Oh look, someone drew a happy face on the head of your dick.
I had found all those wonderful images when digging into the background of a guy who wanted to be my Chief Financial Officer at a salary of four-hundred-grand a year.
I just went to his Facebook page, hit Photos, and bam!
I took great joy in showing him what I had found, then asking, “So, you want me to let you manage my company’s financials? Seriously? Uh, I don’t think so. Thank you, drive through.”
Okay, granted, I put the poor guy through hours and hours of grueling interviews before I sprang the Facebook pics and told him to fuck off. But hey, a guy’s gotta have a little fun. Right?
I typed in Candice Carlson’s name into the search bar and sipped the shitty coffee as I waited for her profile to pop up. I wondered what embarrassing moments or tantalizing tidbits I would find on her page.
And like magic, there was Candice Carlson’s life in full living color for all the world to see.
“Okay, Candice Carlson,” I said with a grin. “Let’s see what deep dark secrets I can surmise from your lovely profile.”
I clicked to enlarge her profile picture and was disappointed to find that it was a standard bullshit company portrait, probably the pulled from her bio on the Goldman website.
“Shit,” I said as I clicked to close the enlarged image. “Come on, Candice. Don’t let me down.”
I went back to her profile page and clicked on the “About Candice” link. Standard stuff: twenty-five, Harvard MBA grad, hometown Ottumwa, Nebraska, population who gives a shit.
“Single is good,” I said, noting her relationship status.
I clicked on her Photos, hoping to find a drunk party pic or two or three. Or Candice at the beach in a string bikini with her tits hanging out.
Woo-hoo! Wouldn’t that be a fucking awesome way to start the day! A hot bikini shot of Candice that I could rub one out to before leaving the penthouse.
“Shit,” I said again as her photos loaded on the screen. “So much for whacking off to Candice’s tits.”
There’s Candice at a business event.
There’s Candice at a fundraiser.
There’s Candice at a formal dinner.
There’s Candice with a group of sorority sisters.
There’s Candice in her cap and gown.
“Son of a bitch,” I said with a sigh. I pushed the computer away in disgust and picked up the coffee cup. “Are you really that fucking boring, Candice Carlson? You couldn’t give me one decent tit pick to start my day?”
My iPhone buzzed with a text message from Henry. He was downstairs with the car. Crap. My quest to learn more about Candice Carlson would have to wait.
I stared at her utterly boring profile picture for a moment.
I closed the laptop and shook my head.
Candice Carlson needed a little excitement in her life.
And fortunately for her, I was just the guy to give it to her.
I handed the driver my suitcase so he could stow it in the trunk, then climbed into the back of the limo to sit next to Henry, who grunted at me and continued fiddling with his phone.
“Bad manners to use your phone at the table, my son,” I said, shaking my head at him.
“Sorry, just shooting an email off to Stan Roberts at Goldman confirming our flight time for today.” He tucked the phone inside his Armani jacket and directed his full attention to me.
“So, how was your weekend?” he asked.
“Fine,” I said with a shrug. “I didn’t do much. Just flew out to Vegas to look at the Ferrari I bought.”
“Did you drive it back?”
I snorted at him. “You don’t actually drive a car like that Henry. I had them load it onto a climate-controlled car hauler I borrowed from Earnhardt for transport back to Chicago. It should arrive in a day or two.”
A look of judgment came to his eye. “How much did you end up spending? On a car?”
I waved a hand at him, as if the question smelled bad, but not as bad as my answer. “I spent more than I should have, but not as much as I would have.”
“Tanner, how much?”
I blew out a long sigh. “Twenty-eight-point-seven mill for the car and another ten-percent in auction fees,” I said, shrugging off the number like it was pocket change, because that’s what it was to me. He scowled at me. “Okay, so it went a little over estimate. It’s not a big deal. In five years, it will double in value.”
“I hope you’re right,” he said, shaking his head.
“I’m always right.”
I glanced over to see him scowling at me. I held out my hands and asked, “What’s up your ass this morning?”
“Your little show on Friday with the Goldman people is what’s up my ass,” Henry said. He gave me the look my dad used to give me whenever I disappointed him, which was most of the time. He shook his head slowly and clicked his tongue. “I’m not going to let you blow this deal, Tanner. It’s too important.”