Page 21 of The Delivery

Five.

Centered on the large square coffee table is a bold red-and-blue book called The 48 Laws of Power. A brass-framed photograph of Alexa in a plunging-neckline dress rests on Derek’s desk, pointedly aimed outward. It’s an 8 × 10, the kind actresses use for headshots. Alexa’s lips are pursed, her index finger resting along her clavicle. The bookcase behind Derek’s desk displays not books but miniature Porsche model cars. The decor suits a sophomore in college.

Mark clears his throat.

Derek glares up at him. “What?”

“I have to go,” he says. “I’m sorry. Maddy’s been injured.”

“Injured injured? Like she broke a leg?”

“She got burned. On a slide.”

“Burned on a slide,” Derek says, tapping his Montblanc against the leather blotter. “Third degree? Fourth?”

Mark feels the hinges of his jaw tighten, tells himself to loosen his expression. “I don’t think that bad. But she’s sensitive.”

“Yes,” Derek said. “Know who else is sensitive?”

He waits, but Mark does not give him the satisfaction of inquiring.

“Me. I’m sensitive. Know why I’m sensitive, Mark? Because one of my fucking chief product officers is three weeks behind schedule—wait, no, make that four weeks behind schedule, and my stock price is in the shitter. Know how much money I’ve lost in the past two months, Mark?”

Mark, too, has lost 60 percent of his unrealized holdings, though he’d started with a substantially lesser sum.

“You need to prioritize work right now, Mark, like the rest of us.”

“I’ve been working eleven-hour days, Derek. For weeks straight now.”

“When Elon was spinning up Tesla, he slept in a conference room in the factory.” Derek exhales, rubs his temples in circles. “We’re assessing promotions next quarter. I’ll give you a sneak peek now: You’re not getting one. If you want to hold steady, have a second shot at delivering what is in your purview to deliver, you won’t run out of here midday every time your kid gets a scrape or a bee sting.”

Heat boils up in Mark, scours his throat. He tastes the bile at the back of his mouth, acid and rage. He does not trust himself to speak.

“I gave you the plus-one invite from N0RM LLC. You have another man at home to handle anything and everything. So how ’bout you let him handle it? And you handle your responsibilities here.”

He goes back to his laptop.

Mark stands there for ten seconds. Twenty.

Derek does not look up.

Mark exits.

Walks on numb legs back to his office. Closes the door. Sits down at his desk. He fills with fury and shame. Shame is worse.

He makes a fist to slam onto his desk but stops just shy and then presses the pinkie edge to the wood. A few deep breaths.

He calls Rebecca back.

“Hey, Beccs. I can’t make it there. I’m sorry. Derek is being a total—”

“What do you mean you can’t make it? She was a mess, Mark. She was asking for you and only you. She needs her dad right now.”

“I can’t leave, Rebecca.”

“I get you’re balancing a lot with the upgrade and Dickhead Derek, but this was a bad one. Maddy needs you right now.”

“My job is on the line. This is the real world, not—” He catches himself, chest heaving.