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She reaches around me and clicks on a profile photo.
The screens shows a handsome man, in his mid-to-late thirties with a smirk on his face that says; ‘I know that I’m good-looking’. He has a light dusting of facial hair and brown eyes that look like he’s up to something. In his profile photo, he’s wearing all black with a gray background, the image looks like it’s a headshot, but I can’t be too certain.
I take control of the track pad and scroll down his profile and there’s not much that he’s posted. There’s a few reposts of some articles, some general posts that it looks like he’s made, but nothing that leads to any insight into who he really is.
I open another tab and type his name into the spacebar.
“Holy shit, he has a wiki page.”
“Why would he have a wiki page?” Quinn asks.
She clicks on it and the page loads. “Who knows. Anyone can create one. Maybe he thinks he’s top shit and made his own. It says he’s partner at a law firm and that he’s one of the top producing partners, better than his father. Whatever that means. He has a lot—wow, that’s a lot of zeroes—of money.”
She scrolls down the page even more and I think that both of our eyes widen at the same time when we see the dollar amount of his net worth.
“I still don’t understand why he has a wiki page.”
“He must know people,” she says.
MAXWELL
If there’s one thing that I hate about my job, it’s billing.
We bill in 6-minute increments and it’s so fucking frustrating, since I hate the paperwork portion of my job. I want to be doing things, not recording them. Isn’t that what an assistant is for?
When my father passed away last year, in his will and his recommendation to the board, was that I was named partner in the firm with his absence. After all, my last name is on the signage of the business and all the stationary. The board voted and approved the request on a probationary period, which I surpassed their expectations within the second quarter.
I have worked my ass off and have brought in several deals that have put this firm on the map and allowed us to open up a fourth office later this year.
I’m staring at my log for the month and all the numbers on the spreadsheet are blending together. Thankfully, a knock at my door distracts me.
“Yo! Maxi-pad! I brought lunch,” my best friend, Jason says grinning holding up a white bag while barging into the office, filling the space with the aroma of food. My stomach growls and my mouth begins to water.
“What did you bring me?” I ask pushing back in my chair and stretching.
“Meat. Delicious meat that will melt in your mouth and make you pray to the cows!”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I ask standing removing my suit jacket, draping it over the back of my chair and rolling up my sleeves.
It’s been a week since being back home from Vegas and I’m still racking my brain about the trip. I have been working on a new client to bring my numbers up even more for the year, so I have been practically living at the office. I pulled out a sizeable sum of money for the trip, pulled out triple of what I went to Vegas with on Saturday night and I came back with nothing more than a hangover.
I’m struggling with how I spent so much money, not that I don’t have the money to spend, but I am generally better at spending. What did I do in Vegas?
“So, have you found her?” Jason asks me.
“Huh?”
“The chick that you hooked up with in Vegas?” He clarifies.
“Was I supposed to be looking for her?” I look at him.
He shoves my lunch in front of me and I begin unwrapping it.
“Dude. It’s a cheeseburger.” I say with disgust.
“Yeah, what of it? It’s supposed to be the best in town,” he tells me before taking a bite out of his own.
“I don’t like cheeseburgers,” I remind him.
