Chapter 11 Episode 11

I understand the purpose of these events, and of ingratiating myself and my business with the publiclike this, but it frustrates me that I am stuck here playing the friendly billionaire when I should bedealing with the Irish threat. “And now, to cut the ribbon!” Webber announces. He passes me a pair of comically oversized safety scissors and I force a smile for the cameras. I walkto the ribbon and pose with it between the scissor’s blades for a second, and then snap them closed. The crowd cheers. “Shall we go inside, everyone?” Webber asks. The kids cheer, and we begin the next portion of the ceremony. I only have to make it through a brieftour and the drinks reception and then I can leave. I take a calming breath and wait beside the doorsas the small crowd hustles in behind the principal. I take a spot at the rear, checking emails on myphone as we walk around, Webber droning on about how the children will have access to theclassrooms of tomorrow, today. Vito is with me and he follows a few yards behind, keeping an eyeout for threats. “How did you get so big?” a small voice asks from below me. I look down to find a boy walking at my side. He looks no more than nine years old and wears aYankees jersey and backwards baseball cap. Without prompting, he continues. “I only ask because my mom says that I need to eat my broccoli togrow big and strong, and I’m just wondering if that’s true or if there’s a shortcut.” I chuckle. “Where is your mom?” “Up there.” He points to a woman in a tight white dress chatting to one of the cameramen near thefront of the group. “She wants to be on TV.” I find his honesty refreshing. Most people speak to me through some sort of filter—be it deference orgreed. An image of the fiery woman from Fiamma flashes through my mind. Then comes a vision ofthe sassy reporter Alexis, mouthing off to me like I couldn’t crush her in my palm if I wanted to. Most people. “I’m afraid your mom’s right,” I say. “When I was your age, I was half your size. The more vegetablesI ate, the bigger I got.” He eyes me skeptically. “Are you two in cahoots?” We arrive in the gymnasium and Webber directs the pack to the refreshment table. “In cahoots?” Ilaugh. “You’ve been watching too many spy movies.” I look up to find Webber making a beeline for me. “I need to talk to Mr. Belluci,” he says to the kid.“Why don’t you go grab some juice?” The boy disappears, along with the temporary respite he provided. “I wanted to thank you again for your donation,” Webber says, peeling me off to the side. “I’m sureyou well know that education is a sector that could never be overfunded, but of course, we are oftenunderfunded. I know this school looks as though it has everything the students will need, but there area lot of angles we still need to approach.” “The classrooms have interactive whiteboards,” I say in a low voice. Webber should know to back off, but his head is so far up his ass he doesn’t flag the warning. “They do indeed. The classrooms of tomorrow, today!” He grins. “And the library, oh the library isfabulous. Really remarkable. We’re so grateful for your donation and for your presence today. Iwonder if you and I would be able to put our heads together and think what else this school needs andif we have the means to achieve it?” “You’re asking for more money,” I state. “I’m merely suggesting that if there was more money available, we would be able to put it to gooduse.” A squat reporter and video camera bustle into view. The reporter tacks to my side and shoves hermicrophone in my face. The light from the camera blares into my eyes. “Mr. Belluci, what do you think of the school?” she asks. I narrow my eyes against the camera’s glare. “Can you turn that light off?” Webber sidles up beside me. “Mr. Belluci and I were just discussing how much he has helped theschool so far, and what kinds of things we can achieve together in the future.” The cameraman ignores me, and the light stays on. “That’s interesting. Are you saying Mr. Belluci will continue to sponsor the school?” “Anything is possible!” “The light,” I growl, blinking. The reporter continues to ignore me. “Speaking of possibilities, Mr. Belluci, do you see children inyour future—?” “Will you turn that f*****g light off?!” I roar. Every single head in the gym turns, and it is so quiet you could hear a pin drop. The cameraman,stunned by my outburst, freezes. He does not turn off the light. The vein in my forehead throbs. “Get out of my face!” I demand, pushing past them. I snap in Vito’s direction, “We’re leaving.” I try to ignore the shocked faces of the parents and kids as I storm toward the gymnasium doors, but Ican’t help but notice the woman in the white dress shielding her son as I walk past. He gapes at mefrom behind her. I doubt he’s going to eat his vegetables now. What’s wrong with me? I’m always in control of my emotions. Always. I might be seething on theinside, but I never show it, especially not around a bunch of cameras and kids. Lately, I can’t seem toescape my temper. What’s changed? I trace back to when I started to feel like this—jittery and irritable, a little unstable—and realize thatI’ve felt this way since the interview with that infuriating Alexis woman. Something niggled me abouther and I don’t know what it was. Was it her blatant lack of respect? Her odd familiarity? Or simplythe hot desire she aroused in me? Vito does not say anything until we are in the car and it begins to move. His gray eyes meet mine andhis forehead wrinkles. “You okay, boss?” “Fine.” I scrub a hand over my face and sink into the seat. I am not in the mood to talk. Vito scratches his beard. “Look, I know you’re beating yourself up over what happened back there,but you shouldn’t.” He waves dismissively. “None of this matters. We both know you have biggerthings on your mind.” I nod. A long silence passes between us. “That principal looked like a rat, huh?” Vito comments. He peels his lips back and scrunches his nosein a rodent-like fashion. I look away, but my mouth tilts a little. I appreciate his attempts to cheer me up, but it’s no good. Ifucked up today, and I’m going to continue f*****g up like this until I get my head on straight. “How’s Corie?” I ask, changing the subject. Vito’s voice turns dreamy when he talks about his wife. He is hopelessly in love with her and neverpretends to be anything otherwise, even if the guys razz him about it. “Glowing, man,” he says. “She complains constantly about her swollen feet and how big her belly is,but pregnancy suits her. I can barely keep my hands off her.” “So we should expect a little brother or sister for Nuri sooner rather than later?” He chuckles. “I want as many kids as Corie will let me have.” “Are you not worried about whether you’ll make a good father?” I ask. I don’t know why, but the question from the reporter about whether I would have kids in the futurebothered me. I’d never thought about it before. It had just never seemed important. “I worry constantly,” he says. “But it’s because I worry that I know I’m going to be fine.” I frown, watching the city slide past the window. His answer doesn’t make any goddamn sense. I am at my desk in my home office, staring at the screen of my laptop. My fingers rest on the keys butdo not move. I have been stuck in this position for several long minutes, but every time I try to focuson business, my mind wanders elsewhere. I think back to the horrified looks on the faces of thepeople from the school. I think back to the way Alexis’ lips pillowed as she spat venom at me. You’re an asshole. Yes. Yes, I am. This is all her fault. I don’t know how she did it, but she got inside my head and I can’t shake thethought of her insolence. Her blatant disrespect. And the way her sinful body filled out that pencilskirt. I groan in frustration and push my chair back from the desk. I can’t focus. I need to clear my head. I go to my bedroom and change, then head to my home gym. Pumping weights always helps me get myhead together. I load up a barbell and start lifting, but after a few reps I can still see her face.