I’m still building. I’ll always be building. The second someone in my position feels like they have nothing else to learn is the same second they’ll be surpassed by the next guy. As far as I’m concerned, there are no more available spots above Asa Jackson in this city. I have a good team beneath me. Guys who know their places. Guys who know I’ll be fair to them if they’re fair to me.
I’m still getting to know my newest guy, Carter. Most people are transparent, but he’s like a muddy fucking river. Most people, especially the ones who work for me, kiss my ass because they know what a fucking good thing it is to be able to fit inside my back pocket.
Carter is different. He doesn’t seem to care one way or another. It’s his indifference that unnerves me. He reminds me of myself a little, and I’m not so sure that’s a good thing. There’s only room for one me.
My oldest guy, Jon, is really beginning to get sloppy. He was once my right-hand man but lately he’s become my fucking Achilles heel.
Which brings me back to my initial point.
If it doesn’t benefit you, it shouldn’t fucking matter to you.
I’m struggling to see how Jon benefits me anymore. He seems to just stir up bullshit wherever he goes. Last week he lost one of my biggest clients because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants when it came to the guy’s wife. Even I know how to draw the line between my dick and my wallet.
Unlike Jon, Carter is a benefit. He’s a good translator, he’s quiet, he shows up where he needs to be and does what I need him to do. Which is the only reason I haven’t gotten rid of him yet, despite my suspicions about him. He’s not excess yet.
Jon, though. Jon is becoming dead weight.
But Jon also knows too much, which poses an even bigger problem.
For Jon. Not for me.
Aside from the business, I’ve cut all the other excess out of my life. Other than Sloan. She’s far from excess, though. If I had to compare her to a drug, Sloan would be heroin. Heroin is nice. Heroin makes you mellow. As long as you have it in good supply, heroin would be something you could happily inject every day for the rest of your life.
Maybe it’s weird to compare people to drugs, but when drugs are all you know, it’s normal.
Jon would be meth. He’s way too cocky, talks too much, painful at times. Real fucking painful.
Dalton would be coke. Sociable, friendly, makes you want to do more coke. I like Coke.
Carter would be…
What would Carter be?
I don’t think I know Carter well enough to know which drug he resembles. But for about two minutes last night when I thought Sloan said his goddamn name, Carter was the motherfucking overdose.
But she didn’t say his name. She’s never even spoken to the guy as far as I know. And if he’s smart, that means he’s never spoken to her beyond their introduction in the kitchen.
But soon, I won’t have to worry about the guys around here because she won’t live in this house anymore. She’ll be in our house.
Shit.
Fuck!
I was supposed to buy the fucking ring today. I knew I was forgetting something.
I go to my closet to get dressed. I debate pulling out the Armani. You know-special day and shit. Instead I grab a dark blue button-up shirt I know Sloan likes and pair it with slacks. It really doesn’t matter what I pick out of the closet, it’s all fucking spectacular. I’ve always dressed for the level of respect I want to receive.
And no, my fucking father didn’t teach me that one. He’d have probably made it a lot longer on the outside world had he not dressed like the fucking bum that he was.
When I reach the bottom of the stairs and glance in the kitchen, I see Jon standing at the sink with his back to me, holding a bag of ice to the side of his head.
“What happened to you?”
He turns around and the whole fucking right side of his face is black and blue. “Christ, man. Who the hell did you fuck over?”
Jon drops the bag of ice in the sink. “No one important.”
I walk into the kitchen. His face is even worse up close. And if he thinks he’s not about to tell me who fucked him up, he’s wrong. If he lost us another job, the left side of his face will look a whole lot worse than his right. I grab my keys off the counter and ask him again. “Who the fuck did that to you, Jon?”
He pops his jaw and looks away from me. “Some asshole caught me with his girl last night. Took me off guard. It looks worse than it was.”
Fucking idiot. I laugh. “No, I’m sure it looks just as bad as it was.” I walk to the pantry and check the alcohol stock. It’s empty, as usual. I slam the pantry door. “We’re celebrating tonight. Need you to stock up today. I have to run an errand.”
I’m still getting to know my newest guy, Carter. Most people are transparent, but he’s like a muddy fucking river. Most people, especially the ones who work for me, kiss my ass because they know what a fucking good thing it is to be able to fit inside my back pocket.
Carter is different. He doesn’t seem to care one way or another. It’s his indifference that unnerves me. He reminds me of myself a little, and I’m not so sure that’s a good thing. There’s only room for one me.
My oldest guy, Jon, is really beginning to get sloppy. He was once my right-hand man but lately he’s become my fucking Achilles heel.
Which brings me back to my initial point.
If it doesn’t benefit you, it shouldn’t fucking matter to you.
I’m struggling to see how Jon benefits me anymore. He seems to just stir up bullshit wherever he goes. Last week he lost one of my biggest clients because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants when it came to the guy’s wife. Even I know how to draw the line between my dick and my wallet.
Unlike Jon, Carter is a benefit. He’s a good translator, he’s quiet, he shows up where he needs to be and does what I need him to do. Which is the only reason I haven’t gotten rid of him yet, despite my suspicions about him. He’s not excess yet.
Jon, though. Jon is becoming dead weight.
But Jon also knows too much, which poses an even bigger problem.
For Jon. Not for me.
Aside from the business, I’ve cut all the other excess out of my life. Other than Sloan. She’s far from excess, though. If I had to compare her to a drug, Sloan would be heroin. Heroin is nice. Heroin makes you mellow. As long as you have it in good supply, heroin would be something you could happily inject every day for the rest of your life.
Maybe it’s weird to compare people to drugs, but when drugs are all you know, it’s normal.
Jon would be meth. He’s way too cocky, talks too much, painful at times. Real fucking painful.
Dalton would be coke. Sociable, friendly, makes you want to do more coke. I like Coke.
Carter would be…
What would Carter be?
I don’t think I know Carter well enough to know which drug he resembles. But for about two minutes last night when I thought Sloan said his goddamn name, Carter was the motherfucking overdose.
But she didn’t say his name. She’s never even spoken to the guy as far as I know. And if he’s smart, that means he’s never spoken to her beyond their introduction in the kitchen.
But soon, I won’t have to worry about the guys around here because she won’t live in this house anymore. She’ll be in our house.
Shit.
Fuck!
I was supposed to buy the fucking ring today. I knew I was forgetting something.
I go to my closet to get dressed. I debate pulling out the Armani. You know-special day and shit. Instead I grab a dark blue button-up shirt I know Sloan likes and pair it with slacks. It really doesn’t matter what I pick out of the closet, it’s all fucking spectacular. I’ve always dressed for the level of respect I want to receive.
And no, my fucking father didn’t teach me that one. He’d have probably made it a lot longer on the outside world had he not dressed like the fucking bum that he was.
When I reach the bottom of the stairs and glance in the kitchen, I see Jon standing at the sink with his back to me, holding a bag of ice to the side of his head.
“What happened to you?”
He turns around and the whole fucking right side of his face is black and blue. “Christ, man. Who the hell did you fuck over?”
Jon drops the bag of ice in the sink. “No one important.”
I walk into the kitchen. His face is even worse up close. And if he thinks he’s not about to tell me who fucked him up, he’s wrong. If he lost us another job, the left side of his face will look a whole lot worse than his right. I grab my keys off the counter and ask him again. “Who the fuck did that to you, Jon?”
He pops his jaw and looks away from me. “Some asshole caught me with his girl last night. Took me off guard. It looks worse than it was.”
Fucking idiot. I laugh. “No, I’m sure it looks just as bad as it was.” I walk to the pantry and check the alcohol stock. It’s empty, as usual. I slam the pantry door. “We’re celebrating tonight. Need you to stock up today. I have to run an errand.”
