“Hold on, Mr. March,” the woman replied. “Let me go ping him.”
I sighed forcefully. “Whatever,” I mumbled.
The woman put me on hold and I cringed at the tacky Muzak rendition of “My Heart Will Go On.”
After what felt like an eternity, there was a series of blips and beeps in my ear. I frowned, then the line went dead.
“What the fuck,” I grumbled. “Did that stupid cunt hang up on me or what?”
Now I was truly irritated. I called Keith’s office back, waiting impatiently for someone to pick up.
“Hello, this is Mr. Carner’s office. Whom may I say is calling?”
“Yeah, this is Thomas March, I just called a few minutes ago. We got disconnected.”
There was another long pause.
“Don’t hang up,” I said forcefully. “I wanna talk to Keith. Patch me through. Now,” I added forcefully.
“I’m sorry, Mr. March. But Mr. Carner doesn’t wish to speak to you at the moment.”
I squinted. “You’re kidding me – I talked to him just a few hours ago! We made an appointment for this afternoon. Do you know who I am?”
“Sure. You’re Mr. Thomas March, of Steel Visions.”
“Yeah,” I grumbled. “So put me through to Keith. And tell him that this bullshit isn’t funny – I don’t like it when someone wastes my time.”
“Sir—“
“Shut up,” I growled. “Put me through. Now .”
“Sir, Mr. Carner really doesn’t want to speak to you. He told me to ignore your calls.”
I rolled my eyes. “Tell Keith I don’t have time for this bullshit,” I growled. “We’ve known each other for years and he thinks this little fucking game is funny?”
“Goodbye, Mr. Thomas.”
“Wait, don’t hang—“
Click
“Fuck!” I screamed. I threw my phone at the wall, taking satisfaction when the immaculate screen cracked in two.
Seconds later, my door burst open. Susie was standing there, looking frightened and more alive than I’d ever seen her.
“Mr. Thomas, is everything all right? I heard a terrible crash,” she said quickly. “What’s going on? What is the meaning of all of this?”
I rolled my eyes and grabbed my laptop, shoving it hastily into my laptop bag. “Nothing,” I said. “I mean, I’m fine. I’m going home for the day, Susie. Take my messages and just forward them to me at home, okay?”
Susie eyed me suspiciously. “Is there anything I can get for you, Mr. Thomas?”
“No.” I grabbed my jacket. “Thanks, Susie.”
She looked startled as I pushed past her and into the elevator. On my way down, I called for a driver to take me home. I was in such a rotten mood that I had a feeling my Porsche would wind up through the storefront of an expensive restaurant if I didn’t watch myself.
When I got home, Brett had just gotten home from school. He was kneeling in the foyer, still clad in his New York Yankees jacket.
“Dad, oh my god, you’re the b