Page 9 of Mid-Thirties Slightly Hot Mess Female Seeking Billionaire

"I’ve played tennis ten times in my life. I could take it or leave it."

"But you were really good."

"No, I wasn’t."

"You were very sporty."

"I’m sporty, yes, and hey, I can hit the ball across the net. Didn’t mean I wanted to be the president of the tennis association."

"Well, you should have told me you didn’t want that job."

"I would’ve told you if I wanted it." I let out a deep sigh and press the stop button.

"Oh, boy," Jackson says, folding his arms and focusing on me. "What is it?"

"Tell me this. Did you, or did you not nominate me?"

"I didn’t nominate you, but I may have told someone late one night that my best friend was really eligible and really rich and really good-looking. Not knowing that she would nominate you." He bows his head, but I can still see the knowing smirk. "In my defense, she was giving me the hand job of my dreams."

"Really, Jackson?"

"Sorry," he says, his eyes light as if he’s remembering that night fondly. "But the good news is she hates me now, so it’s very unlikely that she’ll nominate you or put you in next year."

"I’ve been listed for the last five years. How long ago did you date this lady? What’s her name? How do I get in contact with her?"

"To be honest, we were on and off for a couple of years. She liked to play, if you know what I mean. Ironically, her name was Primrose, but she went by Prim. I can see if I can find her number, if you want." He shrugs and presses the button for the elevator to continue. "Now, are we going to talk about this all night, Ethan, or are we just going to go out and have some fun?"

"Whatever," I say. "I can’t believe Todd never got back to me. You haven’t heard from him?"

"No." He shakes his head. "By the way, one of the girls down there was trying to say something to you before you left."

"Oh?" I stare at him. "Which girl?"

"I don’t remember her name."

"I don’t remember seeing anyone. I just remember that guy, Dave, or whatever his name is. I’ve spoken to him before and I did not want to be there when he burst into song again." I shudder as I think about him.

"That makes sense."

We exit the elevator as it arrives at the first floor and walk through the white marble floor of the lobby. I notice several of my employees having hushed conversations as they notice me. I nod at several members of staff and continue to the door. I know that my employees both revere me and are scared of me, which is the way that it should be. They should love me and want to work well, but they should also be in fear that if they don’t do a good job, they will lose it. At least, that’s what I think is my leadership style. I’ve been going to a therapist who says that might not be the best way to treat my employees. I’m still thinking about whether or not I agree with her.

I step outside of the building and look over to the right. My chauffeur, Randy, is standing there and hurries over. "Good evening, Mr. Rosser. Good evening, Mr. Pruitt," he says as he turns to Jackson. "Am I driving you somewhere tonight or will you be walking?"

I look over at Jackson. "How far away is this bar you were talking about?"

"It’s on the other side of the city," he says. "Randy, do you mind driving us? It’s a new bar called the Owl and the Pussycat."

"Not at all." Randy hurries toward the limo and opens the back door. "I’m here at your service, as always."

"Thank you, Randy," I say as I get into the back of the car. Jackson gets in beside me.

"You want a whisky?" he asks, opening the small fridge at the side. I nod, and he takes out a decanter with some of the finest Scottish whisky sold, pours me a glass, and makes one for himself.

"It’s been a long day," he says, handing me the glass. "But I do have some good news."

"Okay, and that is?"

"The manufacturing plants in Ohio are scheduled to be completed next month, so that’s a month ahead of schedule."

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