Grumpy Boss

by Hamel, B. B.

  “Got something for you,” he said, but hesitated before handing the screen over. “You’re not going to like it.”

  “Does this have anything to do with my current problem?” I asked.

  He nodded and rubbed at his face. “Oh yeah. It really does.” He glanced at Millie. “How’s work so far? Like it around here?”

  “It’s fantastic,” she said, crossing her legs. “What’s going on?”

  Jack finally handed it over. The tabloid was in Italian, but I knew the basics enough to read the headline. It read, in big, splashy letters, Pop Star Queen Giana Pregnant! Beneath it was a large picture of Giana and me out at some dinner we’d shared one evening. Oddly enough, her husband had been with us that night—but of course they cropped him out.

  “How far has this gotten?” I asked, trying not to snap the damn tablet in half. Those rotten bastards were taking this too far. Rumors of an affair were bad enough, but getting her pregnant was something from a god damn soap opera.

  “Local, so far,” Jack said. “I have some people checking all the websites and blogs right now. It’ll get out eventually though. We can’t contain it.”

  “Then we can get ahead,” I said. “Get in touch with Giana, tell her we need to talk.”

  Jack glanced at Millie, a big frown on his face. “Is that a good idea? She’s the source of all this right now.”

  “She’s not the source,” Millie said, “she’s a victim too. Can’t blame her, right?”

  I gave her a little half smile. “That’s right. And Jack, tell Giana I want to talk to her husband.”

  His face paled. “Now I think you’ve gone insane,” he said. “We need to get ahead of this, not make it worse.”

  “You think he wants this crap out there?” I asked, and I saw Millie grinning to herself a little bit. I bet she was proud that she’d gotten this idea in my head, but damn her, it was smart, and I was desperate. “He wants to crush this rumor just like I do. Tell them we all need to sit down and figure out how to make this go away.”

  Jack took a deep breath and slowly nodded. He was averse to risk, as all lawyers were, except for maybe Millie—and maybe that was why she hadn’t taken the bar. She didn’t have that lawyer mindset, not yet at least. Jack would never think of a solution like this, although it seemed fairly simple and straight forward. The potential downsides were too big, and he’d prefer we did something to hedge any possible failures before moving forward.

  He was a good man, and a solid advisor, but I wanted to do something radical to make this disappear.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” he said, but he didn’t move. “There’s one other thing.”

  I handed him back the tablet. “Can’t be worse than this.”

  “Actually, it might be.” He took an envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it over.

  It was made out to me, via the office, with no return address. There was a single paper, cream-colored, heavy stock, folded inside. I took it out and felt my tongue go dry as I saw the letterhead: Desmond Capital.

  “What the fuck is this?” I asked, and looked up at jack. The letter was hand written and signed by Desmond himself at the bottom.

  “Read it,” Jack said.

  Millie got up and walked over. She looked concerned, and I couldn’t blame her. I felt like all the blood left my face, drained away to nothing.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, confused, and Jack only held up a hand to silence her.

  I skimmed the letter. Desmond had shit handwriting, but the more I read, the sicker I felt—until that sickness turned to anger. I looked up and met Jack’s eyes. “Did you read it?”

  He nodded once. “What do you want to do?”

  I clenched my jaw and clutched the paper. It crinkled under my fingers, and I was tempted to rip it to pieces—until I realized the solution to my problems was right in my hands.

  “Rees?” Millie asked. “What is it?”

  I handed her the letter almost reluctantly. The whole thing was almost incoherent: rambling, borderline sane, accusing me of horrible things, including multiple different affairs. I almost didn’t want her to read it, but I knew it would be important. She took it, held it up, and frowned, head tilted to one side.

  “Desmond Bergson worked for me when I started my first company,” I said, looking up at the ceiling. I could still see his face: tired and lined already, his hair thinning, his skin sallow. He was wasting away at some accounting firm, spending his time doing taxes when he should’ve been doing something more. “We met at a hacker conference, which I know is the nerdiest thing in the world, but we became good friends. He helped me start the company that would go on to make me what I am today.”

  She finished the letter and watched me carefully. I couldn’t read her expression, but it was guarded, and uncertain. I couldn’t blame her: it was one hell of a confession.

  “What happened between you two?” she asked, shaking the paper slightly. “What could’ve drove him to this?”

  “We had a falling out,” I said, “over money, of course. It’s always over money. He thought that because his code was integral to what we’d build, that he deserved a large split, and I disagreed. Eventually, lawyers got involved, and Desmond got a settlement and went slinking away back to private life. Incidentally, that’s how I met Jack.”

  “It was an ugly thing,” Jack said. “By the time I got involved, they hated each other.”

  I could still see the sneer on Desmond’s face that last time we sat across from each other in a board room. He hated me by then, thought I was a total fraud and a cheat.

  The truth was, I paid him more than he was worth. He’d contributed important parts of the infrastructure, and I didn’t deny that—but he hadn’t built it alone, and without me, the company never would have existed at all. I courted investors and wrote a large chunk of the code. I ran the day to day and created our strategy from thin air, and helped to define an industry that now dominates the globe. Desmond was important, but not that important.

  He despised me, and I felt the same way. How’s it feel, knowing everything you have was built on my back? he’d asked, and that always stuck with me.

  He truly thought he was a martyr.

  Millie handed me back the paper. “I take it you two aren’t in a better place now.”

  “Clearly not,” I said, and glanced at Jack. “Although I thought our rivalry was over.”

  “He’s spreading rumors about you,” Millie said. “He admits it, right here in that letter. He says you don’t deserve this SPAC, and he’s going to do everything he can to stop it. Doesn’t sound like the rivalry is over.”

  I folded the letter and put it back in the envelope.

  I almost felt bad for Desmond. It’d been so long, and he still carried the grudge like a weight on his back. The letter was unhinged, and I couldn’t imagine the kind of man that wrote it. It must have been hard for him, seeing me succeed over the years, while he toiled away in his minor financial firm, making lazy, uninspired trades, doing well enough for himself, but never thriving, never growing beyond his own mediocrity.

  That was something he never understood: without me, he was just another guy.

  Meanwhile, I’ve grown, started other companies, invested wisely, made a name for myself. I could only imagine the resentment festering.

  “At least now we have a way out of this mess,” I said, hitting the envelope down onto my desk.

  “Should I forget about making contact with Giana?” Jack asked, sounding hopeful.

  “No,” I said. “I want to show her this, and her husband. Get in touch.”

  He grunted and shook his head. I could tell he thought this was a terrible idea, but I didn’t care what he wanted. So far, his ideas hadn’t gotten us out of this mess, and now it was time for something drastic.

  Millie was that next step.

  “Whatever you think,” Jack said, and turned away. I watched him go, wishing he’d trust me more—but almost happy that he didn�
��t. It was better if he pushed back against my ideas. That way, I could better sense which worked, and which didn’t.

  Millie leaned up against my desk and crossed her arms. I was tempted to reach out and run my fingers down her back, or pulled her long, thick hair. Instead, I swiveled away, and looked out the window.

  “Sabotage by a former business partner,” she said softly. “And he admits it in a letter. I mean, you could go to the police with this, can’t you?”

  “Maybe,” I admitted. “Or to the courts. But he knows I wouldn’t.”

  “And why not?”

  “Because even though he tried to fuck me once, I’m still loyal,” I said, watching the clouds drift past. “We were friends once, and I’m not the kind of man to forget about that, just like I won’t forget what he’s done here.”

  She didn’t say anything, and walked back to the table. I glanced in her direction, and she watched me, a contemplative look on her face, before she shook her head and went back to skimming financial documents.

  She probably thought I was crazy, but let her. Desmond wasn’t a bad man. Misguided, angry, and jealous, but not evil.

  I’ll destroy him, but I’ll do it my way.

  7

  Millie

  We landed in Memphis the next morning and drove a rented Lexus out into the suburbs. The houses all looked the same: large white columns, stone or brick front, quiet cars parked on black top driveways. Rees didn’t speak much on the trip and I didn’t push him—I could tell that letter weighed on him, even though I didn’t totally understand what it all meant.

  The GPS on Rees’s phone directed us down a long, gravel drive through a thick copse of large old growth oaks. Leaves scattered around on the grass and ahead, at the peak of a slow hill, sat a large house with white shutters and a porch all around. Several cars were scattered out front, and a young woman sat on a rocking chair, smoking a cigarette and drinking from a mason jar.

  Rees parked and killed the engine. “This might get tense,” he said.

  “You told them we’re coming, right?” I asked.

  “Of course,” he said, and ran his fingers down the steeringwheel absently. “But that doesn’t mean they want us to show up anyway.”

  I craned my neck to look at the girl on the porch. She was in her early twenties, tan, flawless skin, thick head of hair piled up in a messy bun, full, pouty lips, and I knew it had to be her. Rees avoided her gaze, but she kept staring, with a haunted, angry look. I tried to imagine what she might be feeling: rage toward Desmond, loathing toward Rees, and an exhausted bitterness toward a world that was overly obsessed with celebrity.

  “We should go talk to her,” I said.

  Rees glanced up and sucked in a breath. “It’s funny,” he said, without smiling. “Me and her were good friends before this happened.”

  “That’s probably why it happened.”

  “You don’t think men and women can be friends?” He tilted his head toward me.

  “I didn’t say that.” I pushed open the door. “But she’s famous, and the media loves a story, even a fake one.”

  I climbed out before he could answer and stood leaning against the roof of the car. The girl raised her glass toward me then took a drag on her cigarette. Rees got out a second later and glanced at me before waving once at the girl.

  It was her, all right. She stood as we approached. Even in sweats, I could tell she was gorgeous, and I had a strange, dizzying sensation, like meeting an idol in real life. Except I didn’t really know her, not really. She was mostly famous in Italy.

  “Hello, Rees,” she said without a hint of an accent. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

  “Hello, Giana.” He stopped at the base of the steps. Giana leaned up against the railing and stared down at him. She had dark brown eyes and wasn’t wearing a bit of make up—and that made me all the more jealous. Behind her, some noise from inside wafted out through the windows: a guitar strumming a complicated sequence of chords. “We need to get some things straightened out.”

  She laughed and shook her head. It was almost coy. She took another drag of her cigarette then stubbed it out on the wooden floor and kicked it off the side. “You know Linus isn’t happy with you.”

  “I assume you told him about the letter from Desmond.”

  She made a vague gesture then looked down at me. “Who is this pretty girl?”

  “Giana, this is my assistant, Millie.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I said.

  Giana touched her fingers to her hair. “Assistant? To this man? Must be a difficult job.”

  “So far, it’s not so bad,” I said. “But he doesn’t make it easy.”

  She laughed, easy and light, and I liked her right away. She had that certain magnetic quality some charming people gave off in waves, like even her mere presence was somehow special. It was in the way she looked at us, a little smile, head tilted to the side, eyes narrowed, trying to study our faces, and really listening, or at least seeming like she was.

  “I’ve known Rees for years now,” she said. “From back when I was a young singer without any fans. Do you know he’s always been like this?”

  “Been like what?” Rees asked, looking up toward the sky. “Brilliant and handsome?”

  “Angry,” Giana said. “Wait, no, not angry. In a bad mood. He’s the wealthiest man his age and yet he acts like the world is against him.”

  “Because it is,” Rees said, climbing up the steps. “Come on, let’s find Linus and get this over with.”

  I wished he hadn’t stopped her, but she only shrugged and turned to the house. I wanted to know more about what Rees was like before I knew him. Maybe that could give me some clues as to why he was so angry all the time, and why he acted like the world was on the brink of constant collapse.

  I followed them up and in through the front door and into a large open living room strewn with couches and rugs. People lounged around: men and women in jeans and t-shirts, smoking cigarettes and drinking. They nodded as we passed, and Rees only spared them the briefest glance. Guitars were perched on the walls, and more audio gears, like cables and speakers, were piled up on the floor. More music echoed from the basement: someone singing words I couldn’t understand, a piano hammering runs and trills, and drums like sledgehammers. The whole house seemed to shake with it.

  Giana took us into a kitchen. It was the size of the whole house it seemed, with pristine granite counters and a huge table. A man sat at the head with a laptop open, wearing a button-down shirt, and looking much cleaner and more put together than all the others in the front room. He glanced up, smiled at Giana, kissed her when she dipped won toward him, then gazed at Rees.

  “Hello, Linus,” Rees said. “I’m surprised you could make the trip out here.”

  Linus slowly shut the laptop. He was handsome, though he had thinning hair and a dark five o’clock shadow. He wore business casual clothes, cut to fit him skin tight. Giana sat down next to him, folding her legs under her, and looked up expectantly at Rees, who didn’t move to sit, and lingered at the head of the table. I stood next to him, hanging back slightly, not sure if I belonged in this moment. It felt too intimate, and I was like an interloper in this strange, messed up relationship.

  “Giana said you’d show up,” he said, with a heavy Italian accent. “I say to her, I doubt it. He’s smarter than that.”

  “I assume she also told you what Desmond did,” Rees said, reaching into his jacket pocket. He produced a copy of the letter and held it up in the air.

  “Ah, the letter.” Linus held a hand out. Rees tossed it to him, and the pages fluttered in the air before hitting the table and sliding over. Linus picked them up, lips pinching together as he read. Giana leaned over onto his shoulder and skimmed along.

  “It’s real,” Rees said. “Jack can back it up. Millie can, too.”

  Linus glanced toward me. “And you are?”

  “His assistant,” I said. “And he’s not lying. It’s real.”

&n
bsp; “You have no reason to lie,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm as he finished the letter. The music downstairs finished, and I looked around the room again: the cupboards were white and the refrigerator was stainless steel. A bad door led out onto a large, open yard, with another porch.

  “You know how things are with me and Desmond,” Rees said. “He’s hated me for a long time. I think this is part of his end game.”

  “End game for what?” Linus asked, tossing the pages down. “For ruining you? No need to drag me and my wife down as well.”

  “I’m not sure he cares about that,” Rees said. “You were both useful to him. The media loves stories about Giana, especially stories that involved young, rich men like me.”

  “Ah, because my wife loves young, rich men, yes?” Linus leaned against Giana and kissed her cheek. “Is that true, love?”

  “I’ll admit, I have a thing for money,” she said, and laughed when he kissed her again and pinched her leg. She pushed him away then stood. “You know there is nothing between me and Rees, darling. I’ve been telling you for weeks now.”

  “Yes, yes, I know this,” he said, waving it away like it was meaningless. “And yet rumors persist. It looks bad for me, yes? I am a politician. These things matter.”

  “I’ll clear it up,” Rees said. “I came down here out of respect for you and Giana, and I swear I’ll make sure it goes away.”

  “I bet you will,” Linus said, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Sometimes, I think to myself, Rees is a good man. But other times, I think, he is a scary man with too much money. Which are you?”

  “Both,” Rees said, holding Linus’s gaze.

  There was a long, tense moment. I looked at Rees and tried to picture the versions of him that Linus mentioned: the good man, trying to do right by his friend Giana, and the terrifying man with nearly infinite resources. I could see them both, but also so much more than that.

  “Well then, why don’t you sit down, and we will hammer out how we will fix this, okay?” Linus gestured at the chair in front of Rees. “Sit and we will talk. Patch things up, as you Americans say.”