I knew it would be an ugly morning when the smell of scotch was stronger than the smell of coffee.
My boss was holding the mug, which doubled the ugliness factor, then tripled it, considering it was Friday, and the numbers from last quarter would be in by now.
Was I about to get fired?
She sipped her coffee, both hands wrapped around the black ceramic mug, long red painted nails tapping out the intimate rhythm of an unknown song. I wiped my palms on my pants and straightened my tie.
“Eddie, I want you to take a look at your client list and tell me why you’re here.” She parks a sheet of heavy-gauge paper with embossed edges on the desk.
I glance down the list of names, only first names, of course, scrawled in her sharp, confident calligraphy. Beside them are dollar figures. Dollar figures that look a little too low.
“I’ve invested in you, and your career. Contacts to give your eyes a touch of green, and the personal trainer to sculpt those biceps. They’re not here for conversation, they’re here to spend money, so let them. More champagne, Eddie. Get them drinking the good stuff.”