Chapter Text
I’m not nervous. I don’t get nervous. All this fuckin’ energy zapping around in my body is just untapped potential, and it’s finally coming to the surface. I’m a tiger. Teeth and claws and fury. I’m a wild animal. A killer. A winner. I always have been. I get what I want. I deserve this, goddamn it. I’m going to walk into that boardroom and—
The phone rings at 8:25. Dennis stops pacing, startled out of his thoughts, and picks his phone up off the desk. The caller ID on the screen reads Frank Reynolds. He knows this isn’t Frank calling him to assuage his fears or give him a word of encouragement. He steels himself as he accepts the call.
“Hey, what’s—“
“Listen, kid,” Frank snaps. “I’m putting a lot on the line for you. We’re on the brink of something major here, and I need you not to fuck it up.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“You’ve mentioned it.”
“Don’t get smart with me, Dennis. I need you to take this seriously.”
“And I am taking it serious. I want this.”
“Good. I’ll see you in the boardroom in 5.”
Frank hangs up.
Dennis sets his phone back down and sighs. He knocks back the last of his coffee. He checks his watch. It reads 8:26. He starts pacing again, hands on top of his head, blood rushing like a river in his ears.
Would that mug shatter if I threw it against the window, or would the window shatter instead? I’m a cold-blooded killer. I think I almost drowned, that one time.
He checks his watch. It’s 8:27.
I’m a wild animal with a taste for blood. I’m not going to fuck this up. I wish I remembered what it had felt like.
He checks his watch. It’s still 8:27.
I’m going to be sick. Is it still too late to run? I get what I want. I always do.
At 8:28, he checks his watch again. At 8:29, he leaves his office and nearly runs down the hall. He stands outside the boardroom and squares his shoulders. This is what he’s been waiting for, what he’s been working toward. He opens the door on a long exhale. At precisely 8:30, Atwater Capital’s newest regional sales manager for the Northeast walks into Conference Room 1.
Nearly every seat at the table is occupied. A couple people are looking at him, trying to get a read on the guy who just barged into the weekly meeting. Dennis is entirely convinced that he’s going to die on the spot. He’s never felt closer to the other side. Barely clinging to life. Fingertips slipping.
These people are going to watch a man die today. That sucks.
“Everyone, this is my son, Dennis,” Frank says, waving a hand in Dennis’ direction. “He’ll be replacing the previous director, effective immediately.”
“I’m excited to—“ he starts, but Frank shakes his head.
Dennis is spinning out. As he goes to sit down, he decides that he isn’t going to die in front of everyone. It’s worse than that. He knows he’s alive. He’s intimately aware of his pulse, pounding with great force in the palms of his hands and the pit of his stomach. He’s all adrenaline.
According to Frank, people at the Highland Corporation are nearly ready to sign on a massive contract with Atwater. He keeps crowing about how Dennis is going to secure that signature and land that deal, and about how remarkable this opportunity is for the entire sales division.
Am I in over my head?
The thought passes almost instantaneously, but there’s a little bit of doubt left in Dennis’ mind, a faint aftertaste of inadequacy that he can’t seem to shake.
By Dennis’ count, Frank manages to ramble for eighteen minutes straight. When he ends the meeting, and the boardroom clears out, there’s still a woman standing in the back corner. Dennis hadn’t seen her on the way in. Frank points at her and motions her over.
“This is your assistant, Jess.”
“Jen,” she corrects.
Dennis turns to look at Jen. Fixes his posture, holds his hand out.
“Nice to meet you.” She shakes his hand lightly.
“Yeah. Same to you.”
“I’ll send you some information about the Highland account, Mr. Reynolds,” she says. “Lots for you to catch up on.”
“That’d be great. I’ll, uh, keep an eye out.” Dennis smiles at her as she walks out, or makes an attempt at it, but the muscles in his face hardly move.
“Alright, Dennis, you’re on your own,” Frank barks, jamming things into his briefcase. “Get to work. Don’t have time to sit around, not ‘til this Highland thing’s done.”
“I know, I know,” Dennis says. “You didn’t tell me I got an assistant.”
“You didn’t ask. Too worried about your salary.”
Dennis rolls his eyes as they leave the boardroom, making sure he’s behind Frank when he does it. It’s the only thing he knows he can get away with; saying anything snide feels unbelievably risky at this point. It would only take one mistake, one errant remark, to put his brand-new job in jeopardy.
Back in his office, Dennis sits at his desk, head in his hands. There are a handful of brand-new emails in his inbox, all from within the last hour. He can’t make himself open them yet. He’s spacing out, staring straight through the cheap particleboard surface of his desk. He tugs at his earlobe, leans hard on the sensation, hopes it jolts him into awareness.
There’s a signature he’s supposed to be getting, a deal he’s supposed to close on. This Highland contract is important, he knows that, but that’s all he’s got. He doesn’t even know what Highland is. He barely knows what Atwater does, or what he’s supposed to be contributing.
Frank never told Dennis what Atwater did, really, or what any of his companies did. With a near-constant stream of meetings and conferences and corporate parties on his calendar, Dennis and Dee started to wonder what he was doing out there, but they never saw him often enough for the chance to ask. He always seemed to be caught up in something with one of his businesses. He’d call Barbara from Chicago or Milan or Singapore, shouting down the phone until she got sick of hearing him, and Dennis would try to listen in from up in his bedroom. He never found anything out that way.
Without any thoughts on what he was going to do after he graduated, Dennis hit the pavement, assuming he’d figure something out eventually. He just needed to shake the right hand, say the right thing, hope his resume would land on the right person’s desk. The stars would align and he’d be set. There wasn’t an office building in Philadelphia whose doorway he hadn’t darkened. There wasn’t a hiring manager who didn’t know his name. He wanted something bigger than anybody was willing to give him, though, and it showed, it bled through into every word he spoke.
Frank letting him take over a small division at Atwater would have to suffice as the break he’d been waiting for. It wasn’t anything prestigious, but it was better than nothing, better than dealing with rejection after rejection coming his way. It was a step in the right direction. A movement, onward, upward. The first day of his whole entire life.
He cracks his knuckles and opens the most recent email in his inbox.
August 7, 2023 9:15 AM
From: [email protected]
Subject: Welcome!
—
Mr. Reynolds,
Welcome to Atwater Capital! We’re so excited to have you. Please review the attached documents at your earliest convenience, and contact Human Resources if you have any questions.
—
Attachments: Sales_Onboarding.pdf, Employee_Handbook_Revised_2023_v2_(1).pdf
Dennis skims through the handbook, figuring he doesn’t need to read sixty pages of rules he’s been taught to break since the day he was born. Part of him is convinced he’s above all of this anyway. It’s pretty much his company, or at least it will be someday.
There’s an email from Frank as well.
August 7, 2023 9:09 AM
From: [email protected]
Subject: (no subject)
—
Dennis
You should have access to everything now
More info on highland from your assistant
Make me proud
Sent from my iPhone
Something about Make me proud catches in his chest. He shakes it off as he opens one more email — this one, from Jen, is the only one he actually cares about.
August 7, 2023 9:00 AM
From: [email protected]
Subject: Highland Contract Briefing
—
Hi Dennis!
So nice to finally meet you earlier! Here’s the Highland contract; read through it and get familiar with the terms of this deal. If you have any questions, let me know. You’ll be meeting with some of their execs later this week to finalize everything.
Thanks!
Jen Greene
—
Attachment: CONFIDENTIAL_highland_contract_080123.pdf
Dennis fights his way through reading the contract. It’s staggeringly large, and it hardly sheds any light on what he’s actually supposed to do. All he knows is that there’s a lot at risk here, and it’ll be his name people remember if anything goes wrong. He leans back in his chair. Pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to reorient his thoughts.
They’re going to close on this deal, goddamn it. I’m a wild animal. A killer. A winner.
He’s been gunning for this for a long time. Years, by now. The sheet of paper taped to the door says DENNIS REYNOLDS - REGIONAL SALES MANAGER, NORTHEAST in huge sans-serif letters. The sign that will go in its place will be engraved with the same. Dennis knows it’s just a ceremonial title for the time being. Just printer paper. He’s not really the manager of anything yet, not until this agreement goes through, not until he proves himself.
At lunch, Dennis makes his way downstairs and out into the blazing midday heat. Relief softens the taut line of his shoulders. No one gives a shit about him out here. No standards to uphold, no contracts to read through, no family business to become the great savior of. He’s just another guy in a suit, holding his hand to his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun.
He walks into the coffee shop on the corner, and instead of looking up at the menu hung high on the wall, his eyes land on the guy behind the counter.
He’s jacked. Fucking huge. Probably does steroids. Why am I even staring at him? I mean, he’s gotta be at least forty, right? Like, he’s old-old. Can’t be looking at old guys like that. Weird as hell.
It’s almost involuntary, but his gaze lingers for just a second too long as he walks up to the register.
“Can I get, uh, an iced Americano? Medium?” Dennis’ brain is a step behind his mouth. He’s choking again. Another critical error. “With an extra shot?”
“Yeah, sure thing,” the barista says, smiling down at the plastic cup he’s writing on. “Can I get a name for that?”
“Dennis,” he says, and as he pays for his drink, he glances down at the guy’s apron. His name tag says MAC.
The barista — Mac — finishes making Dennis’ coffee a couple of minutes later. He slides it across the counter, still smiling. Something flashes, white-hot and electric, under Dennis’ skin. He’s all adrenaline again.
“Have a good one, man,” Mac says.
“Yeah. You too.”
Dennis walks back out onto the street. He shakes his head, willing himself not to wonder what Mac thought of him. It’d just be something else to worry about, he reasons, and as it stands, he’s barely able to get his head around the things he does need to worry about. He checks his watch. It’s 12:17. He has thirteen minutes left on his company-sanctioned lunch break. He can’t bear the thought of spending more time in his office, so he walks around the block, hoping to convince himself he isn’t completely out of his depth.
That signature’s mine. It’s not even a question. I get what I want. I do what I want. This is good coffee. Wonder how often that guy works there. Doesn't matter. Wonder when I’ll have to meet with those execs. Doesn’t matter. I’ll crush it. I’m a wild animal. A killer. A winner.