Chapter 17-18

Chapter 17: Lesbian

Seated in the spacious office chair, Bruce set aside the document he had been perusing and picked up the suddenly ringing phone, displaying an unfamiliar number.

"This is quite the surprise, Miss Swyfft... no, Taylor." Bruce switched the phone to his other ear, clamped the cigar with his free right hand, and shifted to a more comfortable position by turning his chair.

"Well, actually... I wanted to apologize. I've seen those reports in the media and I'm sorry you got dragged into all this. It wasn't my intention."

Taylor Swyfft, for some reason, felt compelled to dial that number, even though she had it for some days. Perhaps it was the sight of Bruce receiving an award in the news that brought back that nearly forgotten shadow lurking in her heart.

In fact, she regretted making the call the moment she dialed, but Bruce answered so quickly she couldn't bring herself to hang up.

Oh God! I acted like a total idiot! Why do I panic just from making a call!

Taylor, always bold in love and hate, was defeated by her own clumsy performance. Since meeting this peculiar man, she found herself losing her cool every time. Could it be she had feelings for him? But he must be gay...

Poor girl, she always believed Bruce's relationships with women were just a facade—once you harbor a preconceived notion, you can twist any contrary evidence to fit your narrative.

"So that's how it is. You really shouldn't worry about it, Taylor. You don't mind if I call you that, do you?" Bruce flicked the cigar ash, asking with a tone of mild surprise. "The media is like that, willing to do anything for sales, even if it means putting pigs in trees. You've always been in the public eye, are you really not used to it?"

"Uh... maybe it's because they haven't said anything nice about me for a long time, I guess I've never been very likable," Taylor was caught off guard by Bruce's question. For some reason, she felt a strong urge to vent about the recent frustrations and annoyances.

"Taylor, you're a public figure, yes, but first and foremost, you're a singer. Your job is to sing good songs for your fans," Bruce casually retorted, noticing Isaiah entering and gesturing for him to sit with a nod. "I've never heard of anyone whose job it is to be liked, nor is it possible to be liked by everyone, unless you're crisp, green dollars."

"You're the one who's green."

Taylor burst into laughter at his joke. His voice was as confident and calm as when they first met, as if nothing could ever trouble him. So full of himself, she thought, completely forgetting her own flustered demeanor in his presence. "Of course, you're right. But sometimes those reports do get to you because they're just too much."

Trista Joyce sat upright, discreetly sizing up the man before her. Even by her critical standards, he was more charismatic than any photo in the media had suggested, not just in looks but in aura and substance. Yet, from his tone, she gathered he was speaking to a woman. Was this place really meant for her? Trista was unsure.

"You need to learn how to deal with these people who thrive on rumors and speculation, but that's what your PR and agent are for. You just need to counter them with facts," Bruce continued, soothingly.

"Thanks for understanding, Bruce. I'm about to go on stage, can we talk another time?" Taylor seemed eager to say more, but someone called her from the other end, her assistant reminding her to prepare for the performance, so she hurriedly concluded the call.

"No worries, I'm glad you called. I'm sure we'll have a pleasant chat," Bruce intentionally waited until the end to ask, "But Taylor, how did you get my private number? You left so hurriedly last time, we forgot to exchange numbers."

"A friend gave it to me, I really have to hang up now, sorry Bruce." Despite trying to sound composed, Bruce detected a hint of guilt in her voice before the call ended.

What an interesting development, Bruce thought, putting down the phone and tapping his fingers on the desk, turning to look at Isaiah sitting across the desk, and finally resting his gaze on the woman beside him.

Impressive!

Dressed in a professional suit, with her blond hair neatly pinned up, her lightly made-up face fully exposed, she radiated confidence in her appearance and figure, and rightly so—women who garnered such praise from Bruce were rare.

"Boss, this is Miss Trista Joyce, an excellent candidate for a secretary," Isaiah, seeing Bruce finish the call, promptly introduced her.

"Good morning, Mr. Lee."

Trista Joyce offered a perfectly polite smile as she greeted Bruce.

"Hello, Miss Joyce. I've reviewed your profile, and it's impressive. It says you were working at Archer Daniels Midland until two months ago when you left. I know you told Isaiah that the vice president behaved inappropriately towards you. But I'm hoping to get more specific and truthful information from you," Bruce took a deep drag of his cigar, sizing her up with a scrutinizing gaze.

"I thought you'd value my professional abilities more, Mr. Lee," Trista didn't directly answer but interjected smoothly.

"I trust Isaiah on that front. What I'm more interested in is how you handled that... special situation," Bruce pressed on, not showing any signs of backing down.

Under Bruce's intense stare, Trista finally seemed a bit uneasy. After a moment's hesitation, she decided to speak the truth. "He was probably a bit drunk and tried to take advantage of me. I gave him a piece of my mind, and a kick for good measure. But I didn't sue him for harassment. Instead, I took the settlement he offered privately and left the company through a normal termination process."

This Ivy League-educated woman had a sparkling resume and, interestingly, quite a bit of spunk. Bruce found her fascinating, watching her intently, which made Trista somewhat uncomfortable. After all, Bruce's reputation as a playboy was spreading, alongside rumors of his being gay, which were equally popular online.

"I'm actually into mixed martial arts," she added somewhat defensively.

A smile played on Bruce's lips. The way this woman looked at him was entirely different from others. She didn't show the slightest bit of the usual reaction when a woman sees a man, a first for him. There could only be one explanation—she was a lesbian.

It seemed Isaiah was a bit slow on the uptake, not catching on to her secret.

"Miss Joyce, I appreciate your tough attitude. It's to my liking. From now on, you're my personal secretary, available 24/7. I won't call you outside business hours unless necessary. But when I do call, I expect you to answer promptly. Your main job will be to filter my work calls and invitations, ensuring only the matters worth my attention reach my desk. Oh, and most importantly—handle any ad-hoc tasks I assign you. Your salary will be double your previous one. Any questions?"

"No questions. I'll prove my worth. Thank you, Mr. Lee." Trista was surprised at how smoothly things went. Despite some hesitations, she gave a firm reply.

"Good. From now on, call me boss," Bruce said as he walked around the huge desk to shake her hand formally, quickly withdrawing it, then headed towards the door.

"Your first task is to set up Twitter, Facebook, and other mainstream social media accounts in my name, manage them to cultivate a positive image. The details will be provided by Isaiah. The second task is to dig up everything on Taylor Swyfft, including her recent itinerary."

Trista was taking notes seriously at first but widened her eyes in surprise at the last part. "Is this part of my job scope? Does it relate to the company's business?"

"You didn't listen carefully to what I just said, Trista. Since it's your first time, I'll explain. You're my personal secretary, and you're to carry out any task I assign you without question. As for company business, you can liaise with my executive secretary, Sabrina Clive."

In just a few sentences, Bruce had already reached the office door. He paused to glance back at Trista, then pointed at Sabrina Clive—another diligent and equally beautiful young woman busily working outside. She immediately stood up and greeted him respectfully when she saw him.

Why not make work more pleasant by having someone easy on the eyes around? That was Bruce's philosophy.

He didn't elaborate further and walked towards the elevator.

Isaiah, trailing behind, shrugged at Trista, "You'll need to get used to the boss's style, Trista. He doesn't like his orders questioned. In reality, this is a company with a great future. Think about the hefty paycheck."

His advice was straightforward, considering Trista's new role might make her one of Bruce's closest associates. Making a good impression could only be beneficial.

Trista, realizing this, responded with a polite smile to Isaiah's kindness. However, inside, she was fiercely ranting about the tyrant!

Taylor Swyfft? The super-popular singer was the person he'd just been on the phone with?

It felt like placing a rose atop a dungheap!

Chapter 18: Sheila's Predicament

"For a long time, Sheila has been dedicated to opposing special interest groups, regardless of whether they are donors from our camp or not. However, it should be noted that groups and candidates from the Republican Party are spending hundreds of millions of dollars through various media to attack Sheila, and we must ensure we have the resources to counterattack."

On the TV screen, Sheila's campaign spokesperson Jesse Ferguson was being interviewed by the media, explaining seriously to the camera.

Sheila's team was evidently very efficient. Since the fundraising dinner, Bruce regularly received campaign materials and updates from the staff.

The massive donations collected by both sides of the campaign were almost entirely spent on public relations and media, to pull in votes, but more importantly, to smear the opponent.

Recently, the Republican Party released a slew of ads aimed at "stopping Sheila," targeting her vulnerabilities. One of the biggest controversies surrounding Sheila was her acceptance of substantial funds from large corporations.

Her opponents argued that, although Sheila had long emphasized her focus on the interests of the low-income earners, the middle class, and laborers, her campaign funding sources were closely tied to industries such as finance, insurance, and real estate, claiming her to be a complete liar, who could never truly represent the middle class and laborers.

To counter these attacks, Sheila's team obviously put in a lot of work, with Jesse Ferguson's statement being part of it.

In 2010, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that independent organizations, "Political action committees," could receive unlimited funding from corporations, groups, and individuals.

Since then, Sheila has repeatedly spoken out to correct the dysfunctional campaign finance system, mainly targeting the money-burning machines known as "super PACs," and even suggested amending the constitution, a move that clearly won her a lot of votes.

However, during the campaign season, such proposals were obviously not favored by the corporations, directly leading to obstacles in her current fundraising efforts. Compared to her opponents' criticisms, this was indeed Sheila's real trouble.

"Sheila must understand. The idea of reform is extremely difficult. Amending the constitution to reform the campaign system? Even if she were to win the presidency, it would be impossible to achieve."

Tim Lapira shook his head, under the current system and circumstances, unless Sheila was a pure idealist, it was impossible to still harbor such thoughts. The most convincing evidence was that, throughout the campaign year, she had never made any similar public statements.

Unfortunately, these previous public speeches had obviously cost her points among many corporations. Now, making up for it was not going to be easy.

"All challengers want to change the system because they want to make themselves the most unique power holders. But once they win the challenge, the majority of them change their stance, consciously or unconsciously, starting to want to maintain the system."

Bruce chuckled and shook his head. The current occupant of the White House, that great orator, had also once expressed similar views, but what happened? Those words had long been thrown away.

"Figuring out the reason is not difficult. Obama is about to leave office. Before that, what's the most important thing for him? Maybe we can find some angle here." Tim Lapira was obviously very accustomed to the politicians' betrayal, although it seemed a bit disgraceful, sometimes, for the sake of interests, you had no choice.

"Sheila must be clear, since she passed the information to us, it indicates that she also finds it difficult to achieve, fearing that gaining Obama's support won't be easy."

Fowler frowned, even the fully operational campaign machine—the Clinton family found it difficult, which indicated how troublesome it was. Tim's point, Sheila couldn't have overlooked, but evidently, she was prepared to give up, otherwise, she wouldn't have noted it in the materials.

"Sometimes, when a situation is at a deadlock and no solution seems apparent, it's necessary to try breaking the norm and think from a different angle." Bruce swirled his glass of wine, tilting his head towards the pondering duo as a hint.

Fowler and Tim were clearly caught by Bruce's words, looking at him in unison, seemingly expectant of his next words.

"You two are my think tank. If I have to come up with solutions for everything, that would be very disappointing."

Bruce's gaze swept over the two, spoke lightly, then stood up to open the cigar box, pulling out a few Cohiba Behikes, and casually tossed one to Fowler. This limited edition cigar, produced in 2006 with only 4000 made, now sold for up to $100,000 a box, available only through auction.

Fowler stood up to light the cigar for him, then his own. Meanwhile, Tim Lapira took a sip of water, using it to mask his embarrassment.

"Even the maid at my house knows the three things Obama wanted most: healthcare reform, gun control, and legalizing same-sex marriage. The only thing he truly accomplished was the third; which of the first two can you help him achieve?" Bruce puffed on his cigar, filled a glass with whiskey, and sat back down, looking at his two subordinates.

Fowler and Tim exchanged glances, both falling silent, with no answer. These were not trivial matters.