by Hayleigh Sol
No point in delaying the inevitable bad news. I snapped off a fortifying piece of dark chocolate from my stash—oh, how I missed you while I was away, comfort chocolate—and ripped into the envelope.
It was as bad as I’d expected. Worse, actually.
I read through paragraph after paragraph of IRS lingo that made as much sense as anything tax–related ever did. Until I got to the section about making payment arrangements. Looked like I’d be spending my Monday morning on the phone.
This was okay. We didn’t have the money in the bank to cover the taxes, but they allowed payments. I could do payments. Probably.
My plans to let Tiffany go—possibly Cory and Meg, as well—were looking more necessary now, but that was fine. I wasn’t going to let this speed bump deflate my can–do attitude. Back in March—hell, a week ago—this bill, with all its ugly fees and threatening language about nonpayment, would’ve sent me to the bathroom to cry for an hour. Or beg my intestines to calm down from their guaranteed reaction.
Now, I added the letter to the backpack I was taking to lunch. I swept my hair into a French twist, a style that always made me feel like a professional, and took time to choose a business casual outfit and apply light makeup.
It wasn’t about looking good for Brad or showing him what he was missing. It was about projecting the right image. For him and for my own fortitude.
Bailey would be proud. She believed our style choices gave us more confidence than we knew; her entire business was based on that belief. It would’ve been great to have her here with me, helping pick out clothes and telling me why I should wear this top or how those shoes were cute but better for a date than a business meeting with my ex.
I sent her a mirror selfie and got a thumbs–up emoji, followed by a wink and a kiss. High praise from the fashion guru.
Before I got too full of myself, she demanded a picture of the shoes, then told me to wear my wingtip oxfords instead. I took her advice and, naturally, she was right. And, side benefit, I remembered Brad had noticed and liked them—really liked, as in, could barely keep his hands off my legs—when I’d worn the shoes to dinner with his parents that one time.
Okay, so maybe a very small part of me wouldn’t hate it if he suffered a little when he saw me looking good today. Strength came in many forms.
Brad’s vehicle wasn’t in the parking lot when I arrived but he joined me while I waited for the hostess to return to the front podium. He spread his arms for a hug and gave an extra squeeze once I was there. As we separated, I was taken aback by the kiss to my cheek.
“It’s good to see you. Wow, you look really great!” There was a wide smile on his lips but it didn’t shine from his eyes or make me feel the way Luka’s did.
“Thanks, good to see you too. Did you want to sit outside?” After two weeks in the forest, I wanted to hear the birds and feel the breeze on my skin. Even if we were hunched over my laptop.
The hostess led us outside, handed out menus, and brought waters. All while Brad gave me a thorough once–over I tried to ignore. I knew that wolfish look.
“You really do look great, My. You got some color.”
It was true. Despite my liberal and dedicated use of the sunblock, my usually pale legs now had a golden–brown hue.
“I forgot how incredible you look with a tan.” My eyes narrowed. “I mean, you know, everyone looks better with a tan.”
“Mm–hmm.” I didn’t bother to tell him I wasn’t into skin cancer or premature leathery skin; we’d had that conversation several times before. Besides, his backhanded compliment was so typically Brad.
He’d once told me I had a great body…from the front.
Jesus, what kind of dummy stays with someone who says crap like that to them? I’d asked Bailey that a few months before I’d told Brad I thought we should take a break. She’d told me even smart women can be tricked into staying with the wrong man.
“How have you been, Brad? How’s TechCycle?”
For the next several minutes, he told me about some issues he’d had with his employees, then with a customer or two. I may have missed some details as the little voice in the back of my mind pointed out that perhaps he wasn’t any better at managing his staff or running a company than I was.
That little voice was a touch snarky. Astute, though.
Brad seemed to notice my attention was wandering. Or, maybe that I wasn’t the sympathetic, engaged listener I’d been in the past.
It wasn’t that I didn’t care about what he was going through; I just didn’t care as much as I had when I was his loyal girlfriend. We were closer to acquaintances than a couple now. How many specifics does a person really need to give to an acquaintance?
“So, you had a good time camping?” There was a touch of disbelief—even mocking—in his question but I told myself I was being overly sensitive, finding fault simply because he was my ex. I was better than that.
“Yeah, a really great time. It’s beautiful up there, very relaxing.”
With the superhot body of a sex god on top of me. Under me. Behind me.
“I’m sure you’re looking forward to your vacation in a few weeks.”
He started to answer but the server appeared and took our lunch order. While Brad asked questions and requested substitutions, I checked my phone.
Luka: Thinking of you since I woke up in my big bed alone this morning. Can’t wait to see you tonight.
His message made me smile. My bed had been pretty lonely this morning, too. I replied with a kiss and set my phone down, looking up to see Brad watching me, clearly wanting to ask who I was texting.
I cleared my throat and unhitched my grin. “So, tell me what’s been going on with Green for Green. And what the heck’s up with my staff threatening to walk when I return?”
On a long sigh, Brad leaned back in his chair. “I had a feeling you’d be upset about that.”
Uh, who wouldn’t?
“My, you’re not going to want to hear this, but you probably need to. I think you’ve been too hard on the team; they feel like you have these expectations they’ll never be able to live up to.”
“Expectations like them doing the job they were hired for? Which, by the way, I’ve been doing more and more of since they can’t seem to stop making mistakes.”
Brad sat up, resting an elbow on the table. “See? Doesn’t that sound like you’ve been a little abrasive with them? People don’t perform well under constant pressure and fear of failure.”
“Jesus, Brad, I don’t talk to them like that. You know how I am with everyone, you’ve seen it. I’ve trained them multiple times, always giving praise and encouragement. When they still didn’t improve, I took over reviewing and correcting everything myself.”
“Well, while you’ve been away, and with my…more relaxed management style, they’ve been working really hard—”
“Have you been going over their bids, making sure they didn’t miss any charges or get the quantities wrong?”
“I haven’t really thought it necessary to micromanage them like that. That’s what I’m talking about. I think you put too much pressure on the staff and on yourself, which is why you’re so stressed and miserable all the time.”
This was ridiculous. “Brad, I’ve told you a hundred times why I have to go over their work. There were so many mistakes, week after week. It was costing us a fortune.” I didn’t even want to think about how many line items had fallen through the cracks the past two weeks.
Taking a deep breath, I told myself to stay calm. Whatever needed to be fixed, I could fix it. Getting all worked up wasn’t going to help the situation and it only fed into Brad’s arrogant belief that his more “relaxed management style” was superior to mine.
“You haven’t seen them lately, Maya. They come to the office every day—”
“What do you mean ‘every day’? They’re not still sp
litting the week and working from home certain days?”
His hands came up in a placating gesture that seemed excessive. “I asked everyone to work in the office so I could be there to help, answer questions, whatever they needed. They seemed really motivated when I suggested we might switch to an hourly system rather than salary.”
I rubbed my temples, an ice–pick headache already brewing. “But we’re a green consulting company. We went with the split schedule to reduce our carbon footprint, decrease our utilities bills, and to set an example for our corporate clients.
“And we can’t switch to hourly. Don’t you remember, I tried that before on the in–office days? Meg sneaks in overtime wherever she can to make up for all the time she takes off and Cory’s breaks turn into two–hour gaming sessions he doesn’t clock out for. Tiffany will spend all her time on social media—”
“Come on, it won’t be that bad. Honestly, I feel like you’re just against anything I suggest. You can’t handle change.”
Not true. The part about change. I was pretty opposed to what I was hearing from him thus far, but my objections were based on experience.
We were interrupted—saved—by the delivery of our meals.
“Look, I don’t think we’re going to agree on every aspect of running the company. But that’s the beauty of having a partnership; two heads are better than one and all that.”
Yeah, but who had the final vote?
“We should probably talk about the financials before getting into employee stuff anyway. That seems to be the most pressing issue at the moment, right?”
“Especially after I opened the tax bill that came in the mail today.”
Brad’s eyebrows raised. He nodded when I gave him the figure. Then, he pulled a sheaf of papers out of his messenger bag. A bag that was made of leather, which had three times the negative environmental impact as its synthetic counterpart, probably greater when one considered the high toxicity of chromium that ended up in our water supply and the twenty to fifty percent increased risk of cancers to workers in tannery factories.
“What’s this?” I skimmed the top sheet, which had Brad’s name and mine, and the names of each of our companies.
“I had my attorney draw up a partnership agreement with terms for a loan from my company to yours. As we discussed before, I would acquire ownership instead of you repaying the loan.” When I met his eyes, he shrugged and shook his head sadly. “I don’t think you have another option at this point.”
Returning my attention to the…fifteen–page document, I scanned until I found the most significant section. “Fifty percent? You’d own fifty percent?”
“Forty–nine point nine percent, so you’d still have the deciding vote. Look, I know it sounds like a lot when you’ve been the sole owner all these years, but the loan isn’t a small one. And, don’t forget, I’d also be helping with day–to–day operations. Essentially, I’d be filling a higher management role that you’d otherwise have to pay someone to do. This way, you don’t have to come up with another salary. My compensation would be equity in the company.”
As he spoke, I returned to the first page of the document and the dollar amount of the loan. It was a hefty sum, no doubt about that. And I wouldn’t have to repay it.
But do we really need that much?
I started running calculations in my head, rough estimates of what this kind of money could do and how quickly I’d be able to start focusing on my bigger eco–design dreams. This could speed up my previous projections by a year or more, without having to skimp on marketing for our current services or cut back on staff.
Not that I was convinced we should keep our current people, but the number of employees would be nice to sustain. With this kind of cash, we could even hire additional staff to help with the expansion into design consulting.
Would I be crazy to turn down this kind of safety cushion?
“Just think, Maya, how much that loan would help.” I was, I really was. “How that kind of financial security would reduce your stress level.”
“It wouldn’t suck to be able to focus on the design side I’ve always wanted us to—”
“Whoa, hold up a sec, there. Let’s get you out of the current crisis before you take on anything more and get overwhelmed again.” He chuckled and shook his head at me—silly Maya, always overreaching.
My jaw clenched but I turned back to the papers. Brad reached across the table and put a hand on my wrist, making the pages droop.
“I really believe in this company. If we work together, I think we can save it.” His thumb rubbed back and forth over my skin and I stared at it in confusion. “We’ve worked pretty well together in the past, don’t you think?”
He was throwing me the classic flirty–guy smirk, a blend of persuasive and cocky women found so hard to resist.
Stupid women. Including me, once upon a time.
That smirk, this setting, even his duplicitous thumb, were identical to the last time I’d thought we were over and he’d convinced me otherwise. Back then, I’d talked to Bailey about his “thinking” time in Vegas, his apparent one–eighty, and whether or not I should trust it.
In her very Bailey way, she’d told me it sounded like Brad only appreciated what he had when he was about to lose it. And I deserved better.
But, he’d gone full–court press with the wooing and I’d fallen for it.
I had the same itchiness in my veins I’d felt back then, that little voice in the back of my head telling me I didn’t want someone who only wanted me when I was gone.
And, of course, there was Luka. We certainly hadn’t spent enough time as a couple yet to know if he would end up treating me the same way, taking me for granted. But the promise of something more, something bigger and better than what Brad and I had ever had…that was enough for me to pull my arm away from my ex–boyfriend’s touch.
“I thought you were seeing someone. How does she feel about all this?” I meant him forming a partnership with his ex but the implication of his touchy–feely crap was there, too.
He was still giving me that charming half–smile. I looked back at the contract. A couple of lines on the third page were infinitely more interesting than his face right now. I read through the paragraph as Brad lounged back in his chair and took a bite of his sandwich. My own lunch had been abandoned the minute the partnership agreement came out.
“I’ve been on a few dates here and there, nothing serious.” Another chuckle. “I haven’t exactly been a monk.”
Uggh, gross. I detested that expression. Why not just say, “I’ve been sticking my dick in every willing and available hole I could find”?
It wasn’t like he’d wielded it all that impressively anyway.
“Yeah, me neither.” I’d said it distractedly while continuing to read. As I turned a page, I caught the indulgent disbelief in his expression.
Ah, what’s good for the goose is inconceivable for the gander.
That was fine, he didn’t have to believe me. There was no need to rub his nose in—or even tell him about—my relationship with Luka. Or how truly gifted he was with his hands, mouth, and every other part of his body.
I set the document aside and went back to my salad. I’d have to look through the agreement several more times, and have my own attorney review it if I was even considering signing. Brad was watching me, brow furrowed, as he continued to eat his lunch.
Still trying to determine if I was getting lucky? Maybe.
With Brad’s loan and partnership proposal on the table, and the way he’d shut me down on the sustainable design consulting, there wasn’t much to discuss. I couldn’t stop thinking about the amount of the loan and the fifty–percent ownership. The numbers were spinning around my brain like Odile’s astounding thirty–two fouettés in Swan Lake.
As I paid for my meal and left, I told Brad I
needed time. To think.
And, yeah, I embraced the poetic justice in telling him that and walking away.
Chapter 28
My apartment was making my claustrophobic as I paced from one room to the next and back again. So when Luka asked if he could pick me up and take us out for dinner or if I’d rather come to his place and he’d cook, I jumped on the chance to escape.
The overnight bag I’d packed just in case sat in the passenger seat, where it would remain until I knew whether or not sleepovers in the tent extended to sleepovers at home. I was pretty sure they did, but a modern gal was always wise not to assume.
Luka had warned me he lived in an older two–bedroom home that had “seen better days”, a fixer–upper he wasn’t sure he wanted to fix up when he hoped to move to a nicer, younger neighborhood in the next few years. There was also the question of possibly establishing his own design firm with his friends, which would require start–up capital. It made me feel better about my own place in the world to know that Lukasz, who always seemed so together, was in a state of transition, too.
Knocking on his front door, I was inexplicably nervous. We’d been nearly inseparable for the past ten days, but I couldn’t help but worry that was vacation time. A separate parallel universe to real time. It hadn’t been like there were any other singles our age to hang out with. Plus, once we’d started fooling around all the time, I’m sure I’d offered him a pleasant—
The door swung open and Luka scooped me up, kissing me until my limbs turned to rubber. Thankfully, he held onto me when he set my feet back on the ground or I’d have slipped to his porch like the brainless amoeba I was.
“Hi.”
Eyes fluttering open, I caught my breath and reached for coherent thought. “Hi.”
Luka kissed the end of my nose and kept holding me in his arms. “Missed you.” His sexy–ass voice was husky.
Pretty sure the overnight bag was the right move.
“Come on, I’ll give you the quickest tour known to man.” He showed me the living room, bedroom, bathroom, and his office, where he clearly spent the majority of his time. His desk boasted three computer monitors and there was a traditional drafting board in a corner that had great light coming from the window.
