This Diva Don't Do I Do Easily

Chapter 1

Apollo

         "I want you to close your eyes," I say.

         I smile my best rakish smile, looking around the glass boardroom table at the incredulous faces of the executives. They aren't used to being asked to participate, particularly in a way that will make them vulnerable.

         My second, Jason, sits to my right. He's my strong right hand on this project, my research man and C.O.O. He gives me a barely perceptible nod.

         "Everyone, go with me here for a moment here. Allen," I say, pointing at the bald man in the navy suit. "I know you're a fan of party games, so don't give me that scowl." He smiles a little and closes his eyes.

         The thin, beautiful woman in her fifties at the end of the table gives me a smirking grin and closes her eyes playfully. I know there's at least one who's going to vote yes.

         "I want you to close your eyes and think back."

         I begin to walk slowly around the room, talking to the backs of their heads.

         "It can be high school, like what we're discussing today, or earlier, later, whatever is relevant."

         I lower my voice.

         "I want you to think back to that person. We all have one. Yes, we joke that school sucks, but it's a fact that none of us..." I put emphasis on these words, pause, and, just to be sure they sink in, repeat them. "None of us would be here if it wasn't for that one person."

         I let this settle and pace some more.

         "It's not your parents or someone in your family. It's that teacher, that guidance counselor. Maybe it was a coach or a staff member. Maybe even a librarian. That person who either pushed you when you needed it or gave you that one thing you really needed."

         I look around the table. Every single executive has their eyes closed.

         Excellent.

         Jason gives me a small thumbs-up.

         I turn and look out of the floor-to-ceiling windows of the converted penthouse suite. What used to house dignitaries is now a luxurious meeting destination. The meeting room is enormous but is still considered the 'intimate room' used for private meetings.

         Down below, I see kids playing in a park, a few people walking dogs.

They have no idea of the money and the power that gets thrown around almost directly over their heads. 

         "For me," I say, picking up my thread after what I know is a perfectly timed pause. "That person is Mrs. McGovern. She was my math teacher."

         I see a few nods around the table.

         "I hated math. I struggled, and maybe you don't know this about me, but I'm kind of a perfectionist."

         There are a few guffaws from the executives who know me, though at this point they all know my reputation. Many of them have known my family for years.

         It's why I know Allen likes party games. I've seen him do charades with a six-pack under his belt and a Santa hat on his head.

         "It drove me nuts that I couldn't get the answers every time. And that made it harder. I beat myself up for grades I didn't like..."

         "What was that?" the beautiful woman asks. "An A-?"

         "B+!" I declare, and a small laugh goes around the table.

         "Mrs. McGovern took me aside and asked how I'd feel if I knew I wouldn't get grades. At that point, I couldn't even fathom the concept, but she told me grades didn't matter as long as I learned, and she wasn't going to put grades on anything I did for the rest of the semester if I tried my best."

         I'm back at the head of the table now and lower my palms onto the cool glass.

         "You've seen the results of her influence."

         I look around at them.

         "Jason, who is your Mrs. McGovern?"

         "Dr. Kreskie, psychology professor."

         "Thank you, Jason. Allen?"

         Allen smiles and opens his eyes. "Mr. Bradsmith, my track coach."

         "Awesome. Thanks, Allen. Who else?"

         "Mrs. Bunter."

"Couch Louise."

"Dr. Phillips..." They go around the table. Every single person has a name and a smile.

         I nod.

         "This is what we're doing with this project. We're honoring them, and we are making it possible for the next generation to have those Mr. Bradsmiths and those Dr. Kreskies. Jason?"

         He stands up next to me and gestures at the final slide that shows two pictures. One is of Jason shaking the hand of a man in glasses. Both are in graduation gowns. The other is a dorky-looking me in a fourth-grade class photo with a circle drawn around Mrs. McGovern.

         "You've heard my arguments from the publicity side," Jason says. "And you've heard the numbers from our math genius here." He points at me and gets another laugh. "Now we want you to consider the personal side."

         He smiles and steps aside for me to wrap it up.

         A few minutes later, we’re in the enormous main room of the penthouse, waiting. Jason is on a very flat, white couch already researching names for our next project on his laptop. I stand by the penthouse's wet bar, my fingers tapping on the marble surface.

         Jason's an incredible worker when he's in the office. But he's also a family man, and when he's off-duty there's nothing I can say that will get between him and his kids. I admire that, though I've never actually told him.

         The doors open, and the executives walk in, smiling. I straighten up, and Jason stands.

         "It was an easy decision," a man with blonde hair says. "Count us in."

         Jason and I beam at each other. I'm about to offer my hand when the man continues. "With one exception."

         My stomach clenches slightly. "Oh?"

         "We'd like Jason to head the project."

         There's a moment of silence. Jason looks like he's just been slapped.

         Allen steps forward.

         "We know you're both capable of spearheading this. But the committee thinks someone family-oriented like Jason would be more in touch with the schools and the people."

         Allen grips my shoulder in a fatherly way. "And maybe the City Times' 'Most Eligible Bachelor' of last year wouldn't have quite the same optics as the guy who coaches his daughter's softball team."

         I swallow my anger and make sure my face is neutral. The worst part is that they're right.

         "Jason?"

         Jason looks at them warily. "But this project is Apollo's baby."

         I shake my head. "It's the company's project. And I'll be a great wingman. Someone has to attend the galas, right?"

         They laugh, and we shake hands all around. Jason's smile looks like it may break his face.

         It's okay, I think as I reach for a bottle of Veuve Clicquot. It's the right move.

But I’m hiding a pain that has nothing to do with the project. A pain that goes a lot deeper than a simple corporate snub. 

         After we've toasted and they've gone, Jason is excitedly texting his wife. I stand with my hands in my pockets looking down at the park.

         I know my playboy reputation rubs my family the wrong way. They've made it clear they want me to settle down and establish myself with a family of my own.

         Allen knows it, too, and I wonder how much of this is him sending a message for my father.

         I've always thought being a family man would hamper my professional reputation, but my father, my uncle, and even my sister have proved that wrong. So what's my problem?

         The answer to my question occurs to me suddenly as I watch a dad push a little kid on a swing, her mom taking pictures on her phone.

The problem is that I have no idea how to get one, and that scares me.

But I also understand, for the first time in my life, that I really do want a family.