SIX

"The projections for the next five years look fantastic," Joe says, pointing to the chart on the screen. "I've done the research, and we're looking at a possible one hundred twenty two percent return on investment."

I've endured dozens of these meetings throughout the day, and this one is no exception. Joe, my friend, or Juggernaut Joe as we like to call him, dabs at the sheen of sweat on his brow. I'm not sure why he gets so nervous when attempting to sell us on one of his ideas. We're all friends, and I trust their judgment; otherwise, they wouldn't be working for me.

I flip my pen around in my hand, trying to recall the investment figure Joe mentioned earlier. Except for a few doodles I drew to pass the time, the notepad in front of me is mostly blank.

"Please repeat the investment amounts for me. How much will we have to pay out of pocket at first, and how long will it take before we start seeing some cash flow?" I inquire.

Despite the monotony of the meetings, only one thing can keep my attention... money. I require cold, hard facts. How much do you require? When will I be able to get it back? And how much interest will there be? The bottom line is the most important thing to me; fortunately, the rest is handled by my other board members.

Joe rereads his notes, repeating the information he knows I'm looking for. A single bad investment, a single bad move, has the potential to bankrupt me. Fortunately, I make all the right moves.

The other investors swivel their chairs around to face me as they await the final decision. We work as a group, but there can only be one boss.

"That sounds fine to me," I say. "I'll have Amelia prepare the necessary paperwork, and we'll get this show up and running."

Everyone gathers their notebooks and folders as they prepare to leave the conference room. I gather my belongings and prepare to flee, but Joe blocks the door.

"Slow down, Jordan," he jokingly says. "We just closed a big deal, so let's go and have a celebration."

Celebration. I'm not sure what that word means any longer.

I haven't celebrated anything in ages. I go on a few boring dates a month and occasionally to company parties. I'm usually juggling several things at once, and partying isn't high on my priority list. There are twenty-four hours in a day, and I would rather spend mine earning money.

Normal people can live in the present moment, but I cannot. I like to plan everything, including my leisure time. When I was in my early twenties and someone invited me out for drinks, I would drop everything I was doing and party all night. But now that I'm thirty-five, my priorities have shifted.

"Not tonight, Joe," I tell him. "I'm swamped with work, and there are some loose ends at the building I'm looking to buy."

Joe moves to the side to allow me to exit the room, but he follows me down the hall to my office.

"Even if your eyes are closed, you and I both know you can do this job." "Besides, as they say, all work and no play makes a man's balls shrivel up," he jokes.

We laugh as I stuff a stack of papers into my briefcase and glance at my Rolex. If something is worth having, get the best of the best, is a motto I live and die by. My suits, cars, and general way of life all adhere to this motto, and I must remain focused in order to maintain my standards.

"You're completely correct," I say. "Trust me, my balls aren't in any danger right now, but I promise we'll get together soon and party all night." Meanwhile, go tie one on with the guys. You put in a lot of effort on this deal over the last few months and delivered an outstanding presentation. You deserve to celebrate and have a good time."

We exit my office, and Joe gives me a firm pat on the back before we part ways in the hallway. As I ride down to the ground floor, I enjoy the silence of the elevator. Given the number of meetings I have in a day, I always appreciate the brief moments of silence. I stand out front and wait for my Rolls-Royce to arrive, which is unusual because I despise waiting.

Eric, my driver for the last ten years, is the only one who could get away with such a blunder. He's more like family now, but I still raise an eyebrow when he gets out, tilting his hat knowingly in my direction before opening the backseat door. I go inside and take out my phone.

Amelia has updated my schedule once more and sent a confirmation email about our recent meeting.

Eric gets into the car and adjusts the temperature to my preference. "Are we going to the Hills or to the new place?"

Sighing, I tuck my phone into my pocket. "The new place," I explain.

Eric responds with a grunt and pulls into traffic. The building isn't far from my office, and we arrive just in time for me to notice the maintenance man smoking a cigarette in the alley.

"Stop the car, Eric," I tell him.

The car comes to a complete stop, and I exit without waiting for my driver to open the door for me. Justin, the useless maintenance man, raises his head to look at me. He appears nervous, as his eyes dart from one side to the other, most likely looking for a way out.

Justin stomps on his cigarette butt on the ground. "I haven't avoided you, Mr. Delgado. Please allow me to explain."

This slacker is costing me money, and I need the improvements made in order to increase the asking price on this deal. I take a step back and fold my arms, unconcerned about the creases in my tailored suit.

"This has to be good."