Page 8 of Just The Way You Aren't

My eye tics. I try very, very hard to rein in my temper. Only this time, it doesn’t work. “Did you not consult Rhonda about my schedule?” I thunder. “I don’t do things tomorrow! I’m extremely busy. I’ll need at least a week’s advanced notice and that’s only because I’m being generous.”

The board members begin glancing at each other. I realize I’ve put another nail in my coffin. Alfred is pleased as punch.

“Temper, temper,” he tsks. “And some of us wonder how you could have been caught out like that by a reporter.”

I imagine popping his balding head like a pimple. Instead, I take a steadying breath. “I have a company to run. I can’t just go gallivanting off to take care of someone else’s fundraiser. Now, if it’s money they need, that’s fine. If I need to make an appearance at this Silver-something fundraiser, fine, I’ll… make it work. But I can’t just drop everything to?—”

“You can. And you will.” Alfred puffs up his chest as he draws himself up in his chair. Given the man’s head tops outat my shoulder, that’s not very high. But he manages to make it look imposing, especially with his cronies around him. “You are the face of this company, and right now, you’ve gotten quite a lot of egg on it. You need to fix this, Damien, or we will find someone who will.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask coldly.

He shrugs. “Frankly, not all of us think you should be the CEO of Langley Enterprises. We think maybe you should take a very early retirement and hand the reins over to someone more public-friendly.”

“Who? You?” With your combover flapping in the breeze? I don’t say that part aloud because apparently, I need to work on my temper.

“Not necessarily. It wouldn’t be your decision to make, anyway, if we ousted you,” Alfred replies.

“So, now we’re talking about ousting me?” I growl.

I can tell the majority—albeit a small majority—of the board aren’t quite onboard with this. Alfred knows it, too. He holds up his hands placatingly.

“I’m just saying, you have yet to show us that you can be more than a gruff taskmaster. You get a lot done, don’t get me wrong, but you don’t exactly exude the image we want to be the public face of Langley Enterprises. We’re giving you the opportunity to turn that around. Do you understand?”

I understand all right. My nuts are in a vice and Alfred Rothchild is twisting the handle. “I suppose I can meet with her tomorrow if I have Rhonda move a few things around,” I grumble, folding my arms over my chest. “But this cannot take up too much of my time. I have a schedule to keep.”

Alfred smirks at me. “We would so hate to mess up your precious schedule,” he simpers.

The hell he does. It occurs to me that I could pull Alfred’sphoto from our files and put it up in our seldom used game room at the mansion, right over the dartboard. It might be a great stress reliever for me.

“We just want you to demonstrate to the world that you, and by extension, Langley Enterprises, is not a heartless, corporate monster,” Gladys explains. “Would it really be too difficult for you to spend some time helping others in the name of salvaging the company image and keeping Guardian Productions our client?”

I’m pretty sure it might just kill me, but I don’t say that. Instead, I grit my teeth into something I hope resembles a congenial smile. “You’re right, of course. I would be happy to restore the company’s image and restore Guardian Production’s faith in us. It is my job, after all.”

“Damien, we really are counting on you,” Gladys says.

“Will I be kissing babies and helping old ladies across the street as well?” I ask sweetly.

Gladys’s face falls.

“Helping the old ladies, probably. It wouldn’t be bad PR for you to kiss a few babies as well,” Alfred muses. “But we could do without the sarcasm.”

“I already attend plenty of charity events,” I point out. “And donate regularly to several worthy causes. You don’t see that rag reporting on that.”

Gladys sighs heavily. “It’s because you’re not actually digging in and getting your hands dirty. Every CEO on the planet donates money and shows up in a suit to this or that fundraiser. It’s not newsworthy. We need the good PR if we’re going to keep Guardian Productions. They’re talking about opening an amusement park in Florida based on their most successful children’s films. You can’t tell me you don’t want a piece of that. If we can’t even keep a contract to build someoffice buildings and studios, we’re certainly not going to be tapped to build an amusement park. And Silver Hearts is a worthy organization. It also supports the image we need—you keeping people in their houses rather than taking them away.”

“I know you’ll do just great, Damien,” Alfred says, clapping me on the shoulder from where he’s sitting to my left.

He’s expecting me to fail. I look around the table and realize almost all of them are. The ones sitting on the fence who are not quite with Alfred yet are planning to use this as a test.

“Thanks, Alfred,” I respond, baring my teeth again in a tight smile his way. “I’m really looking forward to it.”

“I know you are,” he snickers.

I stand. “Well, if there’s nothing else, it seems I need to rearrange my schedule a bit. Can we call this meeting adjourned?”

The board nods. Others begin rising.

Alfred leans down to get his briefcase and his combover flops completely over to the other side of his head like a dead animal, revealing a shiny, oily, bare scalp.

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