Grumpy Boss

by Hamel, B. B.

  I leaned forward on the elbows and thought I might cry.

  I didn’t love Rees and didn’t plan on it. So far, I found him attractive and interesting, but difficult, demanding, and a little too comfortable grabbing my rear end. And yet her words echoed, and I felt as though she’d seen something, perhaps something I hadn’t noticed myself yet.

  Rees returned a moment later and sat down next to me. “How’d that go?” he asked.

  “Fine,” I said, not able to meet his gaze.

  “She tore you apart, didn’t she?” He laughed a little and ran a hand through his hair. “She does that, you know. Did it to me the first time we met. I felt like she looked into my soul and found me lacking somehow. And then she told me exactly how I could fix it.”

  “It wasn’t like that,” I said, shaking my head. “She told me she’d look at Alfie’s papers.”

  “That’s good,” he said, nodding. “Alfie will be pleased.”

  “That’s what we came here for, isn’t it?”

  He turned and looked over his shoulder toward where Lady Fluke left. I saw something in his expression then—a yearning, or a sadness, and I realized that this really was about making amends with her. Despite everything, they were friends, and I got the sense he didn’t have many of those.

  “Right,” he said. “That’s it.” He stood again and held out a hand. “Shall we, assistant?”

  I took it and let him help me up. “You’re not going to try and fondle me again, are you?”

  “Not unless you ask,” he said. “I’m not in the mood to have my genitals smashed in today.”

  “Good,” I muttered, and smiled a little to myself. He walked back through the dining room and I followed, the Lady’s words still playing through my mind, over and over: don’t fall in love.

  10

  Rees

  Colorado is a flat expanse of small scrubby trees and bushes, broken up by highways and cul-de-sacs and housing developments. Between Denver and Boulder, there wasn’t much, but we kept going west. The mountains loomed in the distance, craggy and pitted, white peaked and beautiful.

  “They’re almost terrifying,” Millie said as we drove further and further into the country, surrounded by fencing and the occasional horses. “Having them always there.”

  “You’d probably get used to it,” I said, but I knew what she meant. There were no mountains like them, not back in Philadelphia. Pennsylvania was all forest and rolling hills, but this arid semi-prairie, in the shadow of those enormous mountains, felt somehow unnatural, like they could come crashing down at any moment.

  She made some dismissive sound and stared out the window. Ever since her meeting with Lady Fluke, she’d been strange. One moment, she seemed particularly engaged—reading over Alfie’s prospectus, for example, made her almost giddy with the boredom of financial jargon—and the next she’d pull away. Jack said the Lady had that effect on people, and that she’d move past it sooner or later.

  I wasn’t so sure. It’d been nearly a week, and she still seemed off. I wondered if maybe I should palm her ass again, just to knock her out of whatever funk she’d dropped into.

  I followed GPS directions to a long, dirt road that jutted through a series of fields. Ahead, hidden in the middle of a copse of trees and brush, was a large house, bigger than I’d expected. It was in the ranch style, lots of wood, very western feeling, but there were small, unexpected modern flourishes, like big glass windows. We were far away from civilization, about an hour from the nearest town, and everything in spitting distance was owed by Byron Nave.

  Jack did some research into the guy. Apparently, Kevin wasn’t joking—Byron truly was rich as all hell. He was a cattle baron and owned thousands of cows and steer and other livestock, not to mention acres and acres of very expensive and very desirable land. As far as I could tell, the guy had no financial connections at all, despite being worth millions.

  I parked the car out front of the house next to an old, beat up truck. Millie frowned out the windshield and looked around. “Are you sure this is right?” she asked.

  “It’s the biggest house for miles,” I said. “And the GPS says it’s the place.” I killed the engine and got out of the car.

  Millie followed. I understood her hesitation: this guy was supposed to be loaded, and while the house itself looked like it cost a few million at least, the truck was a real piece of shit, and there was random farm equipment left to grow rusty and covered in weeds. An old tractor leaned up against a nearby crumbling fence; an ATV was tipped on its side and missing a wheel; several wheelbarrows full of what looked like tiles or bricks were lined up in the grass fifty feet into the nearest field.

  “Come on,” I said, and began toward the house, but before I could reach the front porch an incredible blast made me jump and turn toward Millie.

  I grabbed her as another blast ripped the air again, and I realized it was gunfire. I cursed and shoved her to the side, toward the old truck, and pinned her against the bed, covering her with my body. I didn’t have time to think—my heart raced in my chest and I felt like I wanted to throw up, but the adrenaline kept me hyper-focused on the moment.

  One more gunshot broke the air before I spotted the shooter: a man standing just over the fence line on the opposite side of the driveway, his back to us, the gun pointed away, into the field. He wore jeans, a flannel shirt, and dirty black boots. Smoke curled from a shotgun wedged in his shoulder, and more smoke puffed from a cigar in his teeth. He lowered the weapon and held it up, aiming into the sky, as he blew smoke out and shouted a curse.

  “Rees?” Millie asked from beneath me. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Shit, it’s okay. He’s not shooting at us. Are you hurt?”

  “Fine, just—“ She grunted a little. “You’re kind of heavy.”

  I realized with a start that I was crushing her against the bed. I moved back and sucked in a deep breath. I nodded once, not trusting myself to speak again, and paced toward the man. Anger washed through me, and I wanted nothing more than to break that bastard’s nose open on a very hard rock. He scared the fuck out of me, but even worse, scared Millie—and could have hurt her. The mother fucker should never shoot a gun near a house like that, even if he was experienced and wasn’t aiming anywhere near us.

  The guy turned with a big grin, and more smoke plumed from his face. He was older, in his sixties, with jet black hair cut short, and a scruffy beard. It was Byron Nave, no doubt in my mind, though a little bit rougher than the picture I had of him back in the office.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I called out as I reached the fence.

  He tilted his head and took the cigar from between his teeth. “Shooting a god damn bird on my own property. And what the fuck are you doing, stranger?”

  “I’m Rees Court,” I said. “We had a meeting. And I show up to you shooting a fucking gun in your front yard.”

  “Pheasant,” he said, like that explained shit. “Released them on my land a few years back and the bastards have been multiplying ever since. They walk right up to my house, like I won’t fucking shoot them.” He turned and shouted at the field. “I’ll shoot, you fucking bastards, don’t you god damn tempt me.”

  I stared at him and considered turning around. It wasn’t too late—we could drive back to the airport and be home by the morning. This psychopath was more liable to murder us by accident, or even on purpose, than he was to invest in my company.

  But I needed his money, and I didn’t have any other leads at the moment, so even though he was holding a gun, and clearly mentally unstable, considering he just yelled at a bunch of birds, I decided to suck it up and press forward.

  “Kevin Lane put us in touch,” I said, and gestured at Millie. “This is my assistant.”

  “Charmed,” he said, nodding at her. “I was expected you, Mr. Court. Kevin told me to keep a look out.”

  “Call me Rees,” I said.

  “So long as you call me Byron.” He walked over an
d leaned against a fence post a few feet away. “I got to admit, I don’t know how you fancy Wall Street types like to do these kinds of deals. Kevin tells me you’re one of the few honest money men in the game.”

  “I’m not sure about honest,” I said, taking a breath to calm my jittery nerves. My hands were shaking as I started to come down from the rush. “But if I’m going to fuck you, I’ll at least fuck you to your face and buy you dinner after.”

  Byron barked a laugh, throwing his head back. He sucked in some smoke and blew it out before dabbing the cigar out on the post. He tucked the stub in his pocket then shoved a hand at me.

  “Welcome to the wild lands, Rees. That bird I shot out there? That’s for dinner tonight.”

  I shook his hand. “So long as I’m not going to eat any buckshot.”

  “Don’t you worry, boy.” He grinned viciously and squeezed, almost yanking me into the barbed wire fencing. “I know how to clean game.” He stared at me for a long moment then released my hand and turned away. “Y’all go inside, my housekeeper will get you set up. Alba’s a real fucking peach, so you be nice to her. I’ll be around soon.” He stalked off, presumably toward whatever bird he just murdered, and I turned away.

  Millie stood there staring at me like the ground just opened up and swallowed me whole.

  “We got to get out of here,” she said, shaking her head. “That guy’s insane.”

  “Yes, he is,” I said, stopping next to her. I put a hand on her arm. “Seriously, you okay?’

  “I’m fine,” she said, chewing her lip, and she looked down at the ground, rubbing the toe of her shoes into the gravel. “Just scared me, is all.”

  “Sorry,” I said, holding her gently, before releasing her again. “Come on, I’ll carry the bags inside.”

  “Do you think this is for real?” she asked, matching my pace. “I mean, this guy has money, right?”

  “Jack did his research,” I said. “It’s for real.”

  “But he’s a cattle farmer. I don’t see any cattle.”

  I frowned a little, squinting around. She was right—the land was flat and empty as far as I could see.

  “He’s got thousands of acres,” I said. “Could be that he keeps the herd somewhere else.”

  “Or this is all bullshit,” she said.

  “Or that,” I agreed, and faced her again. “But we have no other choice.”

  “I know,” she said, rubbing at her face with both hands. “I’m just on edge, from that stupid gun. Freaked me out.”

  I took her hands in mind and gently pulled her closer. I hugged her then, tentatively at first, making sure she wasn’t about to knee me in the crotch. She felt good against my chest, and after a moment, she returned the embrace.

  We broke apart a moment later, but that touch left something lingering on my skin.

  “Come on,” I said. “Let’s go inside. I’ll make sure he doesn’t go shooting anymore while we’re here.”

  “Good luck with that,” she said.

  I hefted the bags up and marched toward the front door with Millie keeping close beside me.

  11

  Millie

  The lodge was a massive structure that stretched back further than I would’ve guessed. The decor was all western: lots of pictures of mountains and livestock mixed with stuffed deer heads mounted above most the doorways. Even the rugs were patterned with tiny cowboys and horses. It was like walking into a Disneyland ride, except nicer.

  Byron’s housekeeper was a Ukrainian woman with short cut hair and a rich accent named Alba. “Welcome, welcome,” she said, as she took us to our rooms. “Byron does not get many guests, yes? Not many at all. Very nice to have more people out here.” She was older, in her fifties, but still pretty. She wore jeans with multicolored thread and a button-down shirt with tassels on the elbows.

  My room was next door to Rees’s, with a big queen bed, a dresser, an attached bathroom, and an ancient TV in the corner with a round glass screen. I took ten minutes to unpack and got myself settled before Rees appeared and pulled me out into the hallway. “They’re cooking the bird,” he said.

  “What?” I asked, looking around like some animals might come charging. A stuffed moose head hung above the door at the end of the hall and its antlers touched the ceiling.

  “The bird,” he said. “The one that psycho shot. They’re cleaning it right now.”

  I stare at him then shook my head, barely understanding. Where I was from, people didn’t eat wild animals—much less killed their own food. I knew where meat came from, of course. I wasn’t a complete idiot. But the act of murdering an animal and cutting up its carcass into pieces to then cook for sustenance had been divorced for me from the actual act of pulling the trigger and carrying the body.

  “For dinner?” I asked, feeling stupid.

  He laughed and nodded. “For dinner,” he said. “Come on. Let’s go get a look at this.”

  I followed him reluctantly back down the hall, down a staircase, and through another series of halls and rooms, before coming to a large open living room and kitchen area. It was massive, probably the size of the whole back of the house, and the view out the huge back glass sliding doors was incredible: the mountains, looming over the prairie. It was like we were alone in the whole world, and there wasn’t a single soul nearby.

  Alba and Byron stood in the kitchen together. The bird was between then, half-plucked.

  “Leave it to me, damn it,” Byron said, banging his fist next to the pheasant’s body. “I can clean it, you know that.”

  “I know that,” Alba said, sounding patient. “But you do bad job. You rush too much, yes? I prepare bird. Besides, not enough here for all you to eat, yes? I cook more.”

  “It’s plenty big,” Byron said, pointing at what must have been a three-pound animal, at best, and definitely wasn’t enough to feed three—even though I didn’t plan on touching it.

  “Losing your mind out here,” Alba said, gesturing toward the poor, dead creature. “That small bird. Not enough for three. Enough for you, maybe, for one. But not for three. Let me cook, you go away.”

  Byron turned in our direction and spotted us then. He seemed annoyed about it, but stormed over to a cabinet, grabbed a bottle of something brown and three glasses, then stomped toward the back doors. “This way,” he grunted.

  Rees glanced at me then followed him. Alba beamed at us like Byron always acted this way.

  I got the doors open and we stepped out onto the back deck. Comfortable chairs and a gourmet built-in grill sat on the left, and a small firepit crackled down in the grass, surrounded by more chairs. He walked to it and took a seat, placing the glasses on the stone rim of the pit, and poured quickly, before they got too hot. He handed each of us one. Rees sat across from him, and I sat next to Rees, blinking when the wind shifted and blew smoke in my face.

  “So, Rees,” Byron said after slugging back his drink, “you wanna talk about that Italian singer you fucked?”

  Rees nearly choked on his whisky and I leaned toward him, ready to pound on his back. He gathered himself quickly.

  “I never slept with her,” he said, which sounded a little too defensive. “I didn’t know you’d heard about that.”

  “I get the news out here,” Byron said, making a face. “What do you think I am, anyway?”

  “I think you’re rich and isolated,” Rees said. “And a little insane.”

  Byron cackled as he poured another drink. “Alright, fair enough. Alba keeps saying I need to get out a bit more. Truth is, she’s right. I’ve been out visiting my baby girl every weekend, and when her momma finally lets me have partial custody, she’ll come stay here as often as she’s allowed.”

  Rees tilted his head to one side. “You’re not on good terms with the mother?”

  “Ah, you know how it goes,” Byron said, waving a hand. “You shoot the gun one time around the baby and she’s all, you’re insane, you can’t shoot a gun around a baby, which isn’t true. Babies can’t e
ven move, can’t get in the damn way, and I wasn’t shooting in her direction. I’d never be unsafe around my little girl.”

  I sipped my drink to stifle my own suddenly coughing fit. That was the most insane thing I’d ever heard in my life. I knew rich people could be detached from reality, but Byron was on a whole different level.

  “Must be hard,” Rees said. “Not seeing your kid.”

  “Yeah, well, never thought I’d care much, but turns out I got a heart after all.” Byron leaned back in his chair, studying Reed. “You got kids? Or you ever think about having them?”

  Reed looked at me again, but this time held his gaze. I didn’t know what that stare meant, or why he turned in my direction when the conversation turned to babies, but it sent an odd chill down my spine.

  “No kids,” he said, shaking his head. “And never thought about having them before. The idea of wiping ass doesn’t appeal to me.’

  Byron barked a laugh. “You’re rich enough that you won’t be wiping any god damn baby ass,” he said, grinning. “Well, maybe a little, but not much. No boy, you trust me, having a little girl’s gonna change your life. Make you a cleaner man. More wholesome. You got something else to live for.”

  “I can see that,” Rees said, his face carefully composed, and I wondered if he meant that.

  “What about you, assistant girl?” Byron asked, looking at me.

  I squinted through the smoke. “No kids,” I said. “I always figured I’d have them one day though.”

  “Yeah? Bet you do, pretty girl like you. See Rees, this is the kind of woman you should be fucking, not some married Italian pop star.” Byron laughed at himself and took another drink.