But I hardly have reason to complain. I have a great life with great—somewhat overbearing—friends and, because of my wealth, access to anything and everything I want, right at the tip of my fingers.
“Fantastic. Run it down for me.”
“When you land, it’ll be early tomorrow morning Italian time, and you have a full day of meetings scheduled. I suggest you try to get a little sleep on the flight so you can adjust to the time change swiftly.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I tease, and he clucks his tongue in a way that sounds a lot like fuck off. I ignore it and focus on my priorities. “Who am I meeting with tomorrow?”
“The first meeting is at eight with Matteo Russo, and the second is at nine with Stefano Alfonsi.”
Both are big Italian businessmen with deep pockets who just so happen to want a piece of the Cruz Nightlife pie. Their investments would be helpful, but it’s not necessarily wanted or needed. I’ll just have to see how much sugar and honey they want to put on their proposition pies.
“And then,” Carey continues, “you have a breakfast meeting with Franco Lugoni about delivery expediency, an eleven a.m. final walk-through of Club Indigo…a meet, greet, and final instruction with incoming staff at noon…a one o’clock lunch meeting with Marco Luna, the club manager…a quick three o’clock drop-in with the resort manager to confirm your plans for club promotion allowances on the premises, and at four thirty, the owner of the company you’re using for complimentary private shuttle service wants to have a quick discussion about the contract.”
A wrinkle forms in my brow as he quits speaking unexpectedly. “And then?”
“My God,” he says through a laugh. “I’m getting to it, but unlike someone I know, I like to take a breath every now and then.”
I roll my eyes. I may not make the most extracurricular use of my time—I mean, I don’t have a wife and one point five babies, like most of my friends—but I’m breathing just fine. Carey just likes to be dramatic about everything.
“You have the press coming to the hotel at six to gather some footage of you to air the next day—”
“Why didn’t we push that back to air in time for the opening?”
“So you can work out kinks if they arise on opening night, Bossman.”
“Right.” I nod. “Good thinking.”
“Jesus, Mr. Cruz. I’ve been with you long enough. I thought you’d know better than to question my excellence at this point.”
I shake my head, but I don’t respond. His ego is big enough without my padding it.
He doesn’t seem to mind as he rambles on. “After that, you’re pretty much free until eight, when you need to be at Club Indigo for the big opening. God only knows what you, Mr. I Work Too Damn Much, are going to do with all that free time…”
I laugh at his merciless mocking of my one free hour of the day. I don’t have a lot of downtime, but the point of my trip is efficiency. If I didn’t schedule my every waking moment, this ten-day trip would easily turn into twenty.
“I’m sure I’ll be able to use it wisely. Dinner perhaps. And maybe a little brainstorming to find some extra tasks for you to keep yourself busy with while I’m gone.” I smirk to myself. “You know, the usual.”
“Well, you may have lost your pants, but at least you haven’t lost your sense of humor. Maybe you’ll be able to use that to find an exotic Italian beauty while you’re there.”
I roll my eyes again, and somehow, he senses it.
“Don’t roll your eyes at me, Mr. Cruz! At this rate, I’m gonna have to start scheduling dates for you and adding them to your calendar.”
I snort, but that doesn’t stop him.
“Answer me this…if I put your wedding down for two years from now, will you order a bride off the internet just in the interest of keeping the appointment?”
“Carey.”
“What? You are literally in the business of pleasure, but your whole damn life is the opposite.”
“I’m not all work,” I retort. “I have fun.”
He snorts. “When?”
“I go out on dates.”
“No, no, those are not dates. Trust me, I’m a man with very loose restrictions on the definition, but make no mistake, what you do is not dating. Those are just meetings. Meetings in which you take out your dick, but meetings all the same.”
He’s not lying, but what can I say? I don’t have time for relationships.
The only things I do have time for are the pre-scheduled “meetings” with a few beautiful women I consider close friends. We eat, we drink, we fuck, and then we go our separate ways until our schedules align again.
“I also have drinks with the guys,” I add.
“When they go to a bar within walking distance of your dinner meeting.”
“So, what you’re saying is that I’m fantastic with time management.”
“What I’m saying is that you’re fantastic with not doing anything besides work.”
“What about the book club I’m in? That, I can assure you, isn’t work-related.”
His responding laugh is a cackle. “Yeah, but you never read the books. You make me read the books and tell you what happens. Plus, the only reason you go is because your rich and insane buddies make it impossible not to go. I field at least fifty calls from them days prior to every one of your little book club meetings.”
“Damn, Carey. And here I thought I had the only assistant among my friends who was pro-balls. Turns out, you love busting them just as much as they do.”
Caplin Hawkins, Milo Ives, Thatcher Kelly, Kline Brooks, Quincy Black, Trent Turner, Wes Lancaster, and Harrison Hughes—the members of my book club and some of my best friends—all have women dedicated to keeping their business ships afloat and sailing straight. Some of them are more hard-core than others, but none of them takes any shit.
Which is exactly what these kinds of men need.
It’s the same quality they’ve found in the women in their lives outside of the office—with the notable exceptions of Harrison and me, of course, the last two single bachelors in the bunch.
In fact, Caplin Hawkins’s pursuit of his woman, Ruby Rockford, is the whole reason we have a book club in the first place.
“I’m going to tell all of them you said that,” Carey retorts.
“Wow. Is there no loyalty among us? Bro-code? Something?”
“I’m gay, Bossman. Bro-code means something entirely different with me.”
I shake my head with a laugh as he continues.
“You’ll just have to settle for knowing I’ve got all your shit handled. Your schedule is in your calendar, your email, and I’ve made sure the front desk at the resort has a printed-out itinerary as well. They’ll give it to you when you arrive.”
See what I mean? He never misses a fucking beat. I need someone who is ten steps ahead of me at all times, and seeing as I’m six foot three and my strides are long, that is no easy feat. Carey has just the right metaphorical legs.
“So, you’re saying you’re on top of things?”
“Yes,” he says, and I can hear a smile in his voice. “It’s almost like I’m so good at my job that my boss should consider giving me a raise…”