Page 20 of Big Boss
The weeks leadingup to the gala pass in a blur of anxiety. I always get this feeling like I’m going to forget something important and absolutely screw up the event beyond redemption, and then everyone is going to laugh at me. And then things like this go wrong, and I want to drown in my sense of worthlessness and shame.
Erica is giving me one of those looks like I’m an idiot, and frankly, I feel like an idiot. I’m certainly acting like one, and I don’t even need dear old dad to tell me how stupid I am this time.
“I don’t understand why this happened,” I moan, shoving my hands against my face, and plopping down onto my desk. “Why is this even a thing?”
She sighs like the weight of eight million tons has settled on her two tiny little shoulders. “People expect decorations, Mister Tate. Specifically, when rich people are paying hundreds of dollars to stand around and eat snacks with you, they expect to have a good venue with pretty lighting and artful floral arrangements.”
I peer up at her, my hair now completely askew. “Do you want to tell me again how we ended up with flowers delivered a week before the event? Jorge called me and he wasn’t too pleased with the interruption at his hotel.”
She makes a humming sound. “I’ll sort it out with the hotel directly. We’ll gift them this set for use as centerpieces, and I’ll make sure the vendor sends over a new batch for the gala. Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”
I know she does, but it makes me feel dumber than ever that she has to take care of everything. Apparently, the only thing that I am capable of doing these days is making a scene and letting other people clean up my messes.
I can practically taste my father’s words in the back of my mouth. It’s too early to drink, right? My eyes flick to my watch. It’s only nine thirty in the morning, so almost certainly yes on the waiting before I can day drink.
“I’m sorry.” The words hurt me as they slip out,but now it’s too late to put them back inside.
She narrows her eyes at me. “Boss, what exactly are you sorry about? You didn’t deliver the flowers on the wrong week.”
I tug at my hair, loosening it until it spills down across my neck and onto my back. Her eyes track the movement of my hand but then return to rest, unblinking, on my face. She’s not going to let this go without an answer.
“I probably screwed up the original order with the florist.” I pause. “Sometimes I have a difficult time with the details.”
It’s the truth, but just the barest tip of the iceberg when it comes to all the problems I have. I can’t bring myself to come clean to her about all the many ways that numbers and letters slip and slide around in my mind like they’re made out of fast-moving, slippery liquid, so I’ll settle for this for now.
Erica purses her lips and shrugs one shoulder. “I said I’ll handle it. You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, boss. You’re making a great thing happen. Let me take care of the details.”
I don’t know what I did to deserve having someone like her taking care of me, but Erica Ridley taking care of me is the best feeling in the world. I want to bottle this feeling and sell it, and then I’d make my next billion dollars.
I can’t think of many things as intoxicating as having someone who wants to protect you, even if she’s little bitty, teeny-tiny woman who dresses like she’s headed to work at one of those fancy circus acts instead of my record label.
During the several weeks that she’s been my assistant, I’ve seen over and over again that Erica is a good person, deep down, fundamentally. In that way that isn’t obvious, but is better because it’s pure and it lasts. She is like a walking pillar of honesty, and given my own ongoing public deception, her fundamental goodness is the most soothing feeling possible.
She’s made it her own personal mission to guard me and my reputation, and checks in on me every night by text to make sure I’m not in trouble. And somehow, we ended up becoming actual friends during her self-appointed babysitting mission. Friends-ish. She even tagged along to one of the poker games with the guys, although she swears it was only to keep an eye on me.
Some nights we get Chinese food delivered and watch movies and anime on the couch in that broom closet sized apartment she lives in. And not only is it the absolute best relationship I’ve ever had with a woman, but everything about it feels so deeply honest in a way that is only attributable to Erica herself.
I don’t have to be anything for her. She doesn’t even care about the song I’m known for. She’s never seen my house. My money and name mean nothing to her, and that can only mean that she likes me for who I really am.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” She points at the wall of gold and platinum records that I’ve produced. “You can’t possibly be all that bad at numbers and somehow come up with all of those wins. Didn’t you say that each one of those represents some sort of big milestone in the music world?”
I straighten in my chair and quit fidgeting. “Well, I’ve always had a difficult time with numbers. And letters. All of that.” I wave my hand dismissively, like I’m not confessing my deepest darkest secret out loud to her.
Erica gives me one of those looks. The kind that says she thinks I’m stupid. “My brain is a little different too. It doesn’t matter.” She shrugs one shoulder. “You’re obviously doing fine and making plenty of money.”
“I don’t do it for the money,” I say, but she snorts. “Okay, notjustfor the money,” I amend.
I made my first billion off the royalties from my short but deeply infamous music career. Honestly, I could probably live off those royalties alone for the foreseeable future.
That’s half the reason I’m working so hard now, though. I want to help artists that I can tell are truly unique and talented find their way to success. I have a more than ninety percent success rate, which is unheard of in my line of work.
The reason is simple. I only take on groups and acts that I know I can help succeed. If I don’t believe in them, they aren’t the right fit for me.
And because I’ve never drawn a salary at Eating Out Records, I’m free to use the income the business generates to fund publicity and venues for the musicians I sign. Each act deserves its own unique path to success, and I have the means and connections to give it to them.
Even if I never make another single note of music again in my life, at least I know I’m helping make music happen. That has to count for something.
Erica’s not looking at me now, her eyes cast off to one side and downward. For a moment, I wonder what’s spinning around in the machinery of her brain. I’ve never known someone so thoroughly organized and detail-oriented. Her brain literally never stops working.
