The Asher Complex

01: Issues

ASHER

"That's right! Open up for daddy."

No fucking way.

I pause outside the large mahogany office door and smirk. For a middle-aged balding man, I guess Mr. Eddy Garibaldi, the interim-CEO of Carlisle Industries, still got some game. I'd let the man finish his business, but Chad's supposed to come over to pre-drink before we dominate Esquire tonight.

I bang on the door and hear shuffling inside. "Ow! Fuck- Come in!"

Maybe she bit him. Poor bastard.

Hesitantly, I push open the door. I don't really want to see the man in a compromising position, but I've got shit to do. As soon as my eyes dart to my dad's second-in-command, I start laughing.

I knew I was giving him too much credit.

Mr. G's hovering over a large terrarium, holding a napkin in one hand and a syringe in the other.

"Oh, Asher, hello!" Mr. G puts down the syringe and walks over to his desk. "Please take a seat. Sorry about that. I was feeding Rex his medicine when you knocked, and then he bit me. The little guy has an infection and is probably in lots of pain."

Yeah, because you're keeping him cooped up inside a glass cage. What kind of idiot keeps a tortoise in the office?

Garibaldi's been in charge of Carlisle Industries since dad was locked up. Even though CI had to pay a multimillion-dollar settlement to hundreds of plaintiffs, operations have recently returned to normal. It's back to business as usual, granted, with extreme precautions and heavy oversight. I think the whole lawsuit was a wake-up call to all the executives that even conglomerates can suffer severely if called out on unethical practices.    

Kicking my feet up onto his desk, I recline back into the ergonomic chair. "You wanted to see me? I'm here. So, what's up?"

Mr. G clears his throat. "Get your feet off my desk, Asher."

"Come on, dude. It's Friday. Live a little," I smirk as I pull out my phone and start swiping.

Left. Left. Left.

Where did all the hot girls go?

"Oh, like you're living?" Mr. G slams a newspaper on the desk. "Asher, you can't keep doing this shit, it makes the company look bad. This is the fourth article in the past two weeks."

I pull the paper closer and read the headline. Asher Prescott Arrested for Public Intoxication and Brawling.

I really should send Hunter a gift basket for bailing me out. Last weekend was fun as fuck, aside from the drunk tank and Chad whooping some dude's ass. He deserved it, though. Chad saw this guy slip something into a girl's drink, so we decided to knock him around a bit. He should've been the one they arrested if you ask me. We were doing a public service. Luckily for me, I was blessed with impeccably good looks and charm. All I need to do is breathe, and a girl will drop her pants. I'm not even kidding. It happened once.

I shrug as I slide the exposé back to my mentor. "There's no such thing as bad press, right?"

Mr. G's jaw tightens as his cheeks burn up. "Wrong! This is the epitome of bad press." G-Man sighs. "You've got to get your act together; otherwise, there won't be a place for you here."

I scoff. Oh, no. I never thought about it like that.

Mr. G continues, "We also requested your midterm marks from NYU."