Page 2 of The Tenant
I’m loving domestic life with Krista. When I was twenty-five, the idea of living with a woman would have been unthinkable, but it’s been great. It’s been going so well we even decided to get ourselves a pet, which we tacitly agreed was a practice run for when we have a child together. We thought about getting a cat or dog, but we couldn’t handle that much responsibility, so we ended up with a goldfish. Her name is Goldy. Granted, I know goldfish aren’t particularly cuddly, but I’m already attached.
But I need to learn to balance my work and home life. I needed this promotion to give Krista and me the life we want—the life shedeserves, which will hopefully be better than what my mom had. I needed it to pay for the brownstone, because the mortgage was eating up my whole paycheck.
I came from nothing and hated it. My dad owned a small hardware store and was always struggling to keep it afloat, so I’ve taken steps to ensure thatmylife is going to be different. I never want to have to worry about the lights being shut off.
I shove my phone into the pocket of my crisply tailored pants. I’ll tie up a few loose ends here, and then I’ll take off. But before I turn back to my desk, I take one last look out the picture window. I can vaguely see my own reflection in the glass—I’m on the taller side, close to six feet, with brown hair that I always keep clipped very short because it has an annoying tendency to curl, the hint of a cleft in my chin, and dark brown eyes that are a little too close together but have been called “intense,” which I take as a compliment.
“Blake?”
I tear my eyes away from the window. My boss’s secretary, Stacie, is standing at the open door to my office, her fist poised to rap on the doorframe to get my attention. And she’s got my attention. In that skirt—yes, holy crap, she has my attention.
“Hey,” I say. “What’s up, Stacie?”
“Wayne wants to talk to you.”
I glance back at my watch again. It’s late in the day for a meeting. “Now?”
“Right now, he said.”
She’s not meeting my eyes like she usually does. She’s looking down at the oriental rug on the floor, like it’s the most interesting thing she’s ever seen. And I think to myself,That’s strange.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll be right there.”
As I turn away from the window and follow Stacie out of the office, it doesn’t even occur to me that in the next five minutes, my whole life will come crashing down.
2
Wayne Vincent has beenmy boss for the last decade, ever since I graduated from NYU.
He was the one who hired me. Everything I know about marketing, I owe to Wayne. He taught me how to develop a campaign. He taught me how to organize a budget. He taught me how to analyze the competition and the market. In the time I’ve known him, he’s gone through two wives, gained and lost about forty pounds, and together, we have consumed the equivalent of a truckload of alcohol.
And right now, he lookspissed.
He is sitting behind his mahogany desk—about fifty percent larger than mine—and he glowers at me as I enter the room. When I hesitate in the doorway, he points a single finger at the chair in front of his desk and barks, “Sit.”
I don’t know what this is about. I’ve had this job for one week, and I’m doing it well. No, I’m doing itgreat. So whatever this is, it’s bullshit. I feel my hackles rise preemptively.
But even if he’s wrong, he’s still my boss, so I lower myself onto the cushion of the chair in front of him. “Everything okay, Wayne?”
He folds his beefy arms across his barrel chest, only partially concealed by the expensive suit he’s wearing. “You tell me, Porter.”
He called me by my last name. He never calls me by my last name.
“I’m on track with the Clemente campaign,” I say. “I’ll have a mock-up by Friday. Thursday, if you need it.” I can get it done a day early. Who needs sleep?
Then he says something that shocks me: “You shared the Henderson campaign.”
“I… What?”
His scalp turns pink under his receded hairline. “You showed our campaign—everything—to our competitors. You let them steal it from us, you thieving asshole.”
What?My mouth falls open. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I know you did it, Blake.” His jaw ticks. “All I want to know is who the contact was and how much they paid you.”
“Wayne…”
“How much, Porter?”
