Page 86 of Keep Vegas

TONY: Waiting to hear. Hey, how did the functions test go?

MAK: Fucking smoked it. Barton tutored me.

TONY: When is your biology thing due?

MAK: Why? Do you want to help with the practical part of the exam?

TONY: Yes. Yes, I do. Saturday. I have a fundraiser Friday, golf Sat morning. But Sat night, I can be in Vegas. Mandalay bungalow or Bellagio? Or do you want to see my baller suite with the pool at Palazzo inside the Venetian hotel?

MAK: Do you just keep suites in Vegas in case I can carve out time to have sex with you?

TONY: Yes. I like to keep Vegas and my cock on notice and reservation.

MAK: A simple hotel room will do since it’s just one night. I’ll bring the sheets.

The door opens and she slides our piece of paper and a new one across the municipal desk. Mine has a giant X through it.

Hers says, “50 million, stock, a board seat at Ladd, a piece of the media company, and the Vineyard house.”

“She wants to go to court, Gavin, find out why?”

He nods. “This job is never dull. Don’t fuck anyone.”

“See if you can move the pieces to the larger section of the cooklets? And then launch the newsletter using the features we pulled. Impactful and broad scope. If we want to redefine the cooking magazine/book genre into usable pieces, then let’s fucking do it. It’s the publishing launch of the next phase of Ladd Media. Don’t fuck it up. These small digital cookbooks should help the world avoid using annoying recipe sites where you can’t find the recipe.”

My favorite designer says, “What if we print them like cookbook novellas but the same concept: one chef or cuisine at a time. All information, no fluff?”

“YES. Do that. Go, bunnies, hop to it. Lill, grab lunch orders, nobody leaves until we go live at four today.” They all groan. “Stop. How about we go to Chart House for lunch like a freaking field trip?” And then they cheer. “But no booze until 3:45!”

“Then let’s go to lunch at 3:45!” my COO yells back at me.

“Done. Everybody buddy up, and, Lill, get everyone matching shirts for the bus.”

“Now, I gotta find a fucking bus?”

We all laugh, and Lill huffs off, because that’s exactly what I want, and she knows it.

“A trolly will do.”

She sticks her middle finger up at me, which happens at least twice a day, and I head back to my office.

I’m fucking giddy about all of this. I wish she were here. The feeling I get when an idea comes together is indescribable. We’re on the top of a cliff about to zip-line down, and it’s exhilarating. Not like Bugle, when I threw more money at the problems and expected them to solve themselves. This is real-time problem-solving of things we created.

And I want to share it with her, but between school and whatever the hell is going on with the company, I can’t.

I’ll see her tomorrow night, in secret, in Vegas, but I wish she could go to the fundraiser with me tonight. I want our life together to start instead of this distance.

I duck into my office and ring her.

“Hi, I have to get to class.”

“Teaching or learning?” I ask.

“Teaching. I’m a water aerobics instructor today. We walk from one end of the pool to the other to music from the sixties.”

“And again, how are you qualified?”

“Oh, not even close. But they’re paying me double because I already worked this morning covering the quilting circle.”