shirt on, Eddie comes barging into my office. He looks angry, but the look disappears for a second as a look of confusion replaces it. “Um?” he says.

“Uh, I was cutting a tag off my shirt. Forgot to lock the door. Sorry.” I say, and I am a little proud of the excuse as I hurried to get my shirt back on and buttoned up.

Eddie rolls his eyes, marches up to my desk, and slams his paycheck down on my desk, his anger returning to him, “What the hell is this, James?”

“What?” I question once I finish buttoning myself back into my shirt.

“You gave me a raise?” he asks.

Why the hell is he angry about that? “Well, yeah,” I say. “You’ve earned it.”

“I’ve earned it?” he asks. He looks so pissed. What the hell did I do? Eddie bangs a fist down on my desk, “Listen, you think that giving me a fucking raise is going to make you sleeping with my girlfriend go away? I’m not her damn pimp.”

“What?” I stand up, “Eddie; that’s not it at all!”

“What, then?” He asks, “Is it because you found out I am in debt? Is this some sort of charity?”

“Charity?” I say, “Man, you got it all wrong. I was just trying to-”

“To what?” he snarls.

“To show you you’re worth something to me,” I say.

“That’s cute.” He rolls his eyes, “This is just you flaunting your money again. This is bullshit.”

“That’s not it!” I shout.

“Yes, it fucking is.” He says, “You always do shit like this. Meanwhile, I’m stuck running your stupid factory.”

I stare at him. He’s wearing a factory worker's uniform, and he’s covered in filth from working the bottom end of the business. Sure, he does half my job too, but looking at him you would probably assume he’s just some damn factory guy. I shouldn’t have given him a raise. I should have given him a damn promotion. He doesn’t want more money. He wants more responsibility with our father’s business. Our father –not my father. He feels like he got shorted, and he did. I can’t deny that. Eddie seriously got screwed. Sure, I gave him a job, but I gave him a pretty shitty one. Assistant to the PR department –he’s not even the head guy. And the head factory manager. That sucks. It really sucks. He thought he would be co-inheriting a billion dollar company, and he got stuck doing the grunge work. He works the mail room some days, for crying out loud. When Éclair told me to make a grand gesture, that was what she meant. She did not mean for me to give him a stupid raise.

“Look, you’re right.” I say, “I should give you a lot more credit-”

“Awe, shut the hell up, James.” He says, “I spent my summers here in the office with Dad while you spent your time chasing bimbo girls around. I worked here. I sat with Dad in this same office every weekend learning the business. I know more about this company than you could ever hope to learn. I understand the stocks. I understand what goes into every trivial piece of keeping this place together. And all of that time was wasted. I was always trying to impress him. I was always the good one!”

“The good one?” I question, “So what did that make me?”

“The fucking screw up!” he shouts, “That’s what you have always been. You were the lazy asshole who spent his money. I was the responsible one. I was the one learning the business. And what did I get after wasting my entire fucking childhood with my nose up his ass? A measly check, a summer house that floods when it rains, and a damn letter telling me he was just playing pretend with me my whole life –that I should consider myself lucky to be included in his will at all and to treat my legitimate brother with some respect. He didn’t even tell me he was sorry or that he loved me or anything in that stupid letter. It was cold. And what do you do? You give me a job where I watch over a bunch of high school dropouts while they sort vitamin pills and where I get bitched out by your PR rep every other day. Do you have any idea how fucking demeaning my life is?”

“Look, I was just trying to-”

“Save it.” He snarls, “I am taking the day off.” He storms out of my office and slams the door behind him.

I slump down into my seat; he left his paycheck sitting on my desk. I feel like an idiot. I look at the picture sitting on my desk. It was one of me and my dad when I was a kid. It was my dad’s old office, and I had found the picture when I had come to clear out his stuff after learning that I would be taking over the company. It did not occur to me at the time, but I realize now that there had been no pictures of Eddie in that box of supplies I had carted off on my first day. Just a wedding photo of Dad with Mom, and this stupid picture of the two of us in fishing hats from when I was ten. Had Dad treated Eddie like shit his whole life? Looking back, it seems kind of obvious. I had not noticed back then. Honestly, I just always noted that Mom treated Eddie really well. Now I realize she only did that to make up for how crappy our old man was towards him. I slam the frame facing downward so that I don’t have to look at it.

There has got to be something I can do. I can’t focus on work. My head is spinning slightly. I call my secretary and tell her to hold my appointments because I’m going to take an early lunch off site. I need to clear my head.