"Swoon, I'll catch you."
—The English Patient. Director: Anthony Minghella Sin "Have a good day, Sir." Peter pulls up to the curb in front
of my office. I lean across and open the door of the Aston Martin, as he comes around.
"I got this." I wave him back.
His gaze widens, then he nods and retreats.
Max bounds out of the car, straining at the leash. He pauses in front of the homeless man next to the entrance.
His sign today reads, "Morn came and went—and came, and brought no day..."
I pause in front of him, "Bloody fuck. Can't you write something a little less d epressing?"
He stares up at me.
I pull out my wallet, "There's a job waiting for you" I nod toward the building. "If you need one. Not that I'm one
to mock your lifestyle, but so you know, if you change your mind."
He tilts his head.
Right. So all of a sudden I am some kind of a do-gooder?
Trying to change the world? Not. It's Bird who's affecting me. Maybe I am so happy that I want to share my good
fortune with the rest of the world? What-fucking-ever. I pull out a few bills, drop them into the hat in front of the
man.
Max races toward the entrance, pulling me in his wake.
"It's from Darkness."
"Huh?" I turn, blink.
"A poem by Byron." Homeless Man stares at me. The fuck is up with that vacant gaze of his? Is he high on
something?
A prickle of unease grips me. "Byron? You mean the poet or the Capo of the Mafia?"
He picks up the bills and pockets them. Then gathers up the hat, slams it on his head, without losing a single coin
or bill. He strides away, board tucked under his arm.
The fuck? "Hey, hold on." I stalk forward and Max whines. I pause glance back.
Max wags his tail, pivots toward the office building. He whines, then tugs at his leash. "Jesus, hold on, you mutt."
I turn around to find Homeless Guy has disappeared.
What the fuck just happened there?
I rub the back of my neck, then prowl toward the entrance. Max ke eps pace.
I shove open the door and he bounds ahead, dragging me along into the building that I own. Fuck my life.
He, flops on the ground in front of the rec eptionist's desk.
She smiles at the puppy.
I scowl. All of that sweetness that the bugger leaves in his wake is seriously cloying. But Bird had insisted.
It had been her gift to me on the first anniversary—the first month of her moving in with me. She'd made me
promise I'd take the little fucker to work, and me... Well, I couldn't have refused her.
Max snaps up on all fours, and bounds toward me. He circles me once, then drops down on his hind legs, right in
my path.
I blow out a breath, lean, tap his head. He rolls onto his back. Yeah, okay, it's a second more. I drop down on one
knee, tickle his stomach.
His jaws open; his tongue lolls out. He wriggles his little body around, his eyes rolling back in his head.
A shocked gasp reaches me from the direction of the rec eption table. I glance up and the she instantly reddens.
She looks down, shuffles the papers in front of her.
I straighten, walk toward her.
She pales.
"Alia, right?
She blinks, peers up at me. "You... you remember my name?"
Lucky guess.
I'd assured Bird I'd tone down the grumpiness. This is me ke eping my word. Make a note. Yeah, and on that... I
gave in to her and saw a shrink yesterday; I'll survive.
Besides, she's promised me a whole lot more in return. I smirk.
"You bet, I do, Ste—I mean Alia." I brush away an imaginary speck from my collar. "I know all of my employees
by name." Not. Though, I had asked for the employee list. Another st ep toward the softening of my profile to the
world.
Apparently, internal PR is more important than external, and the fastest way to fix our r eputation in the market is
to begin on home ground, by turning our people into ambassadors who'll amplify that message blah-bloody- blah...
a whole lotta soft arse corporate bullshit if you ask
me, b-u-t—Summer had asked it of me, and I'd never turn down my wife.
Besides, I have a sneaky suspicion that it might build the market image of FOK, which will go a long way in
driving up the capitalization of 7 A. Which is what I need right now.
The butterfly effect, huh?
Bird had pointed all of that out to me—when I had finally let her share her marketing ideas with me... i. e. when I
had spared her mouth long enough for her to get a word in. I’ve been ke eping her busy, all right.
She'd seconded Saint's idea of holding a quick press briefing where we'd play the role of happy couple—no strike
that—where we'd be ourselves, and introduce FOK Media properly to the public. Get the positive coverage,
blah-fucking-blah.
I'd hated the idea and told her so. But she'd insisted, and well, that was that.
Besides, my wife's bloody smart, and that's the goddam truth. Though sneaky woman that she is, I know when I'm
being manipulated into getting to know my employees better. Still I want her to have this little victory; and no, I'm
not softening. Not.
She'd hated the name FOK... wanted me to change it; but I wasn't giving it to that... yet.
I scowl and the rec eptionist swallows.
She backs away from the desk. Bloody hell. Who knew trying to tone down my assholeness would take so much
effort, huh? Eyes on the prize. If this makes Bird happy, it's worth it. I'll be nice to my employees if it’s the last
thing I do.
I peel back my lips, flash my teeth. So it's more a grimace than a smile, but it’s the best I can do.
"Uh... Ah... Mr. Sterling, are you okay?"
I ke ep the smile fixed on my face. "Of course, Alia." I tilt my head, "You're doing a good job." I knock my
knuckles on the rec eptionist's console. "Ke ep up the good work."
Her jaw drops.
Guess I convinced her, huh? I deserve an Oscar for my performance. I push away from the platform, stalk toward
the elevators.
Then pause, "Oh, and Alia?"
I turn to face her.
She's staring after me, her mouth half open. "When Mrs.
Sterling—" She smiles, "You mean Summer?”
My heart jumps. Summer. My Bird. My sunshine. The woman I'd do anything for... because I am a pussywhipped
motherfucker. That's me, all right, and her happiness is paramount. I want her happy. And naked. And content,
after she's come in my arms. Everything else takes second place, including my wants.
I straighten my spine.
"Exactly. When my wife comes in, please ask her to come directly to my office?"
"Of course, Mr. Sinclair."
I pivot. Did she call me Mr. Sinclair? I pause, then raise my shoulders. What-bloody-ever. They can call me
motherfucker for all I care. As long as they do what I command.
I stalk across to the elevators, pause in front of mine as the doors slide open. Max bounds in, and I follow. Stab the
button for my offices, then drop down to one knee and scratch behind his ears.
"You think she'll enjoy the surprise, little bugger?"