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“Not that I don’t appreciate you stating the obvious over and over again, but is there a point to this conversation?” I enquired, not so politely.
“There is,” Bruce said. “I’ve decided to throw a little publicity junket at the ranch ahead of the app launch. Invited all them fancy-schmancy industry people we need to chummy up with. There’ll be interviews, after-parties, presentations. All the stuff.”
“Sounds good.” I was a social fucking butterfly. I thrived around people. “When’s it happening?”
“Tomorrow.”
“You’re fucking kidding me.”
“I don’t have a sense of humor, son.”
“No sense of time either,” I groused. “You expect me to drop everything and just go?”
“What’s the problem?” Bruce munched on what I guessed was a cigarette or a straw or my raw fucking nerves. “I’ve seen you work a crowd. Should be no issue for you.”
“I need to go over the presentation.”
“It’s the same one we showed the investors. Interactive enough and puts the point across. ’Sides, it’s only for three darn days.”
“Let me see if I have the time cleared up,” I groaned, double-clicking my digital calendar on my MacBook. Sure enough, three days from now was Dylan’s Eras Tour concert with Cal. The one for which I’d promised her I’d babysit Gravity. I’d been slacking on this part of our deal in recent weeks, since I started working on the app, and I wasn’t going to let her down.
“Can’t do the last day.” I tsked. “Dyl has a concert, and I need to take care of Grav.”
“You’re sayin’ she has a concert like she’s Dolly Parton herself.”
“I’m not doing the last day,” I maintained, my tone not leaving room for negotiation.
“Tell her to change the date,” Bruce fired back.
I chuckled wryly. “I don’t think you understand the situation, Bruce. Dylan is going to the concert—that is a fact. The junkettaking place? Now, that’s fucking optional.” I leaned back in my chair, resting my feet on my desk leisurely. “So let’s unpack what’s about to happen. I’m going to drop everything and go to Texas on a whim because your disorganized ass has asked me to, and I’m a good sport like that. I will be leaving first thing Saturday morning, though, to make it back to New York on time for my fiancée.”
“The flight’s not that long. You can leave in the afternoon,” he grumbled.
“I need more time. I promised I was going to help her make friendship bracelets.”
“You’re pulling my leg.”
“No. That’s probably one of the wild animals you’re raising in your backyard.”
“You leave at one p.m., right after the last after-party. Can’t beat that deal with a stick.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, holding myself back from biting out what I was about to beat with a baseball bat.
Bruce continued. “Come on now. I’ve paid a pretty penny to fly celebrities out here.”
I dreaded to guess who he considered a celebrity but braced myself for washed-up country singers and nineties models. The latter could’ve been fun if I weren’t taken.
“Noon, I’m out of there,” I countered. “And I’m borrowing your private jet to make sure I make it in time.”
“You have some nuts on you,” Bruce complained.
“I’ll bring an EpiPen with me if you’re allergic to those.”
“Fine. But you bring me your A game. You don’t sit there and mope around watching the clock till it’s time to make friendship necklaces.”
“Bracelets,” I corrected. My fucking goodness. I had to cup my crotch to make sure my balls were still intact.
“Yeah, those.”