HIDE

EPISODE 16 - AN ENEMY.

Brandon and Becky scrambled all day Thursday to get ready for Wilson's four o’clock with the team from Washington, DC. They grabbed an information-packed lunch with the two creatives who would be participating in the pitch when it got to that point in the process; then they went over the notes on Washington, DC’s Web presence and existing social media outreach.

Brandon got a little nervous when it was almost time because he has never done such huge pitching before, but Becky kept working after he pointed out the anxiety. Of course, it was no news to her, being that she has done tons of this with Wilson.

It was quarter to four before Wilson bounded out of his office with a capitalised frown, still shrugging into his jacket. “Join me, Brandon.”

Brandon, I blinked up at him from my desk. “Really?”

“Do I need a megaphone to scream orders into your ears? Don’t want you to want to see how it goes?”

“Yes, absolutely.” he pushed to his feet. Knowing that his appearance would be a reflection on his boss, he smoothed his black flannel trousers and straightened the cuffs of his long-sleeved shirt. By Brandon's hard work, Wilson had already changed into a pale blue shirt and white tie. 

“I am just dumbfounded. I thought it was Becky that usually led in such presentations. I am as good as useless.”

“Stop whining and let me think for a second.”

“Okay” They headed out to the elevators, and he was briefly startled when the car went up instead of down. 

When they reached the top floor, the waiting area they stepped into what was considerably larger and more beautiful than the one on the twentieth. It was like walking through glass French doors with hanging baskets of sweet roses and lilies fragranced the air and a smoky glass security entrance was Craved with EW Groups in a bold, masculine font. As soon as everyone saw who it was, they opened the doors with shaky hands, offering whatever they had at their disposal, which was, of course, declined.  

Wilson marched to the conference room, looking at Brandon with unspoken command as the receptionist reached for the door handle.

“I hope you are ready,” he said, more of an affirmation than an interrogation.

Brandon frowned and looked at him with so much confusion plastered in his fave. “Ready? For?”

The door opened and Wilson was gestured in first. He made sure to lose all traces of emotion on his face as he stepped inside…an expression that froze on his face at the sight of the man rising to his feet at his entrance. His abrupt stop bottlenecked the threshold and Brandon ran into his back, almost sending him stumbling forward if not for his rigid composure. Wilson was quick to grab Brandon by the wrist saving him from falling face down, saving him from the most mortifying embarrassment ever. 

The air left his lungs in a rush, followed immediately by every bit of common sense he possessed. Even though the layers of clothing between them, his biceps were like stone beneath his palms, his stomach a hard slab of muscle against his own. When he sucked in a sharp breath, his rich became half-hard, stimulated by the expansion of his chest. Oh, no. He was cursed. A rapid-fire series of images flashed through his mind, showcasing a thousand ways he could. . . 

Immediately, Wilson harshly let go of Brandon's hand and glared at him. “Watch your steps.”

Brandon opened his mouth to say something but thought it was better to keep quiet. He couldn't risk being snarky in front of his boss's number one enemy.

“I take it that you are the famous assistant.” The mighty looking, fine sixty or sixty-five years old-looking man stretched his hand forward for a shake. “I am Edward Wilson Snr.” His voice spoke with stern authority, just like that of his son's.

“Nice to meet you, sir,” Brandon took his hand for a quick shake and let go of it.

“What is this about, father?” Wilson said with annoyance on his face. You could feel the tension between the father and son. Bad energy.  

Being the little one in the room, Brandon almost cowered. And so did the rest of the unfortunate persons who were in the same space.

“I know you would never want to meet me on a normal basis. So, I had to do the inky thing that could get your attention. Business!” He said with excitement in his voice like announcing that would make Wilson care.

Edward Snr was dressed in black, with both his shirt and tie in a soft gray. Just like his son, he looked too good. What would it be like to be from a family that spoke beauty, wealth and power? There was no way he could go anywhere without causing a disturbance. For his age, he looked well-built and defined. Like he has been working out extensively.

“Get this one with. I have better things to do,” Wilson said, without caring about who was listening.

His attitude made the rest of the people super uncomfortable. For what it is worth, Brandon could now understand that he was being pampered and privileged when it came to Wilson's attitude. To even his father, he was a certified d**k with an asshole attitude.

"Come on, that is no way to greet your old man. Aren't you curious about my presence?” He asked, settling down like a King ascending his throne. This man was properly groomed and confident to a fault. Despite his son's attitude, it didn't make a hair tingle in his body. “Sit,” he was referring more to Brandon than Wilson.

Rolling his eyes, Wilson undid his suit button and sat down. “Get this over with and leave my company.”

The heat from this two could melt ice. This was going to be a battlefield with Brandon in the middle. How can he get through this without fidgeting?