My office door opens and “Legs” announces, “The Pfizer call is in ten minutes, sir.”

Offhand I reply, “Thank you, Rebecca” and let her watch my eyes fall to her tits before she turns away. I delight in her face-twitch as she forces a smile.

Good girl, I think to myself, happy it won’t be long before I can just say it aloud.

“Such a boring fucking oval room!”

I miss my penthouse. There isn’t even a big screen in here and the stiff, old furniture can’t hold a candle to my recliner. Its custom leather was from Sevilla, straight off the back of La Penitencia. The 700lb bull gored the famous El Rapier the day Candita, my weekend piece, and I visited.  She screamed when half the matador’s stomach splayed across the dirt. A perfect time to put my tongue in her shocked mouth. She tasted like an ’85 Latour.

Asher, the Jew, barges in, annoyed. Typical. “The Pfizer people won’t buy Ferguson. You’re gonna need to grease that rail.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

As fast as he’s in, he’s out. He knows I don’t like him lingering.

The call arrives. It’s their CEO, Hugh. We go back. He likes black women with enormous tits. I never understood the appeal. The black part, not the tits.

“I’m gonna make you take Ferguson the way I made you take that mulligan on 8 at Pinehurst!”

He lets out his legit laugh, it’s faggy as hell.

“…and you long putt for shit!”

I gotta give him something, though.

“Ferguson’s a go. But if Iliana sees seven figures from you and Charlene at her foundation dinner, Ulbraxton gets cleared for trials in the 2nd quarter.”

He used to have the leverage. Not anymore.

“Good.”

The call ends and I have to stand up. That damn chair is ruthlessly uncomfortable. Every screw digs into me hard no matter how I sit in it.  The window is where I’m comfortable. The sun’s low and I’m wishing I could get a quick back nine before it sets.

The Jew pops his head in and gives me a thumbs-up. I ignore him and look at the US flag beside me. My mouth waters and I can taste the ’85 Latour.

“You’re gonna make me billions!”

Tapping the intercom, I give “Legs” my last order for the day.

“Come in. I want to celebrate.”