There are a lot of things you should probably know about me, but let’s just focus on the most important one: I fucking hate Ares Strong.

Ares represents the epitome of arrogance, always behaving as if he’s a god among mortals. Even though he has the name to prove it, he’s everything but a god, despite what the easy women who always seem to surround him whisper into his ear. And, despite his fat net worth, he has the finesse of an angry elephant when it comes to business. Anyone can play in the big leagues as long as they’re willing to incur obscene amounts of debt.

“Took you long enough,” I tell him as he strolls inside the studio, flashing one carefree smile at our host, a slender brunette in her early thirties.

“Unlike you,” he replies, unbuttoning his Armani jacket and settling in his seat, “I have shit to do. I don’t sit on my ass all day long, you know?”

“Keep telling yourself that, Ares,” I grunt, looking away from him. The producer is barking his orders at the cameramen and, once everyone has assumed their positions, he holds his open hand right above his head.

“Goin’ live in five,” he shouts out, and then starts lowering his fingers one by one, counting down the seconds. I cross my legs and lean back against my seat, looking at the host as she looks into the camera trained on her with a polite smile. She takes a deep breath when there’s only one finger still up in the producer’s hand, and then she gives a slight nod toward the camera, as if she was greeting an old friend.

“Good evening, glad you tuned in for another Market Watch Journal. Joining us today, we have two financial titans known for their acute business savvy: Ares Strong, CEO and founder of Strong Capital, and Lucas Blake, CEO of the celebrated investment firm, Carter Jeffries.”

“Good evening,” I nod at her, but Ares just leans back in his seat and grins, almost as if he’s too important for casual greetings.

“Gentleman, as I’m sure you’re aware, the public’s opinion of big-capital has hit an all-time low. Still, your companies seem to thrive despite public opinion and a frail market.”

“Well, the market is only frail for those not capable of navigating the current financial landscape, Samantha,” Ares starts in his usual confident tone, treating each word of his like gospel. He’s making eye contact with our host and, judging by the smirk on his face, he’s already thinking of a way to sneak into her panties. “Strong Capital has done that very well, which proves the market is not as bad as it might seem for untrained eyes.”

“Still, it’s a fact that some of the biggest companies are employing downsizing strategies,” Samantha replies, looking away from Ares as her cheeks suddenly grow flush. Jesus, is anyone here a professional?

“Downsizing doesn’t mean that the market is doing badly. It’s just a … fine-tuning of the whole process, I’d say.” I join the fray now, trying to steer everything back to normalcy. If I don’t put the brakes on this thing, Ares might jump on top of the desk and hump the hosts’ leg like a rabid dog.

“Here we go,” Ares says under his breath, a smirk on his lips.

“Did you say something?” I ask, turning to him and staring him down.

“No, not all,” he dismisses me off-handedly, waving one hand into the air. “Carry on, I know you’re more than eager to bore us with your business acumen, Mr. Fire-Everyone.”

Respect and politeness—two marks of civilization that Ares has never heard of. Sure, people might call me Lucas ‘The Chainsaw’ Blake because of my aggressive stance once I take over a company. Some people, like Ares, enjoy portraying me as a ruthless businessman who lives for firing people and ruining lives. What they don’t seem to understand is that reducing costs, which unfortunately often translates as the need to fire some people, is what allows some companies to survive and live to fight another day.

“That’s pretty funny, Ares. If it weren’t for the massive loans Strong Capital has incurred, I bet you wouldn’t even be sitting here with me. Do you even know how to run a business? Or is floating debt all you have ever learned?”

“Pfft,” he scoffs, now visibly annoyed. I guess even he doesn’t like when people take jabs at his credentials. “That’s pretty rich, coming from Mr. Spreadsheet himself. Chipping away at the numbers and firing everyone your spreadsheet tells you to. If that’s better than what I do, I guess your moral compass is pretty fucked up, buddy.”

“Please, Mr. Strong, remember we’re live and we have to maintain a standard of language that --”

I don’t even let the host finish chastising Ares. I just cut her short, boiling blood fueling the anger inside of me. Ares used to call me Mr. Spreadsheet back when we both studied at Harvard, and I can’t look back to these times without feeling a stab of guilt and rage flooding me.

“You think you’re better than everyone else, don’t you?” I say, lowering my voice until it almost becomes a growl. My fingernails are digging deep into the palm of my hands, both of them balled into fists.

“At the very least I’m better than you,” he chuckles, fiddling with the Rolex on his wrist.

“Gentleman, I, ah, would like for us to go back to the topic at --”

“Better than me?” I repeat his words, arching one eyebrow. “I knew you were arrogant, but I never thought you’d be delusional.”

“Just because you were a teacher’s pet at Harvard doesn’t mean you know everything, Lucas. There’s a real world outside of these walls, you know?” he says, casually waving his hand around.

“I see that all those women you sleep around with have finally destroyed whatever intelligence you had. Tell me, outside of whisky and pussy, how do you even find the time to run your company? Do you have your interns do it?”

“At least I don’t live and die by a fucking spreadsheet,” he growls, his grin giving way to a scowl. “And why the fuck are you even talking about my love life, Lucas? Is that envy I’m sensing?”

Samantha is now looking straight at the producer, a desperate look on her face. She has two billionaires on set verbally jabbing at each other, all of it happening live, while they use curses for commas. Still, I can’t stop myself.

“Envy?” I growl, my voice sneaking out between my gritted teeth. I’m standing up now and, not a heartbeat later, Ares stands up as well. He’s as tall as I am, and our eyes are on the same level, electricity crackling in the air around us. “I don’t envy you. I pity you!”

“Yeah? Why don’t you pity this!” he growls right back, swinging one fist at me. I try to step out of the way, but he’s too fast; his hand collapses against the side of my face, and I feel the metallic taste of blood over my tongue.

If that’s how he wants it, I can play that game too.

Turning around on my heels, I dive under his next punch and, cocking my arm, I connect my fist with his stomach. He bends over slightly and takes two steps back, a murderous look on his face.

“Motherfucker,” he hisses, and then just charges straight at me like a bull. He hits me across the waist with one shoulder and we both fly back against the host’s table. I hear the glass crack under my back and, just one second later, the table shatters into a million pieces and we both collapse onto the floor as Samantha jumps back with a yelp.

The whole production crew rushes toward us and it takes almost ten grown men to split us up. By the time they’re done, there’s blood dripping down out of Ares’ nose and, judging by the coppery taste in my mouth, I’d say I’m not in a better state than he is.

“Shut it down, shut it down!” I hear the producer shout into his earpiece, a desperate look on his face. I wipe the blood from my mouth with the back of my hand and let out a heavy sigh.

A brawl on live national TV.

Just perfect.