Page 17 of Popular (Private: The Extended Edition #5)
Wes
“You do know you’re not actually Batman, right?” Justus “J.T.” Reese, my best friend since childhood, my business colleague, and biggest pain in the ass, questions on a chortle from his dark leather seat on the other side of my desk. “I mean, I know you’re obviously into leather too, but-”
One harsh glance upward cuts off his good-natured taunting.
As it should.
I’m far from in the mood for his bullshit.
Jokes.
Reasons for smiling.
I’m never in the mood for smiling.
And I’ve come to the basic conclusion I never will be.
Which is fine.
He gets paid to smile.
I make our investors enough money not to.
“At least I’m pretty sure he’s into leather,” he needlessly continues yet again distracting me from the paper document I’m doing my best to quickly scan. “He’s definitely into bondage.”
There’s no pause for my commentary.
Not that I planned to give it.
“No dude woul-”
“Don’t say dude,” I chastise in tandem with flipping to the next page. “You’re not a second-year senior struggling to graduate Clover Rose with a degree in computer science anymore.”
“I didn’t struggle ,” J.T. instantly argues like I knew he would. “I was a double major! You have any idea how fucking hard it is to master both computer shit and business shit all while interning at one of the largest and most lucrative companies in the world.”
“ Paid interning, ” is muttered during another page turn.
“Is this why Batman barely talked in the suit? To avoid pissing off Nightwing all the time?”
“He talked often in the suit, hence the extensive online conversations and debates regarding the ‘bat rasp’ in movies.” Reaching the last page precedes briefly meeting his hazel gaze with my mismatched one.
“And he talked even more in the comics. Including the latest issues I have delivered straight to the estate.”
My attention has barely returned to the stack of papers when he playfully pokes, “Do you have a secret bat-filled cave I somehow know nothing about?”
“No.”
“Are you just saying no to end this conversation?”
“No.”
“Are you just saying no so that I don’t go looking for one?”
“No.”
“Are you hoping that by saying no repeatedly I forgo this conversation and choose a different one?”
Yes.
But I know better than to give him that answer.
Or really any answer.
To end a conversation with him – any conversation – is done by disengaging.
It’s one of those things that makes him a blessing in the boardroom, but a burden as a best friend.
Then again, it’s probably my fucking fault he’s this way to begin with.
Perhaps if I were a bit more normal, he would be.
“Have you given anymore thought to opening another distillery near Applecourt?” J.T. casually inquires prior to me scribbling my name on the final line.
“No.”
“Have you considered my proposal about opening them to tours to become a tourist attraction in major areas such as Keleston?”
Sliding the forms across the table is attached to a repeated answer. “No.”
“Have you considered the ratings and location app idea where consumers would be able to not only rank their personal preferred flavors in their accounts but track where it’s socially available, thus putting my degree and passion of both technology integration and the alcohol business to profitable use? ”
“No.”
“Have you considered my proposal about holiday themed events at the larger distilleries?
“No.”
“ Will you consider my proposals? Any of them?”
Rather than answer, I simply lean back in my seat.
Fold my olive-skinned hands on my stomach.
“ Batman would approve all of my proposals,” my best friend juvenilely jeers. “Especially for hosting a Halloween bash. It’s festive .”
“It’s irresponsible.”
“ It’s fun. ”
“It’s a liability. ”
His immediate, sarcastic head tilt pulls a ridiculously heavy sigh out of me.
Thank fuck, I only have one best friend.
Anymore and I’d most likely stroke out before I hit thirty.
I don’t need more opposing opinions.
I don’t want more opposing opinions.
“Hosting an event where minors are openly allowed to mingle and interact around alcohol creates legality issues. And for what? So that the company can be momentarily branded as one that ‘connects’ with its community?”
J.T.’s navy blue suit covered shoulders instantly sink in disappointment.
“And for the record – as the only person in the room who has read upward of a thousand comics featuring the caped, bondage loving crusader – I can effortlessly conclude that he prefers to alleviate minor related drama not elevate it.” The smallest twitch at the corner of my lips occurs.
“Besides, Bruce Wayne runs the business side of it all and – like myself – avoids the professional conferences, boardroom meetings, and all other face to face encounters whenever possible. Batman fought crime.”
Being the majority shareholder of my family’s company – by vast proportions – gives me certain liberties such as not having to be physically present outside of the estate.
They may hear my voice.
They may feel my wrath.
But they will not see my face.
They don’t need to see my face.
No one needs to see the grotesque beast of a billionaire I’ve become.