He had ten minutes. In those ten minutes, he needed to prepare himself for one of the big pitches that he would deliver. Jordan Young made it happen at any cost. He didn’t get to that fortieth floor office for nothing. In the three years that he had been with Dimensions ENT Advertising Group, he quickly climbed the ladder and gladly kicked off anyone that was weaker. He would make it to the top and he knew that this one account would take him there.

Jordan glanced over the notes that he’d made on the post it notes and stopped halfway. He was set to pitch his idea to some of the biggest execs of the biggest shows on television and before he finished his idea and closed down his projector, the ink would be drying on the contracts. He smiled and closed the folder. He almost hated to brag. He was the best. He could talk a snowman into a tan and make it sounds like the best idea. He got his silver tongue from his father. Probably one of the only good things that he got.

Jessie Young was one of the major hustlers from the streets. He was one so big that he controlled and regulated everything from the pimps and hos to the drugs that came on his territory. When Jordan was old enough to hold his own, he made sure that his son knew everything that he needed so that he could take on the family business. Jordan started from the bottom and worked his way up, slanging and pushing until one day, he saw his father gunned down and slain in the very streets that he ran. There was no one left but his mother, Lena and sister, Jessyka.

He always saw the strain that his father brought onto the family; the dealing, the late nights with who knows, and the constant arguing with his mother.  Jessie would argue that he was providing for the family the best he knew how. It was something that he knew that his mother couldn’t argue with because the kids had food on the table, clothes on their back, and just about anything that they wanted.  She couldn’t deny that his was providing; just that she hated the means he used to get them.

 The night that his father ended up dead in the streets, he knew that he couldn’t follow in his footsteps. He dropped the game, ended up at Stillman College, and got his degree in English. It was just chance that he stumbled upon an internship at a company, Dimensions ENT, that was looking for a motivated person with sales experience for the one spot left open. He knocked out all of the competition and from where he sat, he still had a lot more room to move.

Jordan stood up and grabbed the charcoal gray Versace suit jacket that draped over the back of his leather desk chair. He slipped it over his shoulders and grinned as the tailor made jacket fell directly into place over his biceps. He kept his body fit by going to the gym at least three times a week. Appearances meant everything and as he looked at his reflection in the full-length mirror, he rubbed the neatly trimmed goatee and smoothed his hand over the deep waved of his Caesar cut. The women flocked to him and he gladly accepted each one of them. On more than one occasion he heard that he had a close resemblance to R&B star, Trey Songz. He knew they were wrong because he thought he looked better.

He chuckled to himself as he buttoned the top button of his suit jacket and walked over to his desk. He carefully put the portfolio in his briefcase and walked out of his fortieth floor office and down the hallway to the boardroom. He felt good and by the end of his presentation, he would feel one hundred times better.