“Brad! Glad you made it. A glass of Dom P to celebrate?”
“Great! Nice tie.”
Brad smiled; poured the drink; gestured out the penthouse window. “Should be, Taylor. Two hundred bucks at Bellini’s.”
Glasses clinked. Taylor smiled. “Well, Brad, the market liked your move. Up 4 and 3/8. Not bad.”
“Just the beginning, Taylor. Once we announce the ‘synergies’ between the two companies, we’ll make real money on our options.”
“How many ‘synergies’ are you talking about?”
“At least 50,000 off the payroll,” said Brad, pausing to take another sip. “Machines do most of the Amazon clear-cutting now anyway.”
“Cool. Mary, I take it, will be bidding on a few more Monets?”
“Mary’s ‘on vacation’, Taylor. Put her up in a private place. Good doctors, the right drugs, etc. It’s cheaper than a divorce.”
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know.”
“She found out about Jenny and temporarily lost touch with reality. Even started talked divorce. My doctors are calling it a dissociative disorder. I don’t want any negative publicity to queer our deal. Hopefully, she’ll be back to her senses by Christmas, or she can just stay there. Anyway, are we still on for next Thursday at Pebble Beach?”
“Try to keep me away!” Taylor chuckled.
Taylor and Brad stared into the sparkling streets of Manhattan, laid out before them like attractive derivatives.
“Oh, Christ. Taylor! Look at that. Addicts. I hate that crap. Jewelsananny should clean junkies off of the streets permanently.”
“No kidding. I can’t imagine what it would be like to have your life run by addiction. Those people will do anything to get their drug. Pathetic.”