by B. E. Baker
Brooklyn backs out of the room, and I do my very best to ignore his classically beautiful face while I discuss cannibalizing one of our poorly performing companies and buying another to consume it.
“We’d double our profits by Trig’s last projections,” Calvin says. “And I think they may be a little conservative.”
“Company morale?” I ask. “Has anyone taken that into account? The entire model only works if the new divisions can work with the old.”
Every time I look down at my notepad to cross another item off my list, my eyes scan past Rob. Every time he shifts, I lose my train of thought. He smiles every time I flub, like he knows he’s causing my lack of focus. My stomach doesn’t flip anymore, but my leg bounces and my hands tremble like I’ve had too much coffee. It feels like I’ve got a test next period, or like I’m about to go on a date with a guy I’ve been dreaming about for days.
Which is stupid. I don’t even know why he’s here.
I finally dismiss everyone. Before the last employee has even walked through the door, Rob’s walking toward me.
“I missed you,” he says simply.
My heart contracts, the traitor. “I missed you, too.” My mouth is fired. Fired without a severance package. “What I mean is,” I scramble to say, “I shouldn’t have left in such a rush. Brunch with my mom sucked, and I should’ve postponed to spend more time with my brother.”
Rob pulls a chair over next to me and straddles it. He takes my hand in his. “Let me take you out tonight.”
“You flew all the way to Colorado to ask me on a date?” I ask, a little breathless.
“I told my dad I came out to review the purchase order and make sure you were happy with the large shipment of cars we sent.”
“Is that why you came?” I ask.
“No.”
“Then why did you come?”
The corners of his mouth turn up, and my stomach cartwheels. “I flew out to yell at you.”
Which is almost exactly what I told him on Friday. I beam at him. “Well, get on with it.”
“I’ve been thinking about this a lot, and you can’t just fly away whenever you get annoyed by something.”
“What makes you think I was annoyed?” I arch one eyebrow.
“Your face when my date with Paisley came up.”
“And you’re an expert on my facial expressions?”
“I’m an expert on women who are annoyed.”
“Why is that?” I ask.
“I’ve got a mother and three younger sisters. I’ve caused my share of annoyance, and I’ve learned to recognize the symptoms.”
“Fine.” I huff. “Read this.”
“You’re not really annoyed this time. You’re pretending to be annoyed, but really you’re flirting, which is promising.”
“Are you done yet?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “From now on, you have to talk to me about how you’re feeling. I can’t afford to jet all around the country, you know.” He winces then, like he stepped on a landmine I don’t see. “You got mad when you heard I was going out with Paisley, which is dumb. Because I’ve known her for years and years, and I never asked her out until Geo and Trig badgered me to do it. You’re smart, so you’d know that, which means you know I don’t actually like Paisley. We agreed to go out on a mock date to get Geo and Trig to leave us alone.”
“Or maybe you never realized she was so amazing because you were blinded by Geo.”
He snorts. “Yeah, that’s not it.”
“Fine, I might have figured out that it was something like that,” I admit.
He drops my hand, and it’s like I’m a patient on life support whose oxygen was shut off. “Then why’d you leave?”
“I had brunch with my mom,” I protest pathetically. “And I didn’t want to deal with her freaking out if I canceled.”
“Liar.”
“Fine. It was the hike,” I say. “I can’t hike, and I’ll never be able to hike.” I choke up a little, so I clear my throat. “I can’t even do a fake date like you and Paisley had, not if it involves climbing mountains, or even hills.”
“Sure you can,” he says. “I could carry you. It would have been a much better work out for me that way.”
I roll my eyes. “Be serious.”
“I am. But if you don’t want to do that, I could push you. Or you could wheel yourself. Or you could have taken the Gondola. We would have worked something out, but I can’t work anything out if you leave.”
I close my eyes. He’s missing the point. When I open them, Rob’s nose is only an inch away from mine. I inhale sharply.
“Not that it matters. I don’t even like hiking all that much.”
“But you set up a double date to hike Stone Mountain, and at Sushi-ology you mentioned you found it after hiking Kennesaw.”
Rob shifts toward me slowly, so slowly my heart stops in my chest. I’m suffering a catastrophic heart attack and I don’t even care. I only care whether he keeps moving toward me. Please keep moving.
His lips brush against mine and my insides melt into a puddle of goo. He pulls back until his mouth’s only a millimeter away from mine. “I practically hate hiking.” He presses his lips against mine again and talks against my mouth. “Compared to how I feel about this right here.”
My heart hammers in my chest and I realize that I like it too. I like it more than I have any right to like anything, especially with someone like Rob. He could wink and have almost any girl he meets. Danger, danger, a little voice in my head screams. This won’t end well. The voice is right. I should listen.
But instead, I tell it to shut up. I grab Rob’s face and kiss him back until I can’t breathe at all.
Which is about the time Brooklyn clears her throat behind me.
“You’re fired,” I tell her.
Rob laughs like he thinks I’m kidding, which I suppose I ought to be. After all, I’m the one acting like a high school sophomore. But I’ve never wanted to kick someone out of a room so badly in my entire life.
8
Rob
“So that’s a yes to going to lunch with me?” I ask after Brooklyn leaves.
Brekka smiles against my lips.
“And you’re not really firing your assistant, right?”
She leans back in her wheelchair and groans. “I guess not. She’s pretty good at rearranging my meetings for things like a last minute lunch.”
“Men storm your office unannounced and demand you go to lunch with them pretty regularly, huh?”
“Daily, sir, daily.”
“Oh really?” I ask. “Well, I’m lucky none of those guys showed up today. Because I’d hate to be arrested for assault, and I might punch anyone who tried to take you away.”
“Me Tarzan, you Jane,” she says, sticking out her bottom lip.
“Maybe I’m a little old fashioned, but I’m not quite a Neanderthal,” I say.
She smirks.
“Admit it. You like me, at least a little bit.”
She blushes.
“And while threatening to fire someone who interrupted our kiss is flattering, I think we’re going to be doing this a lot. Which means you can’t really fire everyone who clears his or her throat to interrupt us. You’d spend all your time interviewing new candidates.”
“Are we going to be doing this a lot?” Brekka leans forward and brushes another kiss against my lips. It’s better than the first bite of Blue Bell ice cream, or the first line of text written with a freshly sharpened pencil, or even the perfect glaze on a gorgeous walnut shelf.
“I hope so,” I whisper. I could live on the feeling of her smile against my mouth forever.
“If it’s going to be a normal thing, I guess I can let the infraction slide.”
I pull away slowly so I can see her face. “This time we’re on your side of the world. I googled a couple options for lunch, but I’m happy to let you pick the place if you have any preferences. You seem like someone who might be a little particul
ar about where you eat.”
“What’s your plan?” she asks.
I lift my eyebrows. “Are you testing me again?”
She shrugs. “Maybe a little.”
“Alma Cocina is supposed to be good if you’re in the mood for tacos,” I say, “or Ray’s in the City if you want seafood. Their website promises they fly the fish in fresh daily.”
She bobs her head. “Not bad at all. I like taco salad better than tacos, but Alma Cocina has both. Let’s go there. We had fish last time we went out.”
“True.” A little zing runs up my spine at her mention of ‘last time,’ like we’re a couple already.
I follow her out to her Range Rover, almost identical to her brother’s, except it’s equipped with a push pull on the steering wheel. I don’t offer to open her door or help her load her wheelchair, even though every single fiber of my body rebels at the omission. I walk around to the passenger side and climb in, my hands fisted uselessly at my side. After a moment, I whip out my phone so she won’t feel like I’m staring at her. She’s fast at transferring, especially impressive since she’s driving an SUV. She’s faster than Clive, and she does it all in the nicest suit I’ve ever seen, with spiky brown high heels on her feet.
“Graceful,” I can’t help myself from saying.
She doesn’t respond, but the corners of her mouth tilt upward. I’ll take it. She doesn’t make much conversation between the office and Alma Cocina, but it’s not far. Once we’ve reached the restaurant, the stress lines around her eyes relax and she appears much happier.
“Brekka,” the hostess greets her. “Your normal table?”
She nods, and inclines her head toward me. “But for two this time.”
The hostess smiles at me and we follow her over. The extra chair’s already been moved so Brekka can wheel right up to the table.
A heavy guy with a thick mustache hands me a menu without a glance. “Shredded chicken taco salad, no cheese, dressing on the side?” When he smiles at Brekka, his eyes sparkle with genuine affection.
“You know it,” she says. “Cactus ranch.”
He winks. “Like I needed the reminder.”
I clear my throat. “I’ll have—”
And… he’s already walked off.
“He’ll come right back,” Brekka says. “He probably went to put in my order first in case I’m leaving early. I’m usually in a hurry.”
“They clearly love you here,” I say.
“I order for the office pretty often when we’re swamped with work. They value my business as a client.”
And they like her as a person. People can’t fake that well. It doesn’t surprise me, but it’s good to know she’s kind to people who work for her. Not everyone with means treats subordinates with respect and consideration. A few moments later, the same waiter returns and takes my order for three tacos and tortilla soup.
I’m actually surprised when our food comes out at the same time.
“This looks amazing,” I say.
“You won’t be disappointed,” Brekka says. “It may not be as authentic as you’d find in Mexico, or even Texas, but it’s pretty good. Especially for Denver.”
“It’s nice to have decent food options that are close to the office.”
“Where do you usually eat lunch?” Brekka asks.
I shrug. “At my desk. Is that pathetic?”
“Not pathetic, but a little sad. You don’t meet friends?”
I think about her specifying her table is for two this time. I’m guessing she isn’t meeting friends too often either. It’s hard to be the boss sometimes. “Not for lunch, not usually. I’m not really friends with the people I work with. Being the boss doesn’t help, or at least, that’s what I tell myself when I get down about it.”
“It can be lonely sometimes, especially now that Trig’s gone, but I still get along with several of my employees pretty well.”
“I can see that you do, but I don’t have much in common with most of my employees. I don’t even drive the kind of car we sell.”
Brekka grins. “Traitor. How can you call yourself a car salesman?”
I shake my head. “I never would. I doubt I could sell a car if I had to in order to save my life.”
She tilts her head. “How’d you end up managing all those dealerships, then?”
“My issue is that I like most people when I meet them, and I want to give them the very best deal I possibly can. I don’t have that problem in general, but when I get specific my empathetic guilt kicks in.” I wave my hands. “So management is easier for me than a one-on-one sale. I had too much guilt at making a profit off of a person I’d met.”
“How did your family end up with car dealerships? I’m guessing your dad wasn’t like you?”
“My dad was a good old boy car salesman when I was a kid. He moved more cars than anyone, and ironically, I think it was because he liked everyone just like I do. Only, he didn’t feel guilty about making a little profit on the service he provided.”
“What do you mean he liked people and that’s why he did well?” Brekka asks.
“I think people could tell Dad was genuine, and he really wanted to find them the best car for their lifestyle. He did well enough they bumped him up to manager, and then he saved his money and opened a used car lot. It mudded along for a few years, but he saved everything he earned. Eventually he bought a franchise and opened his first Honda dealership. He wasn’t pleased when, instead of dedicating myself to learning the art of car sales, I enlisted.”
“He wasn’t ever a military man?”
“Nope, not even close. He was probably closer to protesting Vietnam.” I laugh, because I can totally see my dad, knee deep in mud, holding some hand written sign as a twenty-something.
“Why’d you go that route?” Brekka asks. “Marines are impressive, but most people are encouraged that direction by friends or family.”
“And I was,” I say. “My lifelong best friend worked on me for years. His grandpa had been a Marine and his dad talked about it nonstop. He didn’t want to do it alone, so I decided to try it.”
“And you were better than he was.”
How could she possibly know that? “We both did fine.”
She smiles knowingly. “You miss it?”
“Sometimes. Mostly I miss Mark.”
“You weren’t passionate to join the Marines, but you did it anyway for your friend. And then you came home… and even though you didn’t want to sell cars, you’re running the dealerships. How many?”
“Four now. Three Honda dealerships and an Acura one we just started a year ago.”
“Pretty impressive. Is the management different enough from sales that you actually enjoy it?”
I shake my head. “Not really, no, but no one else in my family can do it, so I don’t have much choice. My dad’s got arthritis in his hands. It got bad enough that working at a desk and doing paper and computer work was a misery. He muddled through with the help of his assistant, now my assistant, but it’s hard for him in today’s world. Technology has changed a lot, and as you noted, my assistant is no spring chicken either.”
“The dealerships struggled?”
Brekka sees a lot. “Yeah. They were in the black when I stepped in, but barely. I had to learn quite a bit, but I still managed to double our profits in the first year. We’re making ten times what we made that first year now.”
“I bet your parents are proud.”
I shrug. “I guess so.”
“Which is why you’re doing it, right?”
“I always do what needs to be done.”
The corner of Brekka’s mouth turns up. “For some reason that conjures an image in my mind of you hugging a puppy with cancer while you slowly suffocate it.”
“You’re a little disturbed. You know that, right?”
“Maybe.” She smiles. “Probably. But tell me this. What would you do with your life if you could choose anything? If no best friend, or dad, or mom, or anyone
was telling you what to do?”
I think about the enormous pile of furniture sitting in my shop, slowly disappearing under a thick layer of sawdust. “That’s a conversation for another time.”
“Like when?” she asks.
“The next time you visit Atlanta,” I say. “I’ll show you what I wish I could do if I didn’t have a family or any other obligations.”
“Your family should support you, not weigh you down,” Brekka says.
“That’s where you’re wrong. Your family lifts you sometimes, but you lift them too, whenever you can. I can right now, so I do.”
“Don’t you want to love what you do for work?”
“What do you mean? Like I should be a professional ice cream taster?” I wink. “Or maybe I could watch movies all day and call myself a film critic. I mean, sure. I have a pie in the sky job, and it’s about as realistic as either of those.”
She lifts one eyebrow. “What is it? You said it’s a conversation for another day, but I think there’s no time like the present.”
I can see why she’d feel that way, but I’m strangely nervous to disclose details about my goofy hobby to this accomplished titan of economics.
“Come on,” she says. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll imagine you’re designing lingerie, or like, braiding dog hair. Or wait, I know, maybe you wish you could be a figure skater and I have to wait because your tights are all back home!”
I groan. “Stop. I make furniture, that’s it. If I didn’t have to run the family business, I’d spend more time doing that. I might even, I don’t know, try to sell some of it. But it’s not like normal furniture. I experiment with things, like adding blown glass, or crackle glaze, or epoxy. I put a river running through split wood, or I use raw edges with multiple wood types.”
She beams at me. “I can see that, absolutely. Those cabinets you made for Clive were exceptional, and I imagine he was on a budget.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, my budget. I got that wood for cheap and decided it wouldn’t work for what I initially intended.”
