“He was also the man who owns this town.”
“He was.”
“The man whose lineage dates back to the very establishment of its overall existence.”
“Yes.”
“Which means that’s your heritage.”
“It does.”
“Which means you now own and operate his company.”
“Yes.”
“And now also own and operate this town.”
“I do.”
“But it does not mean you own or personally operate my daughter.” Dad deliberately adjusts his grip on the gun. “Are we clear?”
There’s no shock over his response. “Most certainly.”
“Good. I’d also like for us to be clear that while I’m aware your second was instructed to step out of the room, which would lead the average man to believe you are, indeed, vulnerable, the bulletproof suit, the holstered weapon, and the additional shooter pacing outside my bedroom are obvious indicators to me that you are anything but.” My father’s head tilts a little with his smirk. “It should also be clear to you, Mr. Bennett, that I would aim for your head and wouldn’t. Miss.”
The man who signs my paychecks – or, more accurately, probably just stamps them – lightly chortles. “Crystal clear, Mr. Brooks.”
“Perfect.” Dad appears ready to say one thing when another thought clearly interrupts. “There’s uh…there’s also one more thing you should probably know.”
“What’s that, Mr. Brooks?”
“I get my meat from Costco.”
Mr. Bennett’s eyebrows lift to the sky, a mixture of mirth and appalment plastered on his face. “Oh?”
“Yeah…” Dad gives him a one shouldered shrug. “Your shit’s too expensive, plus Costco has this hot little Puerto Rican piece that loads the meat directly into my cart, giving me a perfect ass shot to admire every time.”
“Dad!”
“What?!” He less than innocently squeaks. “What do you want from me, Scribbles? That shit’s hard to resist!”
“And hard to compete with,” Mr. Bennett lightly laughs again. “However, I’ll see what we can do for the local butcher shop. Doubt the prices can be lowered for everyone but perhaps I can start an employee discount system and hire some more attractive assistance to help out behind the counter increasing the appeal for…you and other men who might be going to competitors for the wrong reasons.”
“Or are they the right reasons?” My father winks.
“Dad!”
“Scribbles,” he flashes me a playful grin, “I repeat, what do you want from me?”
“Not to try to fuck everything with a tiny waist and Latino heritage.”
He slightly cringes and shakes his head. “You’re asking for way too much, Scribbles. Like way way too fucking much.”
“Dad!”
Mr. Bennett wades through his own laughter to push the conversation forward. “My intrusion into your home this evening was, apparently, the result of a miscommunication-”
“Mm,” I hum out the beginning of my interjection, “yeah, I don’t know that I would call this situation a miscommunication…”
“I was under the impression your daughter was going to accompany me to dinner, yet it appears as though she has made other plans.”
“And, I don’t know that I would call chastising me for my exquisite taste in women over cold beer and leftover pizza ‘plans’.”
“Dad, you’re supposed to be cutting back on those things until we have more information about your…affliction.”
“I can happily,” my father speaks over me on purpose, “sit in peace and quiet and watch Equilibrium all by myself if my daughter would like to go to dinner with you.”
Like to?
Well…no shit.
Who the fuck wouldn’t want to be whisked away for a night by tall, dark, and demanding for what is probably an expensive cut of steak, the most expensive bottle of booze in the building, and sex in the backseat of a Rolls-Royce or a limo?
Should I?
Definitely not.
Fucking your boss is never a good idea.
They have literally created laws to prevent that very thing.
Then again, they’ve created a bunch of shitty laws for some shady reasons, so I don’t know if that’s the best argument for me to make.
How about because going to dinner and fucking your boss – because I know that’s where we’d end up given how wet my thong is two days in a row – complicates what was previously a very uncomplicated life?
An uncomplicated one filled with crossword puzzles and learning how to solve Rubik’s cubes in record times and neon purple massagers that work via USB – a true gift from the tech Gods.
“That’s only if she would like to, of course,” Dad reiterates on a glance my direction. “I don’t speak for my daughter, nor do I make decisions for her.”
I present him with a small smile.
“But-”
“No buts, Dad.”
“-if she were to ask my thoughts or want my opinion about joining you for dinner, I would suggest that she go because the regret of wondering what if is often much more haunting than the regret that comes from wishing you hadn’t at all.” Dad smugly smirks and offers another one shouldered shrug. “But that’s only if she were to ask me my opinion.”
Something I constantly do when it comes to new situations.
“I understand.” Mr. Bennett slowly nods at my father. “And, I honestly hope with everything in me that she does ask you, so that I might be fortunate enough to enjoy her company for the evening.”
“Well, one of us should, and given the conversation we were having when you walked in, it’s not likely that it would be me.”
“Dad!”
There’s another hearty chuckle out of my boss prior to him stating, “If it ends up being a possibility, Mr. Brooks, I do not possess an ounce of doubt that me spending the evening with your daughter would be anything other than,” his eyes find mine, “incredible. Nor would I consider myself anything other than fortunate to have been bestowed her valuable time.”
The specifically chosen word selection and inflection has me chomping harshly on my bottom lip in an attempt to maintain my current opposition.