MAC sat in his office, awaiting the outcome of what was quite possibly the biggest deal of his career. His fingers beat an erratic tattoo into his desk, using nearly sufficient enough force to leave fingerprint-shaped dents in the wood. Though he maintained his usual confidence, there was a sense of something far less assured tugging at his subconscious. The sort of something that he wasn't entirely sure how to deal with.
No business negotiation before, big or small, had ever caused him so much anxiety. However, it was also true that no negotiation, before this one, held his career so precariously in the balance. What sort of CFO was he if he couldn't manage to seal the sort of deal that kept Engineering Global up and running? No, he couldn't even consider it. This had to go through. It just had—
The shrill ring of the office phone cut through his spiralling thoughts. He snatched up the device with speed that rivaled a cheetah. 'MacIntire speaking.’
'Mr MacIntire, Sir. I'm so sorry, Sir,' the project manager informed him tentatively, as if bracing herself for impact. 'They've decided to go with Angel Corps., Sir. We did all we could, I can assure you of that. However, this time, it just didn't come out the way we'd hoped.'
Anger suddenly surged within him, but, for the first time in his career, he took a moment to think before acting. He put the phone on speaker and placed it on the corner of his desk, then stood. He leaned over, holding onto the wooden edge tightly enough that he was sure his fingernails were going to snap. He took several silent, yet deeply filling, breaths.
'Sir?' The woman on the other end of the line’s voice was shaking.
It was only when her voice cut through the heavy silence that Mac realised that he had not replied. He was still craned over his desk, nearly lightheaded from the overwhelming amount of oxygen now flooding his lungs. Swallowing all of the abuse that he typically hurled, he found a far more appropriate response. 'I understand, Ms Kenneth.' He inhaled and exhaled deeply once more. 'I'm sure you did. Thank you.'
'I...' The panic on the other end of the line was palpable. 'You're welcome... Sir. Is-- is there anything else we should do?'
'No,' he said, hoping to God that he didn't sound as on edge as he felt. 'Not at the current moment.'
'Alright, then.' A small sigh of relief could be heard from her lips. 'Good day, Mr MacIntire.'
'Good day,' he breathed, holding back a thunderous scream.
It was a few moments before Mac could steady himself enough to send a hurried text. Whether his fingers were shaking from rage or manic anxiety was anyone's guess.
~*~*~
IF Zac had received a message ordering him to grab his coat and go to the parking garage from anyone else, he would have rolled his eyes and ignored it. He did have a sense of self-preservation, after all. But from Mac, one could hardly expect anything but the unexpected. So, when prompted, Zac did just as he was asked, making his way down to the garage.
The sight of Mac stood beside his gunmetal Porsche was an odd one, to say the least. He was tapping the same manic tattoo into the hood of it that he always did during particularly stressful situations. The hair on his head stuck out wildly in every direction; clearly a direct result of roughly carding his hands in it, several times over. His eyes were afire as they fixed intently on the elevator, his gaze remaining locked there even as Zac emerged. He seemed to have a hard time breathing, or seeing anything, for that matter.
Making his way over to his colleague's car, Zac became acutely aware that something was deeply wrong. A frown creased his brow as he spoke tentatively. 'Mac, are you all right?'
He ignored the question and unlocked the car with a chirp. 'Get in.'
'That doesn't answer--'
His tone was steely and his eyes lively. 'Get. In.' Without another word, Mac climbed in, turned the key, and revved the engine as if in warning.
Though he was far more worried now than he had been upon first entering the garage, Zac climbed in, if for nothing else but to make sure that Mac wasn't alone in a motor vehicle in his current state.
Neglecting to buckle his seat belt, or even to check if Zac had buckled his, Mac backed out of the parking spot and the garage with far more speed than necessary. They had been doing nearly thirty miles over the limit on the motorway for about half an hour before Zac summoned the courage to attempt conversation. 'So, Mac. Not that I don't appreciate this spontaneous road trip, but where exactly are we headed?'
The CFO did not offer a reply. Instead, he put on the same sort of loud rock music that he had listened to on his birthday. Taking the very loud and rhythmic hint, Zac leaned back in his seat, resigning himself to silence for the remainder of the car ride.
From the huge sign anchored on the ornate set of gates that they sped through, their destination seemed to be a place called “Stoke Park”. Why they had left work two hours early to go there, however, was beyond Zac's wildest imaginings.
As soon as he had parked, Mac sprung from the car like a bullet from the barrel of a gun. When he didn't return, Zac decided to follow him to the boot, entertaining a number of possibilities as to what he would find Mac doing. He had never expected, however, to find him hurriedly shedding his jacket and tie, rolling up his sleeves, and exchanging the discarded articles of clothing for a golf bag. Zac hadn't even had the chance to open his mouth to speak when his employer slammed the lid shut, stalking off in the direction of a wide open field. He had to jog slightly to keep up with the brusque, unrelenting pace that Mac now adopted.
Once they reached the driving range, Mac thrust a hundred pound note into the attendant's face, grabbed as many buckets of balls as he could carry, and unceremoniously dumped his bag at the nearest vacant stall. In the blink of an eye, he took out his favourite club and began to shower the range with golf balls, using all the fervency of machine gunfire.
As Zac took in the frantic spectacle in front of him, he was both terrified and entranced. Mac was like a shark; beautiful, and yet supremely dangerous when in his element.
With each swing, a new wave of relief seemed to overtake him; as if he was driving his problems off into the horizon. By the time he'd made his way through the second bucket, he had grown calm enough to simply stand for a moment, eyes fixed on the green.
'Mac,' Zac said quietly, once he was fairly sure that the other man wouldn't take the club to his head. 'Why are we here?'
With a deep sigh and a moment's pause, he met Zac's eyes for the first time since they had taken off on the spontaneous trip. 'I needed to blow off some steam, and we both know how well it works out when I try to outdrink myself.' He smiled weakly.
'That we do,' he replied somberly, though he offered a ghost of a smile, himself. 'What's got you so high strung, then? Is it anything that I can help with? Because I would be more than happy to--'
'We lost the Newcastle deal.' His solemn words cut through Zac's rambling like a hot knife through butter. 'They decided to go with Angel Corps., instead.'
'Oh.'
'Oh,' Mac echoed, all of his previous attempts at appearing animated completely absent, now.
The silence that followed was heavy but, surprisingly, not uncomfortable. If asked, neither man could say how long it had been. Though, that hardly mattered.
'So, you like golf?' Zac asked finally, popping the bubble. Though, of course, he already knew the answer, along with his rather strong feelings about cats.
'A bit, yeah.' The smile from before resurfaced, now a bit brighter. 'Helps me clear my head. It's the only thing my father ever taught me that didn't have anything to do with business.’
'You do realise that's a bit cocked up, don't you?'
Mac laughed, darkly. 'Yeah. I know.'
'Alright, good. Just checking.'
The pair of them broke into brilliant smiles and then fell back into the comfortable silence from before. Mac returned to driving, this time for leisure rather than necessity, and Zac went on watching for a reason that he couldn't quite pinpoint. All he knew was that doing so made him feel warm and serene. But it was probably nothing, he thought. Probably.
After several minutes, Mac finally noticed Zac's gaze, making him jump when he spoke. 'Are you just going to watch or are you going to hit a few?'
(Chapter To Be Continued...)
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