Page 81 of Man Vs. Woman
Colt
“Mr. McCoy,I’m so glad you’re able to fit us into your busy schedule,” Seymour purses his lips, folding his hands together on the table in front of him. “Unfortunately, your time slot has been voided since you failed to show up at the appropriate time. Better luck next time.”
I forgot how much I despise this guy. He thinks because he’s the fucking Condo Board President he’s more powerful than…I don’t know, the fuckingrealPresident. This is a condominium, ass, not the damn country. Get off your fucking high horse.
I roll my eyes and stalk forward, never diverting my gaze from Serena’s eyes. She fidgets uncomfortably under my glare and chews on her bottom lip.
I miss that lip.
“I believe you’ll find what I have to say…very illuminating,” I say to Seymour, but I twist around to present the folder to the audience.
“I’ve got a lot of research on this Hiram fellow,” I say to the audience. “And it’s a shame if we don’t realize who exactly we’re letting in.
“Mr. McCoy, the time for discussion is up. All of the proposals have been presented and we are now casting the vote. We need to move on with the proceedings. We’ve waited long enough,” Seymour insists, the agitation in his voice filling the air.
“Why are you so anxious, Mr. Cooper?” I ask him, mockingly. “Want to get this sorted before anything you don’t want comes to light?”
I can see agitation in Seymour’s face. He doesn’t know exactly what I have.
“I’m not anxious, but I’m impatient, like I assume everyone in this room is.” He waves his hand over the crowd, presenting the people like they’re his concubines. If he had his way, they would be. Some of them nod in agreement to Seymour’s proclamation while others whisper to each other, obviously intrigued by the attractive man with a folder in front of them—that’s me, baby.
“This shouldn’t take long.” I explain. “Firstly, I’d like to apologize to Ms. Serena James for my tardiness,” I turn to her, but she looks away, avoiding my public display of affection.
I inhale, sharply, my throat tightening when I see her reaction. I know she still loves me but seeing her recoil from my declaration, from my voice at all, pains me.
But the show must go on.
“In this folder, I have sound reason for why Mr. Hooskins’ should not be awarded the vacancy in Clarendon Tower. He is not who he says he is and the job center is not what it appears to be,” I announce, putting the folder on the podium behind me.
“Seriously? This again?” Seymour throws his hands up in a dramatic fashion, sighing so loudly that everyone turns his direction. “I will not have this board meeting turn into a witch hunt. Mr. Hooskins has proven himself worthy of the space and he’s business is far more appealing than some over-rated Spa, Gym, or whatever your business is nowadays.”
I’m silent. This is good.
“Furthermore, your conduct in public—trashing dining establishments and ejaculating on elder citizens—isn’t exactly in the same level as building a jobs center for the less fortunate in society.”
There it is. That’s exactly what I need to make my argument plausible. I needed Seymour to throw a fit, fight for Hiram, despite having no reason for his loyalty. And he did, right on cue.
“Why are so blindly faithful to a man you supposedly met five weeks ago?” I glare at him and take a step closer to where he’s sitting.
“It’s not blind, it’s based on punctuality, professionalism, and respect, which frankly, I see none in you.” He spits back and a few people ‘oohhh’ in the crowd.
Ok, sure. It was a decent burn, but come on, fucking Elmo could do better than that.
“Then, can you enlighten us, Mr. Cooper. What is JobSavers LLC?” A satisfied smile parts my lips and I cross my arms, feeling confidant in my delivery and the effectiveness of my first attack.
In the blink of an eye, Seymour’s body sinks. All of the color in his face fades into a sickly grey color; his shoulders slouch over and he hooks his hands together, again, but this time, his finger nails cut into his skin.
“Isn’t that the company you began with Hiram?” I ask again, I raise my voice an octave, and take another step closer. There’s little distance between us now, and if he wanted to attack me, he has the advantage. It’s all a part of my plan.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. McCoy,” he blurts out, too harshly.
“Now, folks. Let me tell you a little a little story,” I drawl out. No more cries of me barging in. Seymour has gone quiet. The audience is hanging on my every word.
“It’s a story about our dear ol’ President, Mr. Cooper,” I find my place in the center of the room, disregarding the podium. I have no need for one. I plan on speaking directly to the crowd, engaging while informing them. Like I’ve said before, performance really is everything and especially in these situations.
And, I also like being center of attention when I can be.
“This man, Seymour Cooper,” I point to him theatrically. “He had a bit of a financial crisis. The stock picks that his broker made didn’t perform as well as he thought they would. All of a sudden, Seymour Cooper is living in a condo that he can’t afford. But no one wants to leave Clarendon Tower, do they?” I ask and pause.
