The Derrick on the left twirled in the chair. “If he is here, he must be keeping a low profile.”
“Wouldn’t you after totally humiliating yourself?” the Derrick on the right replied with an arrogant lilt to his words.
Libby watched their exchange, dumbfounded, as the last drop of patience drained from her body.
“Excuse me, we’re in the middle of an important interview,” she announced, holding up the copy of her business plan—the plan she’d spent hours researching and crafting.
“Give us a second. We’re talking about boxing, baby. Nothing to worry your pretty little head about,” the Derrick on the right tossed out without giving her the basic courtesy of even making eye contact.
“Baby,” she muttered. She was done being referred to as baby by this insensitive, rude man, and she didn’t have a second to give. Not to mention, she understood the plight of the Incredible Hulk and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. In the center of that glassed-in conference room, she stood at the precipice, her toes dangling off the cliff of a savvy businesswoman as she stared across the void into raving-mad yoga bitch land.
“This is bullshit, isn’t it?” she called, raising her voice enough to quiet the Tri-Derricks’ boxing match blathering.
The Derrick on the left held out his phone. “No, it’s the real deal. The Lion and the Snake will go toe to toe in sixty days. I ordered it on Pay-Per-View. We can watch it up at my parents’ place in Aspen…unless we can get tickets. I can’t believe we get a heavyweight championship fight here.”
“Dude, we should get tickets. Front-row. I’ll text my dad,” the Derrick on the right cried with a clap of his hands.
Indignation permeated every cell in Libby’s body.
She knew what was coming, and it wouldn’t be pretty. She attempted to quell her beast within with a cleansing breath, but not even deep breathing could save her now.
“I’m not saying that the fight is bullshit,” she began, ice coating her words. “And for that matter, what kind of human being enjoys watching two people beat the crap out of each other?”
The Derricks sported shocked expressions. “Like a billion people. It went live two minutes ago, and over one hundred thousand people forked over a ton of cash to watch it,” the Derrick on the left answered.
“Forget the fight,” she continued, lowering her voice to a rumbly growl. “The bullshit I was referring to is the investment in a fitness venture. Are you interested in hearing my plan or not?”
“Oh, yeah, that,” the Derrick on the left replied with a sheepish expression.
The Derrick in the center searched the conference table, then pulled one of the errant sheets of paper toward him. He straightened in his chair, then studiously focused on the page. “You’re one of our top three choices.” He tapped the page with his meaty index finger. “It says it right here.”
Her chi may be scrambled, but it didn’t take a Zen master to deduce this guy was lying. And hello, raging yoga bitch! She dropped her business plan, grabbed the mini gong in one hand and the mallet in the other. Then, with the strength of a thousand yogis, she gave the instrument two swift strikes. The sound waffled through the room, harsh and clanging, and had rendered the Derricks mute.
“Show me what’s on that piece of paper,” she demanded, eyeing the center Derrick.
“Show you what?” he asked, squirming in his chair.
She banged the gong, sending another wave of frenzied vibration through the air as the sound ricocheted off the glass walls. “The paper,” she commanded.
Startled, he flipped the sheet around, revealing…nothing.
A sea of white.
A blank page.
She glared down the line of Derricks, then went to town, striking the metal.
Clang, clang, clang!
One bang for each douchebag of a Derrick.
With each echoing pang of sound, the men’s complexions grew paler and paler.
“You’re going to tell me what’s going on. Is this a real opportunity to partner with a venture capitalist company?” she questioned, when out of the corner of her eye, she sensed movement.
Thanks to the crash of the gong, people from the surrounding offices had stepped into the hall to check out the commotion. She heard a low murmur through the half-opened door, then inhaled a floral scent. Cleo and Laney must be among the crowd. But she didn’t have time for girl talk. She glared at the Derricks as the trio exchanged pained glances, neither saying a word.
It was time to pull out some seriously spiritual shit.
One by one, she pointed the mallet at the men. “By the power of three, you are going to tell me everything,” she proclaimed, then banged the hell out of the gong.
“What are you—some kind of hot yoga witch?” the Derrick on the right spewed, but as soon as she zeroed in on him, he sank into the chair.
Hold on to your hats!
“Oh, I’ll show you what kind of witch I am.” She struck the gong, then stared up at the fluorescent lights. “By the power of three, I call on the universe to—”
“Stop! Don’t curse us,” the center Derrick pleaded. “I put a huge bet on the Snake. I can’t have your crazy karma magic costing me twenty grand.”
Libby froze.
She wasn’t exactly sure what she was about to call on the universe to do to these jackasses. She was pretty much making it up as she went, but the mere threat of psychic vengeance seemed to be enough to scare the swagger out of these bros. She lowered the mallet. “You bet twenty thousand dollars on a fight?”
“Yeah,” the guy eked out.
That money would change everything for her and her brothers. And here was this spoiled Derrick, casually placing a bet on something as senseless as boxing.
Her heart sank. “Why are you here? Why did you advertise an opportunity to invest in a fitness business?”
The Derrick on the left stared at the table. “We did it to meet hot chicks.”
“You lured women here under false pretenses just to meet them?” She had to be sure she’d heard him correctly.
“We were pretty drunk when we made the post. We didn’t think anyone would apply. But shit, there’s a bunch of hot fitness chicks looking for a break,” he replied as a blush ripened on his cheeks.
“Twenty thousand dollars plus a substantial investment is a big deal to a lot of people,” she answered, hoping she’d knocked or gonged some sense into these men.
But she’d given them more credit than they deserved.
A stupid, self-righteous smirk bloomed on the center Derrick’s lips. “If you think about it, we didn’t trick anyone. There is a prize.”
She cocked her head to the side. “And what would that be if it’s not the investment and the prize money?”
“Forget that stuff,” Derrick continued. “We’re the real prize.”
“You’re the prize? The three of you?” she barked.
The nerve of this guy!
“Yeah, what chick wouldn’t want to date one of us?” he tossed back, looking mighty proud of himself.
She sized up the center Derrick. “You could be sued for this. This is fraud and false advertising.”
“Are you going to sue us, yoga witch? Do you think you could go up against our parents’ attorneys?” He sank into the oversized chair and rocked a few times like an overindulged schoolboy. “I bet you twenty K you don’t have an attorney on retainer like we do,” the center Derrick snarled.