The Lineup(9)

“They said they want to make the same pitch once and then go from there. They’re ready to sell, but they want to make it as easy as possible, really get to know the candidates.”

“Jesus.” I pull on my long black ponytail. “Fine, make it for six. Did you get the tip sheet yet? Do you know what they’re looking for when it comes to making a deal?”

The Carltons are selling one of the biggest pieces of real estate in the Chicago area, a ten-acre lot along the lake that’s currently used for warehouse storage. Heller and Parks, and of course Domico Industries, have been after the lot for a while. It’s now down to our two companies, and I’ll be damned if I let Heller and Parks win the bid.

“I wasn’t able to dig up too much. They want to know about future plans, how they’ll influence the city of Chicago, and then some inside factors that have not been revealed yet. They said they’d talk about it at dinner.”

“Great.” I stand from my desk and smooth down my pencil skirt. “I love being caught off guard. Ask for the rooftop table for added privacy. Tell them it’s for Dottie Domico, and they’ll make it happen.”

“Got it. Also, got a call from Frankie Lazaro looking for a donation . . .”

“Ugh, Frankie. He won’t get off my ass. Yes, it’s on my desk, so just fill it out for me.”

“Your usual amount?”

“Yeah, he’ll call me out if it’s anything less.” I round my desk, after plucking my phone from the drawer. “When is my dad coming into town?”

“Next week, day before the meeting. He confirmed his attendance for the Carlton dinner.”

“And what about the Hanks account, was that finalized?”

She nods. “Papers were signed last night. I sent them to Goldman and Zenlow.”

“Perfect.” Goldman and Zenlow Law had been handling our legal needs for a long time now. Thank God. They’re the best. She hands me a cup of coffee she must have set on the credenza when I was staring intently at the fine circular shape of Jason Orson’s nipples.

So symmetrical.

I take a sip from the perfectly tempered coffee and say, “Did you order the catering for lunch today?”

“Yup, and emails went out to all the employees, appreciating them for their hard work during the Hanks acquisition.”

“Did you give yourself a raise?”

She smiles. “Just waiting on your signature.”

“Remind me later.” I tilt my cup of coffee in her direction. “Thank you, Jessica.”

I give her a quick goodbye and then head down the bright black and white hallways of our newly renovated offices. Urban chic is what I call it, with exposed piping and brick and soft touches here and there with comfortable couches, lounge areas, and one hell of a break room with free food and drinks, and games to clear your mind. Am I trying to impersonate Google? Maybe, but then again, no one likes to live eight hours of their life in a humdrum cube farm.

My goal for every conference is to not only conduct a meaningful meeting, but to also be the first person to show up. Thanks to my peeping Tom Internet searching, I’m the second person to show up. Matthew, the intern, is already sitting in a chair in the back.

I give him a kind smile and then go to the front of the conference table where I place my notes. My phone lights up with text messages and because I’m a glutton for punishment, I unlock my phone and see what my idiot friends want now.

Lindsay: You totally checked the link out, didn’t you?

Emory: You entered to win, didn’t you?

I will take my snooping to the grave with me.

Dottie: You know I have better things to do with my life than look up pictures of Jason Orson.

Emory: ^^^ Did you read that, Linds? She said look up pictures . . . we never said anything about pictures.

Damn it.

Lindsay: Busted! How’s he looking these days? Fine, right? Did you see that towel picture?

Emory: Even I studied the towel picture, and I’m utterly devoted to Knox. It’s hard to miss the towel picture.

Lindsay: Or the obvious bulge. Oh God, I’m getting hot just thinking about it.

Dottie: You both are in the presence of children, texting about a man’s penis. Don’t make me report you.

Lindsay: You wouldn’t.

Emory: Too far, Dottie.

Dottie: Drop the Jason thing and I’ll drop my threat.

Lindsay: Where’s the fun in that?

Dottie: There is no fun in it. That’s exactly the point. Jason is not an option when it comes to my love life, not that I’m looking for an option. So this goes out to the both of you . . . Drop. It.





Chapter Three





DOTTIE





“Jessica, can you come in here for a second?” I call out, looking over my expense sheet and trying to figure out this last charge. This last enormous charge.

“She’s out getting dinner,” Lindsay says, strutting into my office, Emory tagging closely behind.

I glance at the date on my computer and realize it’s our weekly dinner I’ve been holding at my office lately. With the Carlton dinner a few days away and my dad coming to town shortly, I’ve spent every waking moment in this office, forcing Jessica to work extra hours so we can make sure we’re completely prepared to win over the older couple.