by Tara Lain
His head snapped up. “But they’re not my plans! They’re your plans. They’re Brock’s plans. Hell, they may even be Christasy’s plans, but they’re not mine!” He clamped his jaw closed again and stared at his lap.
She sighed audibly. “So you’ve been offered a chance that most young men would kill for and you’ve turned it down. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you’d told Brock no. Well then, all you have to do is call Mark and tell him I made a mistake and you’ve refused the opportunity.”
“I-I haven’t told Brock no—yet.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Oh? Well then, do it quickly or more people are going to make the same mistake I did.” She rose and walked to the door.
“You—you think I should go to New York, don’t you?”
She crossed her arms. Not a good sign. “Red, you accuse me of making plans for you that you don’t want, and then you ask my opinion. How does that work? I won’t have you feeling that I forced you to do something against your will. You can make your own decisions.” Still, there was an uncomfortable look in her eyes.
“But I value your viewpoint.” She made a face at him and he grinned and said, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to accuse you of being a meddling grandmother.”
She leaned forward. “What I think is this whole opportunity with BrandFace may not be for you at all, but if you don’t explore it, at least a little, you may always wonder what you missed. I know I would if it were me.”
“But it is you, right? I mean, Brock’s interested in you too.”
She shrugged. “I’m sure the opportunities for little old ladies are far fewer than those for gorgeous young men. Plus, I’ll be honest. This video with Christasy means I either need to get more serious about my blog or hang it up. I don’t think I have the luxury of dabbling anymore.”
“You’re not a little old lady. And getting serious about your blog is pretty exciting, you’ve got to admit.”
“True.” She smiled, but she looked a little more conflicted than he’d have expected. Maybe she was realizing the responsibility of being a success. “When does Brock want you to go to New York?”
“I don’t know exactly, but I think soon. Maybe he’ll say something tonight.”
Her expression was an interesting combo of severe and loving, kind of like a parent that expected him to grow up. Plus, there was an overlay of something he didn’t see in her face too often—anxiety. “What are you going to do, Redmond?”
He sighed. “I guess it’s a pretty amazing opportunity.”
She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. Her expression screamed Duh! “Is it just that you think Mark will disapprove or not understand?”
“Not exactly. I imagine he feels the same way you do. That I’d be crazy not to follow up on the chance. But I think—” His words drifted off because he wasn’t sure what he thought.
“Do you think it’s appropriate to base your future on what could happen with Mark?” She held up a hand. “I’m not saying it’s inappropriate. I just wonder what you think. Are you so sure of how you feel about Mark and the degree to which he returns those feelings to want to build your life around it?”
Man, when she said it that way, it sounded dumb. Hell, he might dream that Mark cared for him, but he sure didn’t have any evidence beyond a couple looks at Brock that might or might not have been jealousy. Hell, it’s probably just wishful thinking. He chewed his lower lip. “How do you feel about Brock?”
“Feel about him?” She cocked her head. “In what way?”
He lifted his shoulders and dropped them. “I mean, is he on the level?”
“Of course. We know he’s the head of BrandFace. All you have to do is google him.”
“I know that, but just because he is who he is, doesn’t mean he’s actually interested in some hick kid from Ever After, New York.”
She frowned. “Then why would he say he is?”
His turn to give her the duh look.
“Oh.” She pressed a finger against her lips. “You think …”
He jumped up and paced away from her. “I don’t know if I think that. But he’s a really sexy guy and he comes on kind of strong.”
“Well, I read that he’s single and also gay, so perhaps you’re picking up a personal interest.”
He plopped on the edge of the bed. “A man like that hasn’t got any reason to be interested in a kid like me.” He wanted to say “except for sex,” but he didn’t.
“Don’t sell yourself short, Redmond.”
He fell back and covered his eyes with his arm. Enough. He was totally sick of this conversation and the gut-ripping conflict that went with it. Gut-ripping was the right word. Nothing felt right. No peace, no matter which way he looked at the situation. If he could have figured a place to run, he’d be so gone.
The rustling of fabric and the soft but undisguised sigh meant Gran was leaving. Giving up on him. Yes, he felt bad, but he couldn’t face diving back into that whirlpool of confusion. She said, “Christasy’s picking me up for dinner in fifteen minutes. Do you want to come with us?”
“No, thanks. I’ll walk.”
The sound of the bedroom door closing allowed him to move his arm and open his eyes. One thing at a time. He reached into his pants pocket, pulled out the phone, and hit dial before he could change his mind—again. A stubborn streak in his belly said if Mark didn’t answer then that was an answer.
“Hi, Red.”
“Oh.” Red sat up. “Hi.”
“Sorry. I had to get back to the shop. It was really exciting, though, getting to see Christasy Anselmo and watching a video getting made. I mean, who knew it would be so professional?”
Mark’s voice sounded odd, but it was hard to figure out in what way. Kind of intense. Kind of phony. But nothing he said seemed insincere.
Red cleared his throat. “Yeah, well it sure was great how you made the house look so incredible. I mean no one would ever have known that Gran’s so-called workstation had been a glorified closet the day before. Gran was really grateful.”
“No big deal.”
“I think it was a really big deal.” They both stopped talking at once. Red shifted on the bed. Uncomfortable. “So, uh, pretty weird that this Wolfe guy wants me to go to New York, huh?”
“No. Not really. All the people in Ever After have been expecting it for years.” His voice had an odd sound. Resigned?
“It’s just Gran’s silly dream.”
“I guess not, right?” He added a little laugh, but it sounded sad.
About a thousand words pushed against Red’s lips. Do you want me to go? Do you care? Are you gay? If you say don’t go, I—What? What would he do? Break Gran’s heart? Never know what would have happened in New York? Prove to the whole town that he was a never-been? Red sighed real softly and let the silence drift on another few seconds. “Well, thanks again, Mark. You made this whole day possible for Gran and I’m so, so grateful. You’re great. Really, really great.”
“Sure. Thanks.” Pause. “Thanks for calling.” He hung up.
This time, Red’s sigh wasn’t soft at all.
Feeling like a robot, he rose off the bed, went to his bathroom, peed, washed his hands and face, brushed his teeth for good measure and then, out of excuses, he returned to the bedroom, grabbed his new windbreaker to replace the one—well, the other one—and walked out the front door toward Mom and Pop’s.
With his head down and hands in his pockets, he let his feet carry him while his head swirled with contradictions.
Gran was right. If he ignored the opportunity with BrandFace, he’d always wonder what it could have been. What was that old movie with Marlon Brando they’d made them watch in eleventh grade where Brando said, “I coulda been a contenda”? Red snorted. Yeah, I could be like that in ten years. But the idea of leaving Ever After and being, what was the word—dependent? At the mercy of Brock Wolfe—made Red queasy. Is it just that I’m so sheltered and set in my ways I’m scared to change? Probably. Jeez, that’s a cr
aptastic way to be for an eighteen-year-old guy. Still, there was something about Wolfe that he didn’t trust no matter how credible his credentials.
He sucked his lip. That’s probably just more fear of the unknown. Don’t be such a wimp.
But what about Mark?
Hell, what about him? Even if he is gay and wants me, do I want to spend my life keeping books for a small-town garage owner?
His throat tightened. Why does that sound so good?
The squeak of a door behind him shot up his spine and made him turn.
Phil Gordat was already out of the car and treading lightly but fast toward Red, while his other three geniuses crawled out of their seats.
Red’s heart slammed so hard it almost knocked him off his feet, and he stumbled backward. “Get the hell away from me, Phil!” He screamed it at the top of his lungs, then turned and ran. All he could think of was Mrs. Delphi, but jeez, he couldn’t put her in danger from these assholes.
Phil wasn’t wasting breath and the sound of his feet was hammering behind him as fast as Red’s pulse.
The words burst out. “Mrs. Delphi! Mrs. Delphi, call the cops, please.” Gasping, Red came even with the house next to hers and all he saw was darkness. No lights or candles or fireflies. No mysterious lady drinking tea. Nobody. A wave of dark washed over him, and for a second, he couldn’t catch his breath or see, and then he dashed to his left, hoping it would throw Phil off.
As Red veered, Phil’s hand shot by him, but then Phil corrected, grabbed Red’s arm, and yanked him off his feet. Wham. Red hit the ground, pulling Phil off-balance until he dropped to one knee.
A chance! Red leaped up, ran two steps, and slammed into a body. He flailed with a fist and kicked out with his right leg.
“Whoa. Take it easy, Redmond.”
Red gasped. “Brock!”
Brock carefully moved Red to the side and stepped forward toward Phil and his henchmen who’d now joined the asshole. “Excuse me, gentlemen. Was there something you wanted?”
Phil’s eyes widened, but he managed to stammer out, “Yeah. Him.”
“Oh? As it happens, Mr. Ridley is a friend of mine, so why don’t you discuss what you want with me?” He smiled, flashing those white, white teeth, and even Red shivered.
Phil swallowed hard, and the other guys looked stupidly scared. Red glanced at Brock from the side. What was it? Something about the reflection of the lights on his black pupils looked like the gleam that came from the eyes of a wild animal. His smile seemed to shine and, though his expression was polite, it wasn’t friendly.
Phil and his goons were big guys, but the four together couldn’t produce a fraction of the dark force that seemed to pour off of Brock. Shit, the dude was scary.
Brock said, “So? Start talking.” He took another step forward, and Phil stepped back.
“No. That’s okay.”
“Yes, it is okay and it had better stay that way. Clear? Good evening, gentlemen.” He turned as if four vicious guys weren’t behind him, took Red by the arm, and walked him to the big, black Mercedes at the curb.
A breeze blew, making the lights in the trees dance, and from somewhere behind him, Red heard the slightly quavering voice of Mrs. Delphi. “Be careful, Red.”
Red puffed out a breath and muttered, “A little late with that warning there, Mrs. D. Some damned witch you are.”
Brock cocked his head. “Excuse me?”
“Nothing. Sorry. Just recovering.”
Brock held the door until Red climbed into the passenger seat, then closed it and walked around to the driver’s side.
Red shoved his trembling hands under his thighs and leaned forward, sucking in air.
Brock slid into the driver’s seat, put a warm hand on Red’s thigh, but then pulled away from the curb. “I think it’s best if we put some distance between us and that collection of assholes.”
“Yeah, thanks.” Rocking back and forth felt comforting, so Red practiced breathing as he moved.
Brock glanced back as he turned left onto Anderson Street. “Who knew living in a small town could be so dangerous?”
Red inhaled, half wanting to agree and half to defend Ever After. “I imagine everyplace has it’s proportional share of buttwipes.”
Brock barked a laugh. “Probably, but in the big city, they tend to be more impersonal. I gather those miscreants knew precisely who they were attacking.”
Red nodded. “Phil Gordat. He’s made it his personal mission to assure my life’s a living hell. I keep thinking he’ll give up, but the minute I let my guard down, there he is.”
“Why doesn’t someone arrest the bastard?” He pulled into the parking lot at Mom and Pop’s but chose a space at the back.
“He’s the sheriff’s nephew.”
“Jesus, I guess nepotism thrives at all levels.” Brock made no move to get out of the car. “Where exactly is the sheriff’s office?”
Red frowned but said, “Farther down Anderson Street.”
Brock put the big car in gear and Red grabbed his arm. “No, please. It’ll just mean more harassment.”
Brock gazed at him. “You said these guys don’t seem to give up, correct?”
A single nod of the head was all Red could manage.
“Then obviously not doing anything isn’t correcting the situation.” He backed out. “Direct me.”
“Aren’t the others waiting for us?”
“Yes, and I’m sure they’ll keep waiting.”
“Go right two blocks and it’s on the left.”
By the time Brock pulled into the small lot at the sheriff’s office, Red’s whole body had turned to ice. All he could hope was that Sheriff Gordat wasn’t there.
But when they stepped inside the waiting room, Red knew no such luck. Big Mike Gordat stood beside the desk of the deputy who was likely on night duty, Art Kindleson.
Red froze and took a step back.
Brock glanced at him, then gave the sheriff a slow once-over. Something about Brock’s presence made the room seem still and a few degrees colder.
Like he’d been drawn to Brock, Gordat looked over his shoulder and straightened up. “Yeah, what can I do for you?”
“Sheriff Gordat?”
“Sure.” The sheriff glanced at Red. “Hello, Red.”
“Sheriff.”
“What’s up?” Gordat was clearly trying to look relaxed, but Brock’s gaze would have made Gandhi uncomfortable.
Brock’s dark-chocolate voice purred, “Sheriff, I was just driving down Arden Street to pick up my protégé and I found him in the process of being physically attacked by a man and three of his henchmen. I’m told that the man is familiar to you and happens to be your nephew, Phil or Phillip.” Brock said the word like it smelled bad. “I’m also told that this is the second time Phil has attacked Redmond.”
Gordat chuckled. “Oh yeah, well these guys just went to school together. They like to roughhouse. You know how guys can be?”
Brock stepped forward. “I know exactly how guys can be, and here’s my message. I’m not asking Red to press charges today, but let your nephew know that if this occurs again ever.” He snapped the word like a whip. “I’ll use the many billions of dollars at my disposal to destroy your nephew and you. Is that entirely clear? I’ll have him put in prison for hate crimes, and you’ll never work again when I’m done due to abuse of power. Clear?”
“Hate crimes? Abuse of—what the hell? You can’t prove that?”
Brock laughed soft and menacing. “Oh, Sheriff, as you so well know, when you have power and unlimited resources, you can prove anything you want.” Brock pulled a card from his pocket and extended it to Gordat. “Look it up. And meanwhile, I suggest you warn your self-loathing nephew that if he comes within sight of Red again, he won’t see daylight anymore. Am I clear?”
Red almost laughed hysterically as he heard Tom Cruise’s voice in his head saying, “Crystal.”
Brock took his arm and marched him out of the sheriff’s offic
e and then helped him into the car. A gap in the blinds at the front window of the office showed Gordat peering out at them.
Brock started the car and looked at Red as he pulled out and turned toward Mom and Pop’s. “Just remember, Red. Money and power don’t just buy material things. They buy protection and security.”
As the pressure in Red’s chest transformed from terror to elation, protection and security sounded better than anything.
Red glanced at Brock and smiled.
Chapter Thirteen
Holy crap the city’s big.
Red stared out the train window and watched the skyscrapers getting closer and bigger. This wasn’t the first time he’d been to New York, but the other time he’d had high school teachers herding him and a bunch of other students from museum to Broadway show. Now he was alone. Very, very alone.
It was the opposite of alone that had gotten Red onto the train.
Basking in the glow of Brock’s protection and security, he’d gone to the “wrap party” for Gran’s interview with Christasy and felt like a part of a big supportive family—not his everyday experience. He’d even gotten to introduce Kimmie to everyone and loved her big smiles. Finally, full of some kind of crazy confidence, he’d gone so far as to introduce Brock as his mentor. Man, that made Gran flash a lot of teeth.
Mentor schmentor. Red was a small-town boy riding toward the center of the universe prepared to do absofuckinglutely nothing. Hell, he wasn’t even sure how he’d find his way to BrandFace’s office. He’d seen New Yorkers hailing cabs and he couldn’t picture himself shoving his way in front of little old ladies and whistling through his teeth to grab a ride. Jeez, how much do you tip a cabdriver? If I mess it up, will he dump me in the river?
The train wooshed into the dark underground and began to slow as they entered the station. All around Red, people jumped to their feet, grabbed bags, backpacks, and totes, and were at the doors pressing to exit before Red even stood. Whatever was out there, he wasn’t in a hurry to get to it. Jeez, could he manage to get a block before he made a total idiot of himself?
Finally, hauling the small overnight bag Brock had told him to bring, he stepped off the train onto the platform. The crowds had all gone to the right when they got off, so he took a breath and turned right, just like he knew what he was doing. A few stragglers were still descending the steps from the train—mostly elderly people who needed help—and Red smiled at them like he was a seasoned traveler. As he got closer to the chaos in the terminal, he came up on a few guys holding cards with names on them who were kind of blocking the walkway. Red turned sideways to scoot through them when a voice called, “Ridley!”
