by Catori, Ava
I got out of my truck and made my way over. "Gorgeous car you've got. Are you having a problem?"
"Thanks," he said, giving me the once over. "Something is off. I'm not sure what, but it went from gliding like a gazelle to moving like a slug. I've not a clue why."
"I'm pretty good with cars. I mean, I'm no Aston Martin expert, but I can give it a once over if you'd like. I have a shop. The Vanquish tends to go through coils faster than some of the other models. I'm guessing it's an electrical resistance to the coil. We can check to see if your sensor light went on. Did you notice anything?"
"I'm not good with this stuff. I gas and go, and pay somebody to take care of it. Sounds like you know your stuff. It's my lucky day," he said. "I'm actually in the market for someone to maintain my car collection. If you can fix this, we should talk. The name is Brad." He offered his hand and shook mine with solid confidence.
I wasn't sure what was going on, but maintaining some rich guy's car collection? There had to be good money in that. "Where are you heading? Do you need a lift?"
"Oh, I'm staying here. Thankfully, I made it," he said.
I was confused. "Here?" I pointed to the house. There had to be some kind of mistake.
"Yes. I got in late last night, but went to run an errand this morning. Coming back, well, here we are." His focus was back on the car. The tall man scowled at the engine.
The Aston Martin was amazing. But my focus was now on the house, and this creature before me. Why was he staying with Barbara? What business did he have here? The same Barbara...no, stop. I'm not in her league. Now I know why. Foolish me, a beat down pick-up truck and motorcycle, and she's used to dating men with exotic cars. I got it now. I shook my head. She was slumming, playing with the trash.
I stepped next to him, looked at the vehicle and scanned a few things. I'd need a better look at everything to find his answer, but maybe he didn't want some nobody guy looking at his pricy car either.
"I've got some work to do here, but if you want to bring it over to my shop when I finish, I'll see if I can find your issue," I offered, not wanting to help now that I knew he was staying with Barbara.
"Great, I really don't want to have to drive back to Manhattan with the chance of breaking down." He closed the hood of the car and together we went inside.
I wanted to ask him how long he knew Barbara. I wanted to know how long he’d be in town, but it wasn't my business. She wasn't my business, so why was there a thread of possessiveness twisting through me?
He went for the kitchen, while I headed upstairs. I had a few more details to take care of, some trim work, and I wanted to use a razor blade and clean up paint splattered on a window or two.
I'd start in the main bedroom first. Get it over with. I didn't want to be in there longer than I had to be. I was still bitter. That's when I saw it...I didn't mean to notice, but how could I not? My stomach twisted on seeing the bed. She wasn't sleeping alone, and her company had some things tossed beside it. My shoulders grew tense. My jaw stiffened. I swallowed hard and went to work, telling myself it didn't matter anyway. She wasted no time moving on. It took me by surprise. I wasn't expecting that. What shook me more was my reaction. Why was I jealous? Was it my ego? My pride? Or did I want more time with her?
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The first three days of the week were pure hell. Monday I had a short conversation with Dylan Bishop. He knew already. He'd known for a while the place was doomed. The old man had tears in his eyes and it broke my heart. If I had asked him, he would have been the one to tell his crew but the least I could do was to spare him that.
Tuesday night he asked the first shift to stay while the second settled in and I spoke to them.
I told them how sorry I was, that there was no other choice. I told them Dylan worked wonders to keep the place running as long as it did which was the honest to God truth.
I said that closing was unavoidable since they were manufacturing an outdated component for obsolete machines with antique tools.
At times I think I even managed to sound sincere but the truth of the matter was, I was lying through my teeth.
But what else was I going to do?
How do you tell people who felt they were losing everything, they were shit out of luck because some idiots born with a silver spoon in their mouths didn't know better than to let someone else manage their inheritance? One wrong decision after another they had driven their enterprise into the ground.
The factory had been part of a package deal. The previous owners sold it, attached to some prime real estate in other parts of Jersey. DCD wanted the land badly enough to agree to getting saddled with this dead horse.
The place had literally been bled dry. It was a textbook example of poor management and lack of foresight. Not a penny had been invested in several decades. It was nothing short of a miracle it was still operating.
Given how profitable the rest of the deal had been for DCD, my boss agreed to let me redistribute the proceeds from the sale of the equipment as part of a severance package.
I may have sort of tricked him into this by saying I would be lucky to sell it as scrap metal. The truth was that reaching out to one of my South American college friends, I was working a deal with a Chilean factory interested in those industrial hand me downs. It was better than nothing but for those people it wouldn't be enough.
The next day the atmosphere in the lines was that of a funeral wake. There wasn't much more for me to do until the last order shipped out so I ran out catching a glimpse of Ryder's father walking around the grief stricken employees offering a few words of comfort here and there. Next week we would be reducing the production to one shift and the first set of heads were going to roll.
In a couple of weeks, Dylan Bishop and a few men would remain on site to package the equipment and prepare it for pick up. Dylan Bishop was the captain of this ship, and I could count on him until the end.
Like father, like son. Both men were strong and proud. Both men hated my guts now and they were not the only ones. On the driver's side, my car had been tagged with red paint. In stylish graffiti style, the letters B I T C H were spelled out and surrounded by dots in a blood splatter pattern. Nice touch! Walking around the vehicle I made sure the tires hadn't been slashed as well before driving home.
I wasn't surprised to see Ryder wasn't around. He needed time to nurse his wounded macho pride before coming back. I still couldn't believe our misunderstanding and I couldn't get him out of my mind. Every single time I entered my bedroom I struggled to chase the memory of that night away. In vain.
I laid on my bed, watching the fan and wondering what to do next when my phone blared “We Are The Champion.” The tone brought a smile to my face.
"Hey, Brad, what's up?" I said picking up the call.
"You'd better be," he said. "I'm picking you up for dinner."
"Where are you?" I asked. The man who was my bestie spent his life traveling and according to the ambient noise I heard, he was in a car and stuck in traffic.
"Parked in front of your building and your doorman is giving me the evil eye."
"I'm sure he's jealous. What are you driving today?"
"Why do you ask?" He knew I didn't care about cars at all.
"Just trying to figure out how long it will take you to get to 101 East End Road in Ocean Crest, New Jersey."
I heard him mutter under his breath and guessed, by the electronic sounds I heard, he was feeding the address to his GPS. I was right since after a longer beep, he announced, "See you in about ninety minutes."
That sounded about right. It had taken me an hour longer to get here from Manhattan, but Brad saw the speed limit as a personal challenge so ninety minutes it would be.
It was actually a bit longer because being a true sweetheart, Brad had stopped at my favorite Thai restaurant on the way and ordered enough food for three days. Watching him walk into my place with the take out bags made me all teary eyed. He hugged me, picking me up from the
floor and twirling me around as if I was feather light. His loving smile was a welcome relief from the hateful stares I'd met all week.
"So this is where you grew up?" he asked after putting me down.
I gave him the grand tour and we sat and shared the food. He told me about his most recent business ventures and his latest conquests.
Brad had the Midas touch. The only thing he sucked at was settling down in a steady relationship. No matter how crazy in love he professed to be, he would always stray, get caught and dumped, starting on a new cycle until he tried again.
We drank a bit too much, took a walk on the beach and when we returned to my place, decided, because he had no place special to be, he would stay around for a few days.
Since I had trashed the inflatable bed, we shared my bed. As we laid in bed side by side, he marveled at the incredible silence.
"How much does DCD want for the building?" he asked.
I guess I must have mumbled the price in my sleep because when I woke the next morning, I found him at the kitchen table, phone on speaker, asking his attorney to make an offer on it and, if it was accepted, to create a new corporate structure.
"Of course, I have a name for it. Corporate Incubus." His lawyer roared with laughter.
"And may I ask what kind of business you're getting into this time?" the attorney asked.
"It will be a Business Incubator," Brad said winking at me.
And then I got it. Brad was an absolute genius and he was going to work his magic in Ocean Crest.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
It wasn't my business what was going on between them, but I drove by anyway. I wanted to know if Brad was still there. I didn't even know why. At first, I played with the idea of knocking, playing stupid, and seeing if he wanted to talk about the job he'd mentioned. I knew better. I wouldn't be cordial. I was more likely to be hostile. Maybe rip his head off...and why? Over a woman who’s destroyed our town, tore my father's livelihood, and doesn't care about Ocean Crest anyway? It was time to move on.
As I passed her house, I noticed the red paint on her car door. Somebody had tagged it with the word Bitch. I knew it would only take a little spray paint graffiti remover. Goof Off or Motsenbockers should do the job. I learned that early on when some girl I broke up with left a message spray painted across my truck years ago.
I could easily remove it, fix it for her, but there was a piece of me that felt it was justified. After all, she was a bitch, well, this current rendition. I shook my head. I'd do it overnight. I didn't need her to know I was the one to clean it up for her. She had enough on her plate. She didn't need this too.
As I turned the corner, I saw them walking down the block. It was late, why were they still out? I glanced at my watch out of habit. It was after nine. She was having too much fun, and standing too close to another man. My jaw tensed. My teeth clenched. I hated the man without really knowing him. They were laughing, and looked intimate. When Barbara looked up and noticed my truck, there was a moment of anxiety. Shit. I slowed down.
She politely waved, but it was awkward. Neither of us knew what to do. They were holding hands, but she quickly pulled her hand away on seeing me. I nodded, barely making the motion, and headed down the road.
I glanced into my rear view mirror, trying to make out what was going on between them. She didn't turn around or glance over her shoulder. She ignored the fact I was there. She couldn’t have cared less. Why did it bother me so much? So, she had a rich lover boy and “forgot” to mention that part to me. It stung more than I wanted to admit.
I decided to leave the paint on her car for another day. That was her problem, not mine. I had my own life to live, and things to do. She could wait.
I cruised down the strip and pulled over on seeing Tony's squad car. We shared a few laughs, but he got a call. Some kids were having a bonfire on the beach. He needed to see if there was underage drinking, as someone had reported.
I headed home, not much more to do, and settled in front of the television with a beer. I should give Joanne a call. She was always lathering it on, looking for a repeat performance. She knew I was a no strings guy, and it would only be one night. I reached for my phone, and then put it down.
She wasn't what I wanted or who. I was so damn frustrated. Why did this woman have a hold over me? She was the enemy, here to tear us apart. She should’ve been the last thing I was thinking about. The harder I tried to push her out of my mind, the stronger she came back, taunting me. I couldn't escape the vision of our one-night stand.
Bang! Crash! There was a loud noise outside that startled me awake. I must have fallen asleep on the sofa. I checked the clock over the television. It was just past midnight. It only happened once or twice, but there was scampering. I heard the sound of kids running, shoes stomping on the street. Through the window, I saw a bunch of kids with a bat. I shook my head. They were out slamming trashcans and mailboxes. I could have chased them, but I'd be a hypocrite. I played my own share of mailbox baseball growing up. Tony drove, and I'd slam a mailbox with a bat as I leaned out the passenger side of his car. I let the kids get far enough away and yelled after them. They wanted the chase. I remember my own heart beating faster than a hummingbird's wings as we got caught in the act. My dad was less than thrilled when they were able to name me and came knocking at the door.
I was up now. I might as well take the paint off of her car and leave a note on Brad’s windshield with my garage’s address in case he wanted me to look at his car. If he didn’t then he’d have to drive back to Manhattan at snail’s space. They'd be asleep by now, or well, in bed. I parked a few houses down and walked over with the paint remover and a rag to buff it off. The lights were off. It was a quick enough job. I was there and gone in no time.
My phone rang, just as I was leaving. I looked at the caller ID. This wasn't good. Nobody called this late. "Ryder Bishop," I answered and then listened. "I'll be right there, thanks for calling." It was my father. He'd gone into the hospital with chest pains. I wouldn't cry. I wouldn't show my pain. I'd show up, be reminded of the times we visited my mother in the hospital, but I'd hold my anguish for later.
"They're keeping me overnight for observation," he said as I walked into his curtained off area of the emergency room. "I'm okay. It was just a little scare."
I quizzed him. "Have you been taking your blood pressure meds? Eating okay? What does the doctor think set you off?"
"It's all fine, nothing major. I'm under extra stress, but it will all work out." He tried to appease me, but I knew he was just as scared as I was.
There was no hiding the truth. I knew what his source of stress was, or rather who it was. I sat in the chair beside his bed as we waited for him to be transferred to a regular room. The armchair in there was a little more comfortable, but nothing to write home about. For the rest of the night, it would be my roost. I wasn't leaving his side, not until I knew he was okay. I should call my brother and tell him the news, but decided to hold off. Why worry him if everything was fine come tomorrow.
"Go home," my father said. "Get a good night's sleep. That chair won't do you any favors."
"I'm fine. Get some rest," I said, and closed my eyes.
The alarm on his monitor woke me. It blared and bleated, trying to get the nurse's attention. "What's going on?" I jumped up and headed for the door to call out for them, but before I could get there, the nurse was already on her way in.
She shook her head. "Happens all the time," she said. He'd pulled off his oxygen meter in his sleep, setting off the alarm.
"Thanks." I was relieved it was nothing major. I rubbed my tired eyes.
"Sure," she said, and then stuck around another moment longer. "If you want some company later, my break is in twenty minutes. I can bring you coffee, or you could head to the cafeteria and take a break."
"Coffee actually sounds good. I think it's going to be a long night." I accepted her offer and told her I'd see her again shortly.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FO
UR
After brainstorming the Corporate Incubus project with Brad for a couple of hours, I drove to the factory and he went to the furniture store to try out one of the few beds they could deliver by the end of the day.
The plan was for Brad to return to Manhattan the next day, visit a few business incubator structures with his favorite architect and come up with an innovative concept that would work with the building.
My house would be his home base until he found someone to run it and return to the West Coast where he had his usual hunting grounds.
I parked my car in the usual space but back to front to allow everyone looking out from the factory to read the tag I was driving around with. A few smirks welcomed my arrival on the floor of the work shop but no one said the word out loud.
Entering Dylan Bishop's office, I found the man at his desk with his head in his hands.
"Mr. Bishop," I said and waited for him to raise his head but he didn't. Maybe he'd been crying and didn't want me to see. My heart went out to him. "I may have some good news."
He raised his head. His eyes were dry but he was deathly pale. "Are you going to order new equipment and restart production?" he asked. The sarcasm in his voice cut like a knife.
"Well, no--"
"Then go away and leave me alone," he growled.
I retreated and went to the second floor in search of a more detailed blueprint of the structure. I found it in the archive room which Dylan Bishop promised to clear out. Today was probably not the day to remind him.
While I was up there my boss called to let me know Brad's offer had been accepted and the place had to be cleared of all the equipment before the end of the month. I assured him it would be no problem because all orders would be ready to ship before then and drove away in search of a place to make a copy of the documents for Brad to take with him.
