by Lily Zante
“It’s not the money. I’ve been thinking a lot about things while I’ve been here, and I don’t want to come back. The corporate world isn’t for me anymore.”
“Travel? Is that what you want to do? Because I’ll hold your place for you. Maybe you just need some time off.” She sinks further into the seat, rings of tiredness frame her eyes. “Don’t say anything,” I tell her. “Don’t make a decision yet.” She’ll change her mind. She’ll get out of here and be a hundred percent back to normal, and she’ll want to come back.
“My doctor said he doesn’t know how bad my partial amnesia will be. It might be long-term but it’s difficult to predict right now.”
“That’s fine. That’s okay,” I say, gently. “We’ll deal with that. We don’t need to talk about it now. We can discuss it later.” Anything she needs, I’ll agree to.
“I wanted to tell you now, Brandon, so that you can start looking for someone to replace me.”
“I can’t replace you, Emma.” My voice turns hoarse. “You’re irreplaceable, don’t you know that? I have a temporary PA and she is useless.” I get up and pace the room, my insides tying into knots as I recall all the stupid mistakes of this week that the new temp has made. “She’s not you.”
Emma smiles. “Don’t be so harsh on her. There is a lot to juggle in that role.”
I want her to come back but I can’t force her to do something she doesn’t want. I can’t continue to be that selfish bastard I have always been.
“What’s going on over at Redhill?”
She wants to know about Kyra. Where do I start? My plan has changed, and I have fallen in love with the type of woman I would never even give a second glance to.
I place a hand at the back of my neck. “It’s okay.”
“Just okay?”
“Yeah.”
“What are you not telling me, Brandon?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re not looking me in the eye.”
I glance at her. This is why I need this woman to still be my PA. She knows, just by looking at me, and she hasn’t even seen me in a while, but she can tell there is something.
This is why she cannot be replaced. I shrug, because it seems better not to open my mouth and say something that she can latch onto and derive the entire truth from. “I’ve got it under control,” I say quietly.
“Got what under control?”
I can’t lift my face and look at her, because she will know.
“Brandon?”
“I’m going to tell her.”
“Oh, Brandon. Did you do something to hurt that poor girl?”
I lift my head. It’s written all over my face, and the cloud of disappointment on Emma’s face is reflected back at me. “Tell me you didn’t ...tell me you didn’t try to seduce her.”
I shake my head. Technically, we didn’t.
I’m not a playboy. I don’t seduce women, but she knows of my orchestrated plan to woo Jessica, and it’s not such a gigantic leap of the imagination to think I’d do something underhanded with Kyra. After all, I’m the man who gets anything he wants. I stare at her, wondering how she knows that anything passed between us. “How do you know?”
“There’s something different about you. Something softer. You’re not talking about business or making money.”
“That’s because I’m here to see how you are.”
She gives me a knowing look.
“She thinks you and I ...” I move my hand between us. “She thinks you’re my girlfriend or something.”
“Does she now?” Emma’s eyes fill with amusement. “If you need to prove it to her, bring her here.”
I laugh at the absurdity of her words. “No. It’s nothing like that. We’re barely ... nothing’s ... happened.” My voice trails off. I’m lying to myself and with such spectacular ease that it takes me a moment to recover from the shock of it.
“Speaking of girlfriends, how is Jessica?”
“Let’s not talk about Jessica.”
“Oh.” Her forehead creases as if she’s discovered a secret. “It’s serious, then? You and Kyra Lewis?”
“No. There’s nothing going on. You’d be the first to know if there was.”
I stare at the floor, lying easily again, but also because I’m not sure where anything stands with Kyra. Nothing can happen within this soup of deceit in which my morals float.
I’ve become aware of how much a life can change in just one second. Moments shape us. It was a moment that shaped Emma’s path forward, just as it has shaped mine.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
KYRA
* * *
We barely talk when we’re back at work. Brad isn’t the type of guy to chase and beg, but I deserve the truth, and he can’t give it to me.
I can’t think or function, not in the full and complete way I used to before this man walked into my life. I hate the rollercoaster of who we are and what I have become.
Luckily, I have plenty to keep me busy, but our tiny office feels suffocating. I avoid going into the storeroom especially after the food nights.
I can’t trust myself to be alone with him. We will be all hands and mouths. One thing will lead to another. I’m back to not trusting him again, back to being wary because there is a side to him which he keeps hidden.
Most times, I don’t know what to think. This isn’t me. Obsessing over a guy who isn’t right for me. I should have learned my lesson from the last time.
Clearly I’m not cut out for romance and relationships. I’m responsible for a lot of people. I have a business to run. I’m doing my best to make life better for these people, and that’s what I need to focus on.
BRANDON
* * *
I try to make it up to her but it’s not easy.
It’s hard enough sitting in a stuffy little office with Simona and Fredrich, but starting a conversation with her is almost impossible. What I want is to explain to Kyra about what happened, but she doesn’t want to be alone with me. Why would she if she thinks I walked out on her to tend to someone she believes I care about more.
How can I tell her who Emma is without giving anything away? And yet, another part of me knows I have to tell her the truth, but I don’t want to take the risk.
She has every right to be suspicious of me. She won’t catch my eye and she won’t return my texts.
I decide to stay behind and wait until the others have left for the day, but when it gets to that time, Fredrich and Simona stay put. I’m determined to wait it out, and I do. A short while later, Simona asks, “When are we leaving?”
Leaving for what? And why do I know nothing about this?
“In about ten minutes.” Kyra types away, her fingers flying on her keyboard.
“I’d better rush to the washroom.” Simona disappears.
“What’s going on?” I ask. “Where’s everyone going?”
“We’ve got a committee meeting tonight,” Fredrich informs me.
“What for?”
“They’re monthly meetings, unless something urgent comes up which all the Greenways people need to deal with.”
“Yeah?” I act surprised. “Like what?”
“Take your pick. We’ve had all sorts of things to deal with over the years.”
“I’m hoping it’s a quick one tonight,” says Kyra, stopping her typing. “I’ve got accounts to reconcile.”
“I can help you with that,” I offer, genuinely wanting to help her, but also needing to have time with just her.
“I don’t need your help with the accounts.” The tilt of her chin, with her hand on her hip, her entire posture is one of defiance. “But why don’t you come to the meeting?”
“Why don’t you, dude?” Fredrich chimes in.
“You can come and meet everyone.” Kyra doesn’t smile, but there is mischief in her eyes. I shift uneasily.
Does she know about me?
I can’t go. I dare not show my face there. Neville is getting antsy abou
t me not moving forward but I’m now facing a problem I thought I’d never have: Kyra is thinking about moving, only now I don’t want her to.
She should stay, prosper here, and carry out her vision. I won’t get in her way.
“I can’t.” I press my lips, trying to read her expression and figure out how much she hates me.
“Of course you can’t.” Her tone is mocking. “You couldn’t attend Eli’s city hall event, and you can’t come to this. Who are you hiding from, Brad?”
I clench down on my teeth, wondering if she is testing me, wondering if she knows who I am and what I’m up to. “I have things to do.”
“You always have things to do,” Kyra throws back.
“I need to visit the men’s room,” Fredrich mutters before making a hasty exit.
“I can explain—” She’s angry about me leaving her when we were about to get intimate. That’s unforgiveable, and I should be grateful that she’s at least talking to me, even if she’s furious.
“Was Emma okay?” Her tone switches in an instant.
I nod. “She’s fine.”
“What was the urgency?”
How do I tell her that my PA doesn’t want to come back to work for me? Answering that question means I’ll have to answer all the others; questions that Kyra probably doesn’t even have yet.
“She … uh …” I’m flummoxed as to what to say. Kyra’s cold fury doesn’t help.
“Where was it that you worked?” she asks, completely throwing me off course.
“Excuse me?”
“Where was it that you worked?”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
My brows lift. My heart splutters. “When?” I’m trying to buy myself some time.
She suspects.
“When you went abroad, to work on the community project. Where was that?”
I stare at her in complete confusion. Why is she asking me this? Before I can reply, she asks, “Or did you not work anywhere at all?” Her cold, hard words land on me like icepicks.
I manage to retrieve the information I think she wants. “Ecuador.”
She smiles. “Ecuador. Is that your final answer? Or do you want to call someone to verify that?”
Simona steps inside just then, and Kyra stands up and starts to get her things together. Fredrich returns, eyeing the two of us as if we’re rabid dogs.
“Are you coming to the meeting with us?” Simona asks me.
“He’s busy and he has other plans,” Kyra replies before I can say a word.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
KYRA
* * *
We bundle inside a small civic hall. Loud indignant chatter fills the already heated atmosphere. The meeting is loud and noisy.
I’m sitting at the front with the a few elected committee members and the chairperson, a scrawny older woman with angular bones and reading glasses that keep slipping down her oily nose. I wasn’t eager about doing this role, because I am already busy enough, but I was hounded into it, partly by Simona and then seconded by Fredrich, since so many of the business owners kept asking me to speak up for them on their behalf.
But since my passion is Redhill, and I became aware early on that there were attempts to get us to relocate, I agreed to be a voice for this group. It’s still something I’m passionate about.
The chairwoman brings up the most recent complaint from the city about the food nights turning Greenways into a place which encourages homeless people. “They seem to be going for you,” she says, passing me a letter. “I expect you’ll be getting one soon.”
I scan it quickly. The city officials are claiming that we—as in Redhill—are encouraging homeless people to sleep in nearby streets due to our weekly food nights. The chairwoman reads out from a copy in her hands for the benefit of everyone else. “While the work that Redhill does is commendable, the food night program is making it a haven for homeless people. The buildings are attracting crime and drug addicts, and this does not bode well for the reputation of the area.”
I slam the letter down in shock. This isn’t a new complaint. Every so often we get letters like this. Maybe we did receive this. I need to check because I seem to be getting more careless with things that need my attention.
“I disagree,” I say and a chorus of agreement erupts. Some of the people might linger around while they eat, but everyone leaves by the end of the evening. When we head back to the factory having returned the food and supplies to the restaurants, I have never seen anyone loitering around.
“Sounds to me like they’re getting desperate and need us gone from here,” someone shouts out.
“The city people don’t want us here. They’re always trying to get us to move.” This was way in the back row.
Agitation spreads like wildfire around the hall. We’re accustomed to these requests and we’ve managed to thwart them successfully up until now. A middle-aged man in the middle row stands up. “I’ve been here since I was a kid, ever since my mom and dad started their business. I ain’t going nowhere.”
The commotion amplifies as people become indignant and bitter at the idea that there are underhanded reasons behind this complaint.
“They can’t physically remove us,” the woman in the front row shouts. I give her a smile which is anything but convincing. I’m sure they can. I wouldn’t put anything past these government officials, and I have a sneaky suspicion about this most recent complaint. I try to reassure the crowd. “Why don’t we keep our heads down and just carry on as we’re doing?” I suggest. “I don’t see any of the problems they’re complaining about. Y’all know about our weekly food nights, and you also know that there is not a scrap of litter to be found in that space the next day.” I survey them all, looking at me with hope, as if I am their fearless leader.
They cry out in agreement. “As long as you’re speaking for us, Kyra. As long as you’ve got our back.”
I muster a smile, even though there is nothing to feel happy about.
“Moving swiftly along. What’s next on the agenda?”
I groan inwardly. The rest of the evening will be painstakingly dull. There are so many work-related things I could be doing. Between this and the weekly food nights, the time I have to spend on my business is significantly reduced.
And, after spending time with Brad, I have come to see that there are other things to do. Pleasures to be had.
I don’t have the hour to spend here.
I chose to be on the committee because I don’t want to be pushed around, and because very few people speak up for what they believe in. But my stance has recently changed. I am torn about what to do. A part of me wants to relocate. Another proud and stubborn part of me wants to stay. I have to fix the roof, and then there are a few other parts of the factory that could do with fixing up. And I’m still waiting on one of the factory owners on either side of me to sell and leave so that I can expand out.
It seems like an awful lot of wishful thinking and maybes. Brad is right. I should cut my losses and go.
As we walk out, it’s just me and Fredrich because Simona left earlier, slipping out from the first few rows where she and Fredrich were sitting. I’m grateful that he stayed, but now I am eager to get home.
“What was all that about? You and Brad, as we were getting ready to leave?”
I stare straight ahead because I can’t bring myself to look Fredrich in the eye. “Nothing.”
“Doesn’t seem like nothing to me.”
We’re in such a small office and even though I’ve tried to focus on my work, Simona and Fredrich have obviously noticed how cold Brad and I have been, especially because we’ve been getting on so well lately. We’ve shared an easy familiarity and now that it has turned stone cold, it’s no wonder that my colleagues have noticed.
He left me when we were about to have sex. He turned me down. It wasn’t quite like that. I get it, but still, it’s an embarrassment I can’t erase from memory. The idea that we have seen each other naked, that he has probed my
most private of places, that we came so close to having sex.
“Has he done something?” Fredrich asks.
My head spins so fast as I turn to look at him. “What? No.” My rebuke is too loud. The denial a little too forced.
“I thought the two of you were getting on really well, especially after how you were with him in the start.”
“I don’t trust him,” I mumble. Even now, days later, the imprint of his lips is all over my body. I can’t wash it off. I lie in bed thinking of his mouth on mine and his fingers ...
“What? That doesn’t make sense. He’s been such a great help.”
“He’s hiding something, but I don’t know what.” I’m determined to push those images away.
He stops in the middle of the street, holding my arm, so that I too, have to stop. “Kyra, that’s insane. Why do you think he’s hiding something?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have you two had a lover’s tiff?”
He’s hit so close to the truth, that the bullseye hits my heart. “Don’t be so silly. I’ve tolerated that man because he’s free to hire. I can’t stand him at the best of times.” I storm off in a huff, hoping that Fredrich believes me.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
BRANDON
* * *
The more desperate I become to talk to her, the more she seems to avoid me.
The next day at work, I put my head down and get on with things. I’m curious to know how the committee meeting went, but I’m also fearful that something I say might give me away. So, I don’t ask anything.
Simona is away for a week, because she is celebrating a big birthday and she and her family have gone away.
Needing to resolve the divide between us, I consider booking dinner for us, somewhere nice, not too swanky, but somewhere funky and cool, which I think she might appreciate. Somewhere that I’m not likely to run into any business associates. But, as much as I’d love to take her to dinner, I have a feeling that she won’t agree. The chance of getting Kyra to come anywhere with me, let alone give me the time of day, is an impossibility.
