Page 73 of Catfish

“You like it in the ass, Wade, that’s why you went into politics.”

I rub the bridge of my nose. “I swear to fucking God if you make me agree with my mother…”

"Don't know what that means, but I don't care," she exalts, slicing a hand through the air. "Let me interview her."

I hit her with a scowl. “You’re seriously pushing it.”

“Please.” She actually uses “praying hands” on me.

“No.”

“You know this won’t stop.”

I strain my eyes. “Who’s the boss again?”

“Who runs your shit like a boss?”

“My fucking God…”

“One interview.”

“Em, the English language, learn it.”

“We have another fundraiser next month, you just fired the one party planner we had. The one you wanted to keep after—”

“Proving you’re right isn’t going to help your case,” I chide.

“I’m not done proving my case until you see what she can do. I promise you I’ve done my research.”

"That's your job," I allude, moving out of the way for a bunch of waitresses to huddle around for a pep talk of some sort.

“And to get you into the White House.”

“That’s enough Em, I’m—”

“Please.” She laces her fingers together. “I’m not doing it to be a pain in the ass. She’d really make a difference, I swear. Reagan could change the face of your branding and make my life a whole lot easier.”

“There are a million party planners, find one in New York or some shit.”

“Did you guys argue that bad?” she asks with a wrinkled nose. “Was she offensive or just rude?”

I lift a shoulder. “I don’t remember.”

“I just want this one thing,” she presses. “She’s amazing.”

“Em.”

“Wade.”

“No.”

She extends her arms like she’s about to conduct an orchestra. “She is one in a million.”

Fully aware.

“I’m going to fire you next if you don’t drop it.”

She tsks. “Good luck.”

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