Page 10 of Damaged Beast
“The old farts will be fine for a while. Come on, Deanna, have you ever closed on a massive business deal like that before?”
I hesitate, thumb hanging over the order button. He’s got a point there. This Sorensen thing is the first time Prime’s actually let me approach an investor almost entirely on my own.
When I showed up a couple hours ago, David and Prime were having a great time, but I could tell there was a slight strain between them. I quickly realized David kept trying to talk shop and Prime kept steering him away, and the second I entered into the conversation it was like spraying oil on a rusty hinge. Everything began to work.
Prime entertained. He was charming and funny. While I kept to the numbers. We worked Sorensen from both angles until he all but signed on the dotted line.
“It could still fall apart,” I point out, still not hitting the button.
“But we both know it won’t. Come on, princess. One drink with your handsome boss. Don’t make me order you.”
“Only since you’re buying.” I shove my phone back into my bag, aware that this is a huge mistake. But Prime’s right, this is a good time to celebrate, and I’m still young, right? It’s not the worstthing in the world to sit down with a coworker. People do that sort of thing all the time.
Prime strolls toward a smaller spot a block down, complimenting me the whole way, going on and on about how impressed he was, how I managed all Sorensen’s questions with ease and even preempted several of his objections and worried with hard facts and solid data.
“I swear, when you showed him that price per square foot spreadsheet, my dick was like iron.”
“Please, can we not talk about your dick?”
“Probably, but that’s not fun.”
We step into a dim, much quieter pub, and find two chairs at the far end of the bar. I get wine and he gets bourbon. When our drinks arrive, he holds up his glass.
“To my princess, my assistant, the rock upon which I stand?—“
“Not too far,” I warn, sensing he’s about to cross a line. “That was nice. Don’t make it awful.”
“Cheers.”
We lapse into a comfortable silence, which is unusual with Prime, since mostly he fills any gap in conversation with his favorite sound, which is his own voice.
But maybe I’m being too hard on him. Most of the time I see Prime as a shallow, frustrating, overly flirty meathead, and he’s still all of those things, but I caught a glimpse of what makes him successful. He was funny and made Sorensen the center of his universe. Prime’s attention is like a spotlight, like warm sunshine on a cool afternoon. It’s addicting the way he can treata person like they’re the most interesting human in the entire world, and he turned the full power of his charm on tonight.
And it made me think. Business relationships are about money and numbers at their core. Why bother otherwise? But also, nobody wants to be linked to someone they actively despise and don’t want to be around. For a certain type of person, say a man who already has plenty of investments like David Sorensen, the quality of their partners is as important as the quality of their future return, at least to some extent.
Business relationships are also personal too, or they can be, and that’s why we made such a good team.
“I’ve been thinking,” Prime says, looking at his glass. He sips and I recall the way he kissed me that night. I push back against the idea.
“That’s a new one.”
He ignores my barb. “You’ve done good work lately, and I don’t remember the last time I gave you a raise. Are you satisfied with your salary?”
“Honestly? You pay me really well, but more money is always good.” I shift in my seat, pulse beating between my legs. “Why are you bringing this up now?”
“I want to make sure you’re happy, that’s all. I want to make sure I’m taking care of you.” He looks up from his bourbon and his expression is dark and tinged with hunger, like a pale shadow of his hooded, thirsty need from that night. It sends a shiver of recognition into my core and I unconsciously spread my knees.
“You’re not… doing this because of… you know.” I stammer awkwardly, not sure why I’m even mentioning it.Obviously thisis about the deal we just closed!Except a part of me can’t let go of the suspicion that everything goes back to that night.
Prime grips his glass tight. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m just saying, we haven’t even mentioned that night, and now you’re offering to give me more money? Like you’re trying to keep me happy… and quiet.”
I think I finally crossed a line for a brief moment. He seems hurt. It’s an expression I’ve never seen on Prime’s face. But he quickly wipes it away, laughing to himself as he takes another sip.
“That’s deeply fucked up, Deanna. I’m insulted you think so little of me.”
“I shouldn’t have?—“
