Page 23 of Rich and Bossy

“I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me or not, and I really like that about you.”

“I’m serious. I imagine being ridiculously wealthy comes with its own problems.”

His eyes narrow like he doesn’t believe me.

I open mine wider and stare hard at him. “I’m serious. I didn’t say your life is harder than people down on the warehouse floor. Just that I’m sure you have some problems. I realize life isn’t perfect for anybody.”

He smiles, like a real genuine smile. It’s almost unbearable how attractive he is, especially when he looks happy. “I owe you an apology.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” I fold my hands on top of the table.

“This isn’t some negotiation right now.” He snickers. “And I owe you an apology for denigrating you about your age. It was wrong of me to do that. You’re clearly wise beyond your years.”

“Don’t flatter me because I agreed with you ononething.” I grimace before picking up my glass. “And don’t say ‘wise beyond your years’, like ever again. You sound like my grandpa.”

“Ouch.” He makes a show like he’s wincing in pain. “I already have the knee that hurts in bad weather. Don’t need you giving me any extra shit beyond that.” He seems to be enjoying our little back and forth, very much. Almost too much.

If I’m not careful, I’m going to start enjoying it more than I should too.

We’re here for a reason. He stole my fliers! This isn’t some date. I shudder a little in my mind, just thinking about it.

“So, you understand that billionaires have problems too.”

“Yeah, but the problem is, you have the power to make a lot of lives better, at the snap of a finger.”

He looks away, shaking his head, then turns back. “See. That’s another misconception. Maybe, when the company was smaller, when I had more control, and even then, I couldn’t just do things like that. There are steps. Now, it’s almost impossible.”

“Please, you have a bully pulpit. You could point this stuff out and it would get cleaned up. I don’t believe you. You don’t want to do it. Did you even look into the stuff I said? Or is all this…” I scan around the room. “Just to keep the union organization from happening?”

His smile disappears, but he doesn’t look frustrated. Just… Serious. “I looked into some of it. Some of it I don’t really agree with, but some of what you said feels exaggerated too.”

“Which part would that be?”

“Look, can we just watch the game?”

“No, what part did I exaggerate? I’m dying to know.”

“Forget it. I thought we could speak rationally about it, but clearly we’re not ready for that yet.”

They always do that when you get them on the ropes. It’s a tactic to distract. He knows perfectly well what I told him was happening, is happening.

“I’ll take the conversation seriously when you actually answer questions and stop relying on logical fallacies to make your points. I want to know specifically, which thing I exaggerated and how I exaggerated it.”

“Well, for starters, you said everyone gets four weeks maternity leave.”

“That’s not what…”

“You going to let me finish? Or will you be cutting me off every time I answer your question?”

I wave a hand forward. “By all means, sir.” I glare when I say the last part.

“Four weeks is granted to everyone, automatically. Unfortunately, Cheryl, that was her name, right?”

Holy crap, he actually remembered. I nod slowly.

“She’s only been here for a year. At two years, it goes up to six, at five years, it goes up to eight. I realize the United States doesn’t have the same benefits that a lot of other western countries have, but our maternity policy is in the top ten percent of American companies on the Fortune 500.”

“It’s still crap. Even eight weeks after five years. For someone with a new kid. Especially for someone whose kid is sick and might die.”

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