“Morning,” he says.
“Hi, Patrick!” My mouth is so dry his name catches in my throat.
Pressing his lips together, he sits down in a striped swivel chair. “Sorry to drag you away. How’s it going in there?”
“All set. Just waiting on the flowers.”
I perch on the chair across from him and press my trembling knees together. I radiate vodka and fear.
“I only have a minute,” he says.
“Okay.” Who told him? One of the servers? The woman in the red dress?
He runs a hand through his thinning red hair. “I’ll get right to it, Grace. I hired you last year because I thought it was the right thing to do. I knew you were having some…difficulty, and I wanted to help.”
My insides are frozen. I can hardly breathe. “I appreciate that.”
“But I’ll be honest,” he says. “My instincts told me not to do it.”
My heart withers. All I can think to do is nod.
“Stephanie convinced me to give you a shot. She saw potential during your interview. I agreed to give you six months to prove yourself.”
Blood rushes to my face as I remember my rocky first days. “I know I’ve made mistakes, Patrick –”
He holds up his hand. “I know. A three-tiered cake instead of five. Hors d’ouevres delivered to the wrong venue. A thirty-second delay on a wedding song.”
Wow. He knows my fuck-ups by heart. I guess showing up to work drunk is the last straw.
I clutch my caffeine-shaky hands in my lap. It doesn’t matter if I had good intentions. Proving myself is over. My career might be over, too, before I even gave it a chance.
My mind skips back to the first event I ever planned. I always loved parties, even simple birthdays for the neighbors’ kids and cookouts during the summer. Tonight we might go back to a strained, silent house, but for a few hours we could be like everyone else.
I was twenty when my mother said that two of my father’s parishioners wanted to throw an engagement party at the church. When I heard they were looking for an event planner, I offered to work for free.
I was too young and naïve to be nervous. I read every book I could find on hosting and planning. My theme was a vintage garden party, and even though I had a shoestring budget, all of the women loved it.
I’d never been so happy. I finally felt good at something. I had a purpose in life.
After that, whenever there was an event at my father’s church, I got to plan it. Baptisms, memorials, retirement parties where ten people showed up – it didn’t matter what it was. I threw my heart and soul into it. I never had much money to work with, but I had the ability to give people memories. I could make them smile.
And the best part was that I was useful at my father’s church. Every time I helped plan a fundraiser or birthday party, I belonged. I wasn’t the misfit daughter anymore. He never said he was proud of me, but I could see it in his eyes. At least I hoped I could.
But after all the press about James, my father didn’t want me involved at the church anymore. I was a distraction. Not to mention hard-headed and disobedient.
I’d pushed James’s parents to join me in a lawsuit so we could convince a civil jury to do what the criminal justice system hadn’t: make Bram Russell pay. All I wanted was some tiny bit of justice. What was thirteen million dollars to a man like Bram Russell? Less than nothing. But he fought like hell for it anyway.
My father wanted me to drop the case. Accept that the law was on the side of James’s killer and move on.
But I wouldn’t. I defied him. And worse, I lost.
Pastor Garrett’s name was in the papers every day for months in connection with me. His stubborn, defiant daughter. Not the son he wanted. Not even his own blood.
Now I’m losing my job. It’s my fault. I let Bram Russell knock me down again.
Squaring my shoulders, I look Patrick in the eye. I’ll tell him the truth and resign. He deserves that much after giving me a chance.
“Patrick, I –”
“My point is,” he says. “You’ve made mistakes, but we’ve all had disasters in this business.”
I frown. “We have?”
He gives me a wry smile. “Are you kidding? When I first started out? I made every mistake in the book. Twice.”
“Does that mean you’re not…firing me?”
He laughs. “Firing you? I think you’re ready to take on more responsibility. In fact, you’ll need to after I let Stephanie go.”
I whipsaw from relief to confusion in less than a second. “Wait a minute. You’re letting Stephanie go?”
“I can’t give you more responsibility and keep her on.”
“But she told you to hire me. She taught me everything I know.”
“Yes, she did, and she’s good at her job. But you have a feel for this business.” He clenches his fists for emphasis. “You have real talent. You’re creative, you love the work, you’re good with people. You work too hard, but you’ll find a balance.”
I don’t love the work, I almost blurt. I love the distraction. My dream was my own business, back when I still had dreams.
“The choice was between Stephanie and me?” I ask. My voice is hoarse and quiet.
“Yes.”
“When did you decide?”
“When you agreed to work on your day off for the fourth time since August. That kind of dedication is rare.”
“I came in because Stephanie begged.”
“You came,” he says. “That’s what matters.”
I twist my hands together. “But I shouldn’t have. If I’d done the right thing –”
I catch a glimpse of vivid purple and green as the revolving door swings open and the florist’s driver walks in. Stephanie rushes across the lobby and takes one of the huge vases out of his arms. As she hustles past me, she catches my eye and winks.
I remember what she said the first day she trained me. Working for Divine Events was her dream job. She’d toiled through years of shit work for caterers and wedding planners, but now she was proud to tell people what she did.
I lean forward and lower my voice. “Stephanie has two kids. Her husband just took a job with a start-up. It doesn’t pay much yet.”
Patrick sighs. “I know. Running a business forces me to make tough decisions.”
“I don’t feel right about this,” I say. “Can’t we keep everything as it is?”
He shakes his head. “I understand you and Stephanie are friends, but sometimes change is necessary. We have to leave what’s familiar to see what’s possible.”
He stands up. End of discussion. A cocktail of vodka and guilt swirls in my stomach.
I should be thrilled. Instead I feel sick.
“I have to run,” he says. “We’ll talk about your raise tomorrow, okay?”
I swallow hard. “My raise?”
“More responsibility means more money. Oh, and one last thing. We’ve been invited to put in bids on three events for Phantom Industries. If we win, it could be huge for us.”
I stare up at him. “Phantom,” I repeat in a shocked monotone.
“I’m aware of your history with Bram Russell, but this is a big opportunity.”
“Would I have to…” I trail off.
“See him personally? I don’t know. But you can handle it. You’re a professional. You’ve proven that over the last eight months.”
He turns to go. My mind whirls. Did Bram Russell know? Did he ask us to bid just to taunt me? To get close so he could mock me to my face?
My heart is jolting in my chest. The walls lurch and close in on me. I can’t breathe.
Suddenly I hear my own voice. It sounds strong and clear. “I quit.”
Patrick stops dead. He turns around slowly. “Did you say something, Grace?”
I stand up on numb legs. “I said, thank you for your confidence, but I’ve decided to go in a different direction.”
He frowns. “I don’t understand.”
“
It’s been on my mind for a few weeks,” I say. “I think now is a good time for me to pursue other opportunities.”
“Look, if this is about Stephanie…”
“This is about me. Really.”
He gives me a skeptical look. “Are you sure? I need to commit to one of you. We can’t undo this if you change your mind.”
“I won’t.”
Patrick says something about hoping I find what I’m looking for, but his eyes are clouded with doubt. Maybe I’m one of those people who can’t be happy, no matter how many chances I get. Maybe I’m so stuck in the past, the future doesn’t exist for me.
That’s what he’s thinking. That’s what I’m thinking, too.
It isn’t until after the event is over and I’ve said goodbye to Stephanie that I remember the letter in my bag.
It’s still early afternoon. Plenty of time.
I don’t have my job anymore, but I have something important to do. Something that will give my broken life meaning.
A quick drink in the hotel bar and I’ll be ready.
Bram
The most important meeting of my life is about to start when I get a text from security downstairs.
Young woman here to see you, Mr. Russell. Doesn’t have an appointment. Says it’s an emergency.
I send a subtle eye-roll toward the screen. Unfortunate timing. Very.
It’s almost like the universe is trying to tell me something. You can burnish the outside Bram, but inside you’re still the same twisted fuck.
For months I’ve been trying my damnedest to turn over a new leaf. No one-night stands, no parties, nothing outside the bounds of utterly normal. I’ve turned my whole life into merger material. I’ve become so ordinary I bore the shit out of myself.
Not that I’m celibate. I’m just more subtle about it these days.
Who’s this girl, an ex? Somebody who saw me on the news? I have to hand it to her. She went for the jugular right away.
It’s amazing what can pass for an emergency these days. You didn’t call me. I wish I hadn’t fucked you on the first date. I can’t stop thinking about your cock.
If I weren’t on my way to finalize the merger between Phantom and Signet Industries, the biggest private military company in the world, I’d have security send her up. It might be a nice little diversion. I’d make her wait in reception for a few minutes, just long enough so she could wallow in the fact that, yes, she really did show up at my office uninvited and wearing a slutty dress.
I’d have my assistant offer her some tea. And when I finally called her in to my office, I’d sit her down and ask about the nature of her crisis. Did it have anything to do with missing me? Needing to know if she meant something to me? Waking up this morning with a wet pussy after dreaming of her one night in my bed?
Because chances are it was only one. I rarely let a woman stay for two.
Once I’d diagnosed her symptoms, I’d temporarily alleviate them by slicing the string of her panties with a letter opener and fucking her blind on my leather sofa. After sending her on her merry way, I’d order in lunch.
The whole scenario should make me hard, or at least smile. Instead, I feel the overwhelming urge to yawn.
I get this feeling every so often, and right now I have it in spades. Like there’s nothing left to do. I’ve traveled everywhere, fucked everybody, bought everything. I’ve been a soldier of fortune, an interrogator for the Polish government, and now, CEO of a global company. I even spent a year as a Master at a school called Black Halo in England. The dark shit that happened there – I keep those memories tucked away in a distant corner of my soul.
The only challenge left is this merger, and after that, life is one gray, boring blur.
I’m not available today, I text back. Tell her to call and make an appointment.
Yes, Sir.
“Gentlemen, Ladies,” I say, walking into the conference room with my assistant at my back. The CEO and CFO of Signet stand up. The founder’s daughter, Miriam Peck, stays seated. Her walker is stashed in the corner.
She gives me a short nod. I nod back. Feels like déjà vu, but it’s not. Getting her here two years ago was easy. This time? It took months of persuasion, charm, and dinners in swanky restaurants to convince her that I was Signet’s future. Nothing – and no one – will fuck this up for me.
“I saw your interview this morning,” she says. “Well done.”
Good. I hate that shit. I’m glad she couldn’t tell. “Thank you.”
As I take a seat at the head of the table, Miriam’s gaze wanders to the display of weapons on the wall. A medieval Italian pistol. A rusted machete from an uncontacted Amazonian tribe. Four clubs from different time periods, one with a wiry black hair still wrapped in the studs.
I’m willing to play the conventional businessman, but I draw the line at boring paintings on my walls.
“Those belong to you?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“You’re a collector?”
“From the age of fifteen.”
“What a strange hobby,” she says, squinting at a 17th century horseman’s pick.
“I prefer to call it an obsession.”
Tugging on my French cuffs, I smile. If she only knew the sorts of hobbies I used to indulge in. The bacchanalias that lasted for days. The drinking and fucking until I lost count of bottles and bodies. The training of girls to become slaves and submissives.
There’s that urge to yawn again.
It used to be enjoyable, but after a while it felt like breaking horses that wanted to be broken. There was no challenge. No fight. I’ve shattered the minds of traitors in shithole foreign prisons. Now that was a challenge. Girls who want to be fucked and pretend they don’t? Not so much.
An intern comes in with a beverage tray. Everyone asks for coffee but Miriam, who takes Scotch.
I raise my cup in a silent cheers. “Shall we begin?”
Her CFO opens his mouth but Miriam waves him silent. “Let’s get right to it,” she says. “The pros and cons as I see them.”
She details both in blunt terms. Phantom has a great success rate, and in eight years we haven’t had a single civilian casualty. Our training center is state of the art. It’s a dangerous world. Governments need us, and so do their people.
But the company is relatively new, and some of our methods are controversial. One of our snipers just killed a government official’s guard in Jordan.
“But I can forgive those things,” she says, flicking a gnarled hand. “Shit happens in this industry.” Pausing, she stares at me over the rim of her highball glass. “It’s you I’m concerned about.”
I can’t even pretend to be surprised. “Go on.”
“Two years ago we were right here in this room, hammering out a merger. Then that damn trial started and the publicity made a mess of things.”
“I remember,” I say.
I can still hear her voice on the phone the morning she pulled the plug. I can’t have Signet associated with this. Maybe if you win…in the future…
I won. And it’s the future. Nothing will derail me this time.
“As we’ve discussed, no criminal charges were filed,” I say. “The jury ruled in my favor in the civil case.”
She sighs as if I’m putting her to sleep. “I know, Bram. I’ve done my due diligence. But how things look is more important than the truth. I need your personal promise. Until this deal is signed, I don’t want to read about you in the press.”
“Neither do I,” I say, but she’s unamused.
“Not a whiff of controversy. If you’re going to run Phantom after I die, which will be soon if I’m lucky, I want to know it’s in stable hands. My great-grandfather started this company –”
I know, I know. World War I, son of a farmer, started from nothing. I did my due diligence, too.
My phone lights up again. The young lady won’t leave. She insists on seeing you.
Insists?
Yes. She’s gettin
g loud.
My stomach clenches. Who the fuck, and why?
The possibilities are practically endless, and they’re all bad. One of these days, I was bound to knock some girl up. I’m surprised it hasn’t happened already. Or maybe I fucked a married woman and her husband threw her out. She needs cash and a place to stay. With her kids, her dog, and her mother.
I tap my phone while pretending to listen. Call Fritz. He’ll take care of it.
I nod at Miriam, though I haven’t heard a word. After countless meetings at the Signet offices upstate, I know she’s got about ten minutes left before she barks at her assistant to bring her walker. Then she’ll shuffle out of here as fast as her eighty-three year-old legs will allow.
The only way to her Town Car is through the lobby. Where some girl is losing her shit over me right now.
“So we’ll draw up the agreement and sign it when the lawyers are done bleeding us dry,” Miriam says. “Three or four weeks. All you boys agree?”
You boys. If my mother had lived this long, she’d probably be a lot like her. I smile, but her CEO and CFO scowl. Poor bastards haven’t figured it out. A woman like Miriam requires a sense of humor.
“Perfect,” I say, getting up.
I shake hands all around, and escort Mrs. Peck and her assistant to the elevator. As soon as the doors slide shut, I call Fritz, head of security and my best friend.
“Is the girl gone?”
“I walked her out two minutes ago.”
“Who was she? What did she want?”
“I dealt with it.”
There’s something in his voice I don’t like. “I asked what she wanted.”
He doesn’t answer.
“Fritz?”
“Come to my office.”
“Why?”
He pauses. “See you when you get here.”
I knock on Fritz’s door. His office is in the bowels of the building, off a concrete hallway filled with pipes and fluorescent lights. I offered to move him to a higher floor into an office with windows, but he likes privacy. He likes the dark.
We’re similar that way. He’s not just my head of security. He’s been my best friend since we were dirt poor townies in high school.
Breaking Grace Page 2
