Page 11 of The Nanny and the Beefcake
“Wouldn’t you after totally humiliating yourself?” the Derrick on the right replied with an arrogant lilt to his words.
Libby watched their exchange, dumbfounded, as the last drop of patience drained from her body.
“Excuse me, we’re in the middle of an important interview,” she announced, holding up the copy of her business plan—the plan she’d spent hours researching and crafting.
“Give us a second. We’re talking about boxing, baby. Nothing to worry your pretty little head about,” the Derrick on the right tossed out without giving her the basic courtesy of even making eye contact.
“Baby,” she muttered. She was done being referred to asbabyby this insensitive, rude man, and she didn’t have a second to give. Not to mention, she understood the plight of the Incredible Hulk and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. In the center of that glassed-in conference room, she stood at the precipice, her toes dangling off the cliff of a savvy businesswoman as she stared across the void into raving-mad yoga bitch land.
“This is bullshit, isn’t it?” she called, raising her voice enough to quiet the Tri-Derricks’ boxing match blathering.
The Derrick on the left held out his phone. “No, it’s the real deal. The Lion and the Snake will go toe to toe in sixty days. I ordered it on Pay-Per-View. We can watch it up at my parents’ place in Aspen…unless we can get tickets. I can’t believe we get a heavyweight championship fight here.”
“Dude, we should get tickets. Front-row. I’ll text my dad,” the Derrick on the right cried with a clap of his hands.
Indignation permeated every cell in Libby’s body.
She knew what was coming, and it wouldn’t be pretty. She attempted to quell her beast within with a cleansing breath, but not even deep breathing could save her now.
“I’m not saying that the fight is bullshit,” she began, ice coating her words. “And for that matter, what kind of human being enjoys watching two people beat the crap out of each other?”
The Derricks sported shocked expressions. “Like a billion people. It went live two minutes ago, and over one hundred thousand people forked over a ton of cash to watch it,” the Derrick on the left answered.
“Forget the fight,” she continued, lowering her voice to a rumbly growl. “The bullshit I was referring to is the investment in a fitness venture. Are you interested in hearing my plan or not?”
“Oh, yeah, that,” the Derrick on the left replied with a sheepish expression.
The Derrick in the center searched the conference table, then pulled one of the errant sheets of paper toward him. He straightened in his chair, then studiously focused on the page. “You’re one of our top three choices.” He tapped the page with his meaty index finger. “It says it right here.”
Her chi may be scrambled, but it didn’t take a Zen master to deduce this guy was lying. And hello, raging yoga bitch! She dropped her business plan, grabbed the mini gong in one hand and the mallet in the other. Then, with the strength of a thousand yogis, she gave the instrument two swift strikes. The sound waffled through the room, harsh and clanging, and had rendered the Derricks mute.
“Show me what’s on that piece of paper,” she demanded, eyeing the center Derrick.
“Show you what?” he asked, squirming in his chair.
She banged the gong, sending another wave of frenzied vibration through the air as the sound ricocheted off the glass walls. “The paper,” she commanded.
Startled, he flipped the sheet around, revealing…nothing.
A sea of white.
A blank page.
She glared down the line of Derricks, then went to town, striking the metal.
Clang, clang, clang!
One bang for each douchebag of a Derrick.
With each echoing pang of sound, the men’s complexions grew paler and paler.
“You’re going to tell me what’s going on. Is this a real opportunity to partner with a venture capitalist company?” she questioned, when out of the corner of her eye, she sensed movement.
Thanks to the crash of the gong, people from the surrounding offices had stepped into the hall to check out the commotion. She heard a low murmur through the half-opened door, then inhaled a floral scent. Cleo and Laney must be among the crowd. But she didn’t have time for girl talk. She glared at the Derricks as the trio exchanged pained glances, neither saying a word.
It was time to pull out some seriously spiritual shit.
One by one, she pointed the mallet at the men. “By the power of three, you are going to tell me everything,” she proclaimed, then banged the hell out of the gong.
