Brand New Me

by Meg Benjamin

  Her father straightened slowly, his jaw firming. She knew that look. It meant somebody was going to suffer. And this time that somebody was probably going to be her. “I won’t pay for this, Deirdre.”

  She stiffened her spine. “No sir, I didn’t expect you to. It’s my business and I’ll pay for it.”

  His mouth twisted slightly, as if he’d tasted something bitter. “So how did you expect to pay for it? I have approval on all your trust funds. And I won’t approve any damn fool coffee shop. You’ve got a job here, and I expect you to do it.”

  Deirdre swallowed. She should have anticipated this particular move. Three months. The funds revert to me in three months. “I have my savings, Dad. And my portfolio. That should be enough to get me started.”

  “You can’t sell any Brandenburg, Inc. stock without approval of the family, Deirdre.” Her father’s eyes bored through her. “Did you forget that? I won’t approve it. And I’ll make sure nobody else does either.”

  “Aunt Reba will,” she blurted, and was immediately sorry she had.

  Her father folded his arms across his chest. “Reba. Is that it? Did my fool sister put you up to this?”

  She gritted her teeth. She knew from long experience that she wouldn’t win any verbal battles with her father. “Nobody ‘put me up to this’, Dad. I told you. I’ve wanted to do this since college. And now seemed like the right time.”

  “All right then.” Her father’s voice sounded like a preacher threatening fire and brimstone. “Go ahead. Leave a job that most business majors would have killed to get. Go open your damn coffee shop. But you don’t get a penny from me, not a penny, you understand? No cosigned loans, no stock approval, no credit. Go on out there and see how you do on your own, without any cushion from me.”

  Deirdre licked her lips. “I’m sorry you’re upset, Dad.”

  “Upset?” For a moment, her father looked as if steam might issue from his ears. “You’re making the mistake of your life. How the hell do you expect me to feel?”

  Her pulse hammered in her ears. Her stomach roiled with a mixture of emotions—righteous anger with a soupçon of terror and maybe a touch of guilt. “I sort of hoped you’d feel proud of me.”

  “Proud of you?” Her father’s mouth drew up into a sneer. “Think again.”

  She sighed. “Okay, I guess there’s nothing more to talk about then. I have some vacation time coming. I’ll take it over the next two weeks. As I said, if you want me to help train my replacement, I will.”

  Her father’s face had turned the color of a nasty sunburn. “No. You don’t get vacation time. I told you—you get nothing. I want you out of here now. You’ve got thirty minutes to clear out your desk. Security will escort you to the front door.”

  Deirdre’s throat clenched so tightly she had a hard time breathing. “If that’s what you want,” she managed to murmur.

  He said nothing, his eyes burning holes in her back as she left the room.

  Outside the office she took a moment to catch her breath. Her heart hammered painfully. That particular conversation was going to hurt deep down to her toes as soon as she let it, but she didn’t have time for that right now. “Thirty minutes,” she muttered. “Well, thank god I believe in uncluttered desks.”

  Chapter Two

  Deirdre cradled her cousin Docia’s son, watching Docia make iced tea. The converted barn where she lived had a huge combination living-dining room, with bedrooms overhead. A shaft of sunlight fell across the scarlet and blue carpet on the planked pine floor, picking out the warm gold of the wood.

  Docia had been her hero for as long as she could remember. Six feet tall, flaming red hair, outsized opinions to go along with her statuesque frame. Deirdre didn’t think she’d ever seen Docia intimidated, afraid to say what she thought. She’d always done her best to follow her cousin’s example, and she’d succeeded with everyone except her father. Of course, in a lot of ways, her father was the only one who counted.

  She swallowed hard, trying to fight down the now familiar surge of panic in her gut. It’ll be all right, Deirdre. You can do this. You can.

  The baby in her arms gurgled, blowing a tiny bubble in her direction. She smiled down at his baby grin, ignoring her own churning stomach. “How’d you decide on Rolf? Is that a family name?”

  Docia grimaced. “A Toleffson family name, and the alternative was Thor. I figured Rolf would at least give the kid a chance, although he’ll probably get Muppet jokes. Or people who think it means Roll on the Floor Laughing.”

  “It’s not spelled like that.” She shifted Rolf to her other shoulder, noting the slightly wet patch he left behind. She stifled another clench in her chest, this one entirely practical. She only had two pairs of jeans and a couple of knit shirts, along with a single pair of khakis—not much for a job search in Konigsburg. Why the hell hadn’t she spent some of her money on non-working clothes when she’d still had money to spend?

  “Are you ready to tell me what’s going on, Dee, or do you need another glass of tea?” Docia smiled down at her, but her eyes were speculative. “I’m really happy to have you here, but it’s not like you to show up without any warning in a car full of power suits.”

  Another glass of tea would be welcome, but Deirdre knew she couldn’t put explanations off forever. “Thanks for the tea, Dosh. I’m here because I quit my job with Brandenburg, Inc.”

  Docia raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

  “Because I wanted to do something different.” Deirdre blew out a quick breath, not meeting her cousin’s gaze. “I want to open a custom coffee roaster with a coffee shop. Dad doesn’t think much of the idea.”

  “But you had that internship with the coffee roaster in Austin. I remember. I stopped by and visited you once. And you were a barista too. You and Allie had all those conversations about free trade coffee the summer when you worked here.”

  Ironic that Docia remembered everything her father seemed to have forgotten. “Dad wants me to go on working for him, I guess. He’s not too open to alternatives.”

  Docia grimaced. “No, he’s not known for that. So does Uncle John know where you are right now, that you were coming up here to visit me?”

  Deirdre shrugged. “I didn’t tell him. I don’t think he cares.”

  Docia leaned forward, resting her hand on Deirdre’s knee. “Sweetie, of course he cares. He just lost his temper. When he’s had a chance to cool down, he’ll understand. You’re all he’s got.”

  “Maybe. I don’t think he’s going to cool down this time, though. Not for a while, anyway. I mean, he had security escort me out of the building after I quit, and when I got back to my apartment, they told me I had a day to clear out my things.” Deirdre rubbed a hand against Rolf’s warm back as he snuggled against her. It was oddly soothing.

  Docia’s eyes widened. “He evicted his own daughter?”

  Deirdre shrugged. “Well, the apartment is owned by the company, after all, and I quit. So technically I wasn’t entitled to it anymore.”

  “For god’s sake, Dee, you’re a major stockholder in that company. So am I, for that matter.”

  “I was.” She blew out a breath. “I mean, I still am. But my stock account is sort of in limbo at the moment. Daddy has control of it and he cut off my access.”

  Docia frowned. “But you’ve got other accounts, right? Savings? Credit cards?”

  “The cards have been cancelled. And my savings accounts are frozen.” Deirdre took another deep breath, trying to east the tension in her shoulders. “I knew I should have taken Dad’s name off those accounts after I graduated from college, opened new ones in my own name, but I never got around to doing it. And, of course, the trusts are blocked, but I expected that.”

  “But how can he freeze your savings accounts? It’s your money, right?”

  “It’s my money, but it’s in accounts he controls. I don’t know how he managed to block them, but since he’s a signatory on most of them, and since Brandenburg, Inc. is a major stoc
k holder in the bank, he probably just pulled some strings.”

  Docia shook her head. “I think you need a good lawyer, Dee. And a good accountant. Believe me, I can set you up with both. The Toleffsons are a full-service family.”

  Deirdre shrugged. “It wouldn’t help. No matter who I found, Dad would have better ones, and more of them. I just have to guts it out for three months until I hit twenty-five. That’s when I come into the trusts. I don’t think there’s any way he could block that. They’re part of Mama’s will.”

  “But what will you live on until then?”

  “Well—” Deirdre licked her lips, “—I’ve got an account here in Konigsburg. The money I earned that summer I worked as a barista, and some from the job in Austin.”

  “Your money from working for three months one summer? How far will that go?”

  “Not far,” Deirdre agreed. “I’ll need to find a job here in town while I look for shop locations.”

  “Around here, in Konigsburg?” Docia gave her one of her dazzling smiles. “That’s wonderful, Dee. And it’s smart—you’ve already got family here, and friends.”

  Deirdre nodded. “Konigsburg was always my first choice for a location. There’s no coffee roaster closer than Austin and lots of restaurants to buy custom blends. But I’ll need to get a job before I can start working on the shop. You know, just temporarily.” She managed to keep her smile bright. “I don’t suppose you know anyone who needs some part-time help?”

  Her cousin owned Kent’s Hill Country Books. For a relatively small shop, it always seemed fairly busy. Deirdre was hoping they could use an extra clerk.

  Docia shook her head, regretfully. “Bad timing. I just hired on a new clerk last week to help me and Janie at the shop. And Jess and I decided to hire a nanny together, so we don’t need an au pair. She starts next week. If either of them doesn’t work out, you’ll be my first choice for a replacement, though.”

  Deirdre felt the same tightness in her chest she’d felt every day since she’d left Houston. You’ll be fine. You will. It wasn’t like she didn’t have any alternatives. Really.

  “Have you considered going down to San Antonio?” Docia asked. “Mama would give you a job at the foundation in a shot, and since she runs it, Uncle John wouldn’t have any say.”

  Deirdre shook her head. “I need to stay here. I was hoping I could find a shop location and maybe start working on getting it in shape.” Assuming she could find a landlord willing to give her a lease based on a windfall in three months.

  Docia sighed. “Listen, Deirdre, I can’t give you a job, but I can give you a place to stay. Cal’s brother Erik just got married, and he and his wife have moved out of the upstairs apartment at the bookshop. I used to live there. So did Pete and Janie. You can stay there as long as you need to, rent free.”

  Deirdre licked her lips again. A truly independent woman would probably say no. A truly independent woman would be more concerned about making her own way in the world.

  A truly independent woman wouldn’t be scared shitless at the thought of being totally on her own, without funds, for the first time in her life. Deirdre blew out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. “Thanks, Docia. I appreciate it.”

  She patted Deirdre’s hand. “That’s okay, kid. Believe me. I’ve been where you are. I came up here on my own, too. And it was a pretty scary time.”

  Of course Docia’s mama and daddy had never disowned her. If anything, from what Deirdre remembered, they’d wanted to help her more than she’d wanted them to help.

  Baby Rolf whimpered slightly, and Deirdre eased her grip, staring down at the baby’s astonishing blue-black eyes. “He’s so beautiful, Docia,” she murmured.

  Docia’s grin could have lit the city of Konigsburg, with enough left over for Marble Falls. “He is, isn’t he? Come to Mama, kid.” She stretched her arms toward Rolf, who gave her a miraculous toothless smile.

  Deirdre’s chest clenched again, but at least this time it wasn’t from fear.

  Tom Ames watched the Steinbruner brothers shoot pool, badly. Pool was one of the games he’d learned to play well early on, since pool hustling had a longer and more honorable tradition than card sharping. He could do both, of course, and had when he needed to. Fortunately, now that he owned the Faro himself, his earlier professions made it easier to spot those who were trying to hustle his customers.

  The Steinbruners could have been hustled by the average eight-year-old with good hand-eye coordination, but they were usually too broke to make hustling worthwhile. They’d been nursing their beers for over an hour now, close to the house record but typical.

  The brothers were a holdover from the bad old days of the Faro. From what he’d managed to pick up listening to other old timers, Tom gathered they’d been better at fighting than at pool, which wasn’t hard to believe. It had taken him a little while to convince them that the Faro’s fighting days were through, but apparently they liked playing pool more than they liked bashing heads. At any rate, they’d become fixtures by now, even if they did manage to get by with no more than two beers in a night.

  Tom leaned his elbows on the bar and watched one of them scratch for what seemed like the twentieth time. He wasn’t sure which one it was—he had a hard time telling them apart. Probably Denny, since Harold and Billy Ray were even worse than he was.

  Beside him, Nando Avrogado whistled through his teeth. “Maybe they could start betting on the one who makes the least number of points. That way they’d at least have some competition going.”

  “Probably make them start winning, given the well-known Steinbruner luck.”

  Nando grinned and sipped his beer. He was one of the few locals who frequented the Faro instead of the Dew Drop. Since he was one of the Konigsburg cops, he might have come around to keep an eye on things, but Tom didn’t think so. Nando was currently off duty. No, his presence was more likely a tribute to Chico.

  Tom glanced at the other side of the room where Chico Burnside sat dozing on his stool. His massive arms were folded across his chest. His legs were stretched out in front of him, far enough that anyone wanting to walk along that side of the room would have to make a slight detour. He wore a red bandana tied around his forehead to hold back his long black hair, and his arms were inscribed with a network of blue and red tattoos. Just looking at Chico was enough to make most drunks think twice about starting anything, which was sort of the point since Chico was the Faro’s bouncer.

  He was also a distant relation of Nando’s, although Tom had never been able to pin down the exact degree of separation.

  One of the Steinbruners hit the cue ball so violently it popped off the table, bouncing across the floor to rest against Chico’s toe. One of them—Harold?—inched over in Chico’s direction. He reached down for the ball, jostling Chico’s foot in the process.

  Chico’s eyes slitted open enough to give the Steinbruner in question a lethal look. “Watch it,” he rumbled.

  Harold grinned and shrugged. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to disturb your beauty sleep.”

  At the table, the other Steinbruners snickered.

  Tom sighed, tossing his towel on the bar. “Crap.” He strode quickly toward the opening at the end of the bar.

  Chico’s hands formed into fists at his sides. Harold had already turned away from him, heading back toward the table. Chico slid off his stool with an animal grace that would have shocked most patrons of the Faro if they’d ever paid attention. Tom, who’d seen Chico in action more than he liked to admit, wasn’t shocked at all.

  At the bar, Nando stood up from his stool.

  “Hey,” Tom called sharply.

  Chico paused and turned in his direction, his shoulders tensing. The three Steinbruners gave him a cursory glance before they returned to their game.

  Tom stepped next to the table. “You scratch that felt, Billy Ray, and you’ll have to pay for the repairs.”

  Billy Ray blinked at him. “Aw, c’mon, Ames. It’s just a game. We didn
’t do anything to the table.”

  “Maybe. But it’s the only pool table I’ve got, and I don’t want it gouged.”

  The Steinbruners all stared at him blankly, then slowly became aware of Chico standing at the side of the table. Denny cleared his throat. “Right. We’ll be careful. No damages.”

  Tom watched them play for a few minutes longer, then walked back to Chico’s stool. “Okay?”

  He shrugged, slowly. “Just startled is all. I wouldn’t have done anything to them, just reminded them about the rules. That Billy Ray’s a disrespectful little shit, though.”

  Tom nodded. “Right.” He picked up a few empty bottles from one of the tables and headed back toward the bar.

  Nando had already relaxed, sipping his beer while he watched the Steinbruners rag each other.

  Tom leaned back against the bar again. On the far side of the room, Sylvia was balancing a tray that was overloaded with beers. Tom tensed, ready to sprint to her side if they started to fall, but she managed to place them on the table. The customers at the next table were already waving empty bottles in her direction, and Sylvia turned toward them, glowering.

  “You need a new barmaid,” Nando commented.

  Tom gave him a dry smile. “Maybe one of the Dew Drop barmaids is ready to move on.”

  Nando shook his head, grimacing. “You need a barmaid that would class up the place. Not a refugee from Mystery Science Theater 3000.”

  Tom collected the bottles Sylvia handed him, then supplied her with a new round. “He’s right,” she snapped, nodding in Nando’s direction. “I can’t do everything.”

  “Ah sweetheart, what you do, you do real well.” Nando gave her his best killer smile.

  Sylvia snarled and headed back to her tables.