Mister Moneybags(11)

Bianca: Are we still doing the interview?

Dex: You tell me.

Bianca: I think maybe we should continue this tomorrow.

I laughed. I guess she was suddenly at a loss for words. This whole thing wasn’t very professional of me, but because I had spent the entire day with this woman, I felt comfortable around her. I couldn’t help it. She also made it very clear earlier that she was attracted to me, so I couldn’t help capitalizing on that tonight.

Dex: Tomorrow night, then? Same time? Eleven?

Bianca: Okay. That sounds good.

Fuck yeah.

Dex: Alright. Sweet dreams.

“Sweet dreams.” I sounded more like a teenage boy than a mogul. Unprofessional, but I really didn’t give a shit. I’d almost called her Georgy Girl, too. That’s Jay’s nickname for her, you dumbass. That cocksucker, Jay. Laughing to myself, I thought about how insane this was. Dex hated Jay because he would be spending time with her in person soon. And Jay f*cking detested that rich prick, Dex, for abusing his power to get to know her better.

I hadn’t expected another message from her.

Bianca: Goodnight, Dex.

When had she stopped calling me Mr. Truitt? I didn’t f*cking care; I was just glad that she did.

Dex: Goodnight, Bianca.

Georgy Girl.

Sleep wasn’t going to be happening. I was wired. Bianca’s text to that douche nozzle Jay rang out in my mind: Whittle me something small, and you’ll get that kiss you were screwed out of next time.

What better time than to stay up watching wood whittling demonstrations on YouTube.



“I need to make a stop before heading to my lunch meeting,” I grumbled at Sam, my driver, as I climbed into the backseat of the dark Town Car. I’d watched damn YouTube videos for an hour last night and made a list of the supplies I’d need. I still couldn’t believe the shit I was going through for a kiss from this girl. Caroline would kiss me and my cock if Sam stopped and picked up flowers before driving me to her place. Bianca had gotten under my skin.

“Where to, sir?”

“Union Square. 14th Street side.”

The art supply store was enormous. Looking down at my watch, I noted I only had ten minutes before my lunch appointment, and we still had to travel across town. I must have looked as out of place wandering around looking for supplies as I felt, because a woman wearing a blue smock approached as I stood in place staring.

“Can I help you, sir?”

“I’m looking for whittling supplies. Some carving tools, balsam wood blocks, perhaps a beginner’s guide.”

She waved her hand over her shoulder. “Right this way.”

I followed her up to the second floor and all the way to the very back corner of the store. “We have a selection of carving knives.” She picked up a package containing six tools with wooden handles. “This here is a good set. It’s a little pricey at just over a hundred bucks, but they’re high-grade steel, and it has your chisel, a couple of gouges, and a v-parting tool.”

A v-parting tool? You don’t say? I have one of those myself. I took the package from the woman’s hand and also grabbed two bags of wood blocks. “This will do. Thank you for your time. You’re very knowledgeable.”

“Anytime. We had a demonstration here a few weeks ago. The instructor gave out some good tips. If you’re having difficulty, try wetting the wood.”

Yes. I’ll keep wetting my wood in mind.



Like clockwork, Josephine came into my office at 4:45 with a steaming cup of half decaf, half caffeinated Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee. Today though, I was too busy to look up.

“Mr. Truitt?”

“Hmmm?” Using the 7mm gouge, I notched into the wood and shaved a long line off the side I’d been working on for more than a half hour.

“Would you…like a Band-Aid?”

I’d completely forgotten that I’d Scotch taped a strip of napkin to my thumb to stop the bleeding. The blood had soaked through and turned most of the white material a lovely shade of red. It looked worse than it actually was.

“No, it’s fine.”

“Might I ask what you’re doing?”

My shirtsleeves were rolled up to my elbows, tie was loosened, and I was leaning over my garbage pail shaving a four by six block of wood. I stopped and looked up. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Carving wood?”

“Very good, Josephine. I knew I kept you around for a reason.”

I thought it was the end of our conversation, so I went about my carving. But Josephine just kept standing there watching me. I sighed and looked up again. “Did you need something else?”

“But why? Why are you carving?”

I responded with the God’s honest truth. “I have no damn idea.”

By six o’clock, I had two more makeshift napkin and Scotch tape Band-Aids and a garbage full of wasted wood. Perhaps those split leather thumb guards I saw on YouTube weren’t just for pussies after all.



It was rare that I had a drink when I was alone. But I poured two fingers of Macallan twelve-year-old scotch when I got home, and found myself staring out the window at the park. The summer days were long, and the sun was just beginning to set even though it was after eight, but people were still out enjoying the weather. I watched a couple riding bicycles together and wondered when it was that I stopped appreciating things like the park. Looking down from my penthouse window, it felt a lot like I was watching from the ivory tower that Bianca had assumed I was perched in.