Big Bad Boss

by Amy Faye

  “I’m doing everything you say, so you better not try to screw me over with this.”

  “You have my word. I won’t do anything to you.”

  She takes a deep breath and for a moment I think she’s reconsidering. Maybe she won’t do it after all. Maybe she’s finally decided that I’m not really her boss after all, or at least that she doesn’t have to listen to everything I say. But then she dips her hands under her seat belt and starts to pull.

  Inch after inch of creamy flesh shows itself, pale and untouched by the sun and soft. I reach over and trace the line up her side. She squirms away and her hands drop from her shirt.

  “Not if you’re going to tickle me,” she says defiantly.

  “I didn’t mean to, but I couldn’t resist.”

  “Well, try resisting this time,” she says. She starts again. The shirt is already over the waist-line belt now, and it comes up easier. But she still hesitates, still moves slow. I try to keep my eyes on the road but as she starts to reveal the lower parts of her rib cage it’s becoming awfully difficult.

  “Keep going,” I say. I don’t know if she needed it, but I can’t help myself.

  “I’m doing it,” she says defensively. “Now stop trying to push me, will you?”

  “You’re right. I shouldn’t try to rush you.”

  “Damn right,” she growls. Her hands shift as she fits her fingers under the wire of her bra, and then she slides the shirt up the last little bit.

  Now my eyes can’t possibly stay on the road very well. I’m lucky that we’re in a stretch of fairly straight road. They bounce a little as they’re freed from the shirt, creamy and round and topped with rose-petal nipples.

  “God, you’re beautiful,” I say. I’m almost surprised the words come out.

  Then an instant later she’s putting them away again. Reluctantly, I move my eyes back to the road. My crotch lets me know that it’s more than ready to do whatever needs doing. Sadly, I can’t think of anything.

  “There. You happy now?”

  “Depends, are you offering something more?”

  She scoffs. “That’s not enough?”

  I lick my teeth. “With a body like yours, Cait, it’s never going to be enough.”

  Eight

  Cait

  I don’t know if it’s something that’s wrong with me, or what. I’ve never liked to hold a man’s hand, no matter how close I am to him. But the money in this case makes it a completely different question, for better or worse.

  “Is everyone here?”

  I look at Jasper. He taps his foot nervously. I don’t know how to read him; I’ve never known how to read him. But I know that he’s not impatient, now. He’s not waiting for everything to start moving faster so he can get on with his day. He’s worried. And maybe he should be.

  “This should be everyone.”

  Arthur’s the one who is impatient. He looks like he wants nothing more than to get the hell out of here. But I don’t think that’s an option for him. The middle son, Terrence, is the odd man out.

  He’s waiting with the quiet patience of a man who’s hoping things go better than expected. Arthur’s got no expectations at all. He expects that he can get more done somewhere outside of this lawyer’s office. Oh, if only he knew.

  On the other hand, things can only go worse for Jasper. After seeing over his father’s estate for the last five years, he’s going to be losing. Which accounts for the nerves, even if he did get a warning from the lawyer that maybe he didn’t deserve.

  Spencer is sitting behind the desk, his eyes surveying the five of us. The fifth, Arthur’s wife, looks sour. She wants to get out of here. I didn’t even catch her name. But I can tell that if Arthur thinks that he can get more done outside of this office, she’s actively opposed to being here at all.

  “Let’s get this over with,” Arthur says finally.

  “Okay. Well, then, I guess the only thing to do now is to get on with the reading, right?”

  Beside me, gripping my hand in a forced show of affection, Jasper nods. “Okay, let’s hear it.”

  The lawyer opens a manila folder and spills the contents out on the table. Assorted goodies fall out first. The papers only come a moment later, folded up in a heavy clear folder, like you would use for presentations.

  The items on the table represent most of the elder Blunden’s life, I guess. The better part of what he did with his life, outside of the business.

  A ring of keys, only one key on it. Another pair of keys fall off separate. The one still on the ring had a large logo emblazoned on the front, crossed racing flags. The key to his car.

  The other two, though, were building keys, but to what buildings, I don’t know.

  The lawyer ignored the stuff on the table and started to read. “I, Craig Blunden, being of sound mind, declare that this is my Last Will and Testament, hereby revoking all previous and prior Wills.”

  He read through that part quickly, as if it were standard. As if there was nothing useful in it. As someone who’s glanced through a few contracts in my time, I can’t disagree with his assessment.

  “Uhh…” Spencer took a deep breath and his eyes scanned down the page. “Okay. Article one, introductory provisions. First part, as I leave behind no wife, I have three children, Jasper, Terry, and Arthur. Should there be some other children and/or issue of mine, I have intentionally omitted provisions for them in this Will.

  “Definitions of ‘Issue’ and ‘Children…’ uh… clarifying remarks… Okay. Article two. Nomination of fiduciaries. That is, uh, representatives. First part. ‘I nominate Richard Spencer as personal representative of my Will. If he shall fail to qualify or cease to act, I nominate Karl Altintas as successor.’ Uh… sorry, I know this is quite a lot of official stuff and I’m trying to get through it. Now. Uh… I guess we’ll skip the legal stuff.”

  “Thanks,” Arthur cut in. His voice didn’t hold a note of thankfulness in it, though. He sounded annoyed, and nobody had any doubts about why that would be.

  “Okay, um. Next. Article three. The good stuff, I guess. Provisions for distribution of the estate. Um. First part says that any and all debts owed come off the top. Came off. I have already seen to that, but to be honest, your father was always a very reasonable, reliable man. He tended to keep his debts small, and never anything less than very manageable.”

  There’s a long, uncomfortable silence. Jasper’s hand squeeze mine and I realize for the first time that he might be thinking about me any my feelings. Which is cute, but it’s a little too late. Maybe if he’d done this sooner it would have made a difference, but as it stands it’s too little, too late.

  “Second part. Tangible personal property. I give my tangible personal property in accordance with the following instructions:

  “To my eldest son, Jasper, I leave my business and daily operation. I’ve prepared you your entire life for this, and I know that you’ll be able to take over for me when the time comes.”

  There’s a moment of silence while people think their private thoughts. Eventually they continue.

  “Now. Next on the list. To my middle son, Terrence. To you I leave my physical estate, including the property and house. He makes a special note here, that this does not include the summer home in Colorado.”

  Terry nods, as if that was about what he expected.

  “Last, to my youngest son Arthur, I leave the summer home, and my car, which he helped me to keep running at great personal cost to himself.”

  Arthur nods, as well. His jaw works itself from side to side, loosening itself, but I can see that it doesn’t stay loose long before it starts to tighten back up again.

  “As to liquid assets, they shall be divided evenly between my three sons.”

  The lawyer let out a long breath and started to scan the next page with his eyes before he read again.

  “However.” The word came down like a stone. I hoped that I knew what to expect, because if we’d just been married for no reason then I’
m going to be upset. If things are even worse, then that’s even worse.

  “However?” It’s Terrence that speaks. His eyes are hard on the lawyer. “What do you mean ‘However?’”

  “I’m reading, right here. ‘However.’ If any of my sons should not be married, and should not have children of their own within the calendar year, then that child’s portion of their inheritance is thereby null and void. Should this come to pass, their portion is split between the remaining sons, if any. Should none of my sons be in a position to claim their birthright, then it shall in its entirety be donated to charity.”

  I see Terry’s eyes shut tight and his jaw screw shut. But I don’t have time to be thinking about that, because I’ve got something else to worry about.

  I’m not going to lose what I’ve already got coming to me. No chance in hell. Except that now, it apparently comes with a hell of a ‘but.’

  Nine

  Jasper

  I don’t know what I’m supposed to say, at this point. It’s not like I asked the old man to put it in the will. I’d have rather he given me the business and everything else. Give Art and Terry nothing at all.

  But if he absolutely had to split it, then give me the business, Terry the money, and Art the house. After all, Art’s never going to amount to much so he’ll need a place to stay. Terry can, I don’t know, do whatever he’s going to do with the money. And then I can keep taking fruit from the money tree. Simple plan, simple execution, and everyone goes home happy.

  Instead, he’s made my life, Cait’s life, Art and Terry’s lives, all more complicated, and for no reason at all.

  Caitlynn’s voice is low as we walk out. I don’t know how this is normally done, but I’ve got a copy of the will for myself, and a copy of the office key as if I needed another one, and a check for another 2 million. I’m not looking forward to the taxes that are going to come out of that thing. But at least it’s something, right?

  “So… does he clarify what he means by ‘have children of their own’?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I’ll tell you about it in the car.” My eyes scan down the page, making sure that I haven’t missed anything. It’s pretty simple and pretty direct legal language. Simple is good, when you’re trying to make a contract. It makes the whole thing easier.

  When you’re trying to tear it down, though, simple is the worst you can get. Simple, fully explained, and direct is about the worst you can get because it means that the whole thing is as bullet proof as it can possibly get, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

  Well, there’s something I could do about it. I could knock down the idea that he was of sound mind five years ago. It’s a thought. I set it aside for the car conversation.

  At some point, I’m going to have to figure out what the next move is, and worse still, I’m going to have to hedge my bets on it.

  It’s not until we slide into the car and close the doors that I start talking to Cait again. Cait Blunden, I guess, now.

  “So what’s the word?”

  “This is the part you’re interested in. Section three, heading D. Definition of ‘Children’. There’s already one above, but he’s re-defined it just in case there’s any confusion.”

  “Okay?”

  “The word ‘children’ is here defined as a living, natural, blood-related child. Specifically disallowed are adopted children, children created via in-vitro fertilization, children carried to term via a surrogate, ‘test tube babies,’ or ongoing pregnancies.”

  She frowns. “So we’re pretty much screwed.”

  “Not quite,” I mutter. “We’ve got three months, and we’ve got another way out.”

  “I’m not having your child, that’s for sure.”

  “Well, first, there’s no mention that it must be the wife’s child.”

  She scowls at me, angry enough that I have to wonder whether or not I’ve said something wrong. If I have, I couldn’t begin to guess what it was.

  “Second… I mean, this is all nuts. Right? I’m not just crazy, am I? This whole will doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Agreed,” she says. “Makes no sense.”

  “So we can probably get a judge to throw it out, don’t you think? I’m sure that we’ve at least got an ally in Terry. He’s not even married. So there’s no way that he’s going to allow this to go forward. We come to him, tell him that we’re interested in getting the will thrown out, too, and then we can get an annulment as soon as it goes through.”

  Cait’s scowl didn’t lessen at that thought, which more than a little bit confuses me. But I’m not about to go digging through it.

  “So, what, then?”

  “Well, the way I see it, getting the will tossed out will take time.”

  “So?”

  “So we’ve got a chance that we don’t get what we wanted. Maybe there’s proof that he wasn’t nuts when he wrote this thing. Maybe the judge doesn’t think that this is proof enough that he clearly was, and in the absence of proof of insanity, he rules that it’s still valid and applicable.”

  “And then what?”

  “Then we’ve done all that work, spent all that money, taken all these risks, for nothing.”

  “I don’t really like that option.”

  “No. But then again, our only alternative is…”

  “Is…?”

  “Making sure that we meet the requirements of the will to get my inheritance.”

  “I told you, I’m not having your child. Never mind having your child, I’m not fucking you.”

  “Please,” I scoff. “I don’t want to talk about this right now. You’re not thinking straight, for one, and for another, I’m not interested in hearing about it. These are our options. In for a penny, in for a pound, is how I see it.”

  She scowls even deeper still. At this point I’m pretty sure that if she gets the opportunity she’s going to stab me in my sleep. Even I am smart enough to know to quit while I’m ahead.

  “Let’s just get out of here, okay? We’ve got other things to worry about, too. Other worries. Bigger worries.”

  “Oh, good,” she growls. “Other worries. Just what the doctor ordered.”

  “Yep. Just what the doctor ordered indeed.” I turn the key in the ignition and the engine kicks over easily. “Now. We’ve got to get you moved over to my place. No reason to maintain two houses, at least while we’re supposedly living together, right?”

  She looks out the window without answering. In a certain sense, it’s an answer, whether she wants to admit it or not. We’ve got a job to do, and I’m going to make damn sure that I get my money.

  She’ll come around sooner or later, but I’m not going to give it up. So if I have to move some furniture, I’m not going to let that stop me.

  She’s still mad at me when we get to her apartment. Still mad at me when I start carrying things over to the rented truck. Still mad at me when we’re unloading the stuff from the truck into my house. Still mad when I’m ordering food for supper. But there’s one thing that I know she doesn’t want to admit to me. Something that she’s going to have to face eventually, whether she likes it or not. But if she doesn’t want to admit it right now, that’s fine.

  She’s not as mad as she was, and once she’s a little less mad, she’ll see things from my point of view. We’re already stuck in this mess, already having to face what’s in front of us. If we’ve gone this far, and we’re already stuck together, there’s no reason not to go the extra mile to actually get paid something for our efforts.

  It’s simple logic at this point, and whether she likes me or not doesn’t come anywhere near changing that. No matter how much she wants to pout about it.

  Ten

  Cait

  I can see it in Jasper’s eyes, every time he looks at me. I can see it, and it makes me a little bit sick to my stomach, but I can’t help it. Can’t change it.

  As far as he’s concerned, his dick is as good as wet already. But I’m not going to give him the satisfaction.
Not if I can help it.

  Still, I have to admit, even if only to myself: he’s good for something. When he strips his jacket off and leaves it in the car, I’m treated to something unexpected. I always thought of him as a soft rich boy’s son.

  Instead, I find that he’s broad in the shoulder, and trim in the waist, and his muscles flex appealingly as he hoists the weight of my dining room table. I’m sure he’s probably got plenty of tables of his own, but I’m not about to leave this one behind. It was my grandmother’s.

  If there’s any complaints from the peanut gallery, he doesn’t voice them. I suppose I should at least be thankful for that.

  He walks up as they clear out the last of my things into the back of the truck. The two guys that he’s got helping, wearing uniforms with the logo of the moving company emblazoned across the chest, wait by the back of the truck. Jasper’s breath is coming hard, but he straightens as he gets close.

  “What’s next?”

  “Nothing next,” I tell him. It’s the truth, in spite of myself.

  “So that’s it?”

  “That’s it,” I confirm.

  He makes a hand motion towards the guys and they immediately start closing up the truck: putting away the rear ramp, closing the back gate, climbing around to make sure that everything is secure. By the time that we’re both in the car, they’re already climbing the side steps to get into the large rig.

  I watch all this in halfway amazement, even though I ought to know better. It’s not like they’ve just performed a miracle or anything. They just did their jobs, and while they did them effectively and efficiently, it’s nothing to write home about. They probably do this sort of thing every day. Sometimes more than once a day, I bet.

  “I’m still mad at you,” I say as we step into the car.

  Jasper shrugs and turns the engine over. As the lights on the dashboard blink and the radio starts to play softly I relax into my seat.

  “You’ll get over it,” he answers finally. I don’t have the energy to argue with him. I have more important things to think about. I should always keep that in mind.