After Hours (3 page)

Amera immediately started to pack her things with a cool rage. She thought of rebelling and fighting to remain, but she didn’t want to be escorted out of the building by the security guards. At that moment, she wished she'd hit him with her fist instead of the door during their first meeting. But he had a thick head, she probably would have hurt her hand and he wasn't worth it.

Curtis walked by her office then backed up and stared at her for a long moment. “What the hell are you doing?”

She held up the pink slip.

He marched over to her and she saw a rare expression cross his face--a look of surprise. For a brief moment she saw how good looking he was. His looks had never really registered before. People rarely notice the majestic beauty of a lion when its teeth are stained with the blood of its prey. Like Curtis. He was too vicious to be considered attractive. She put another object in her box.

“You have two weeks,” he said in a gruff tone.

She glanced up. “What?”

He tucked the note in his jacket pocket. “You have time. There’s no need to pack up now.”

“But--.”

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turned and left.

She started to follow him then stopped. She wouldn’t quit right now. She’d put in her two weeks and get her check. That’s when she decided she’d give him two weeks he’d never forget.

***

Curtis stared at the head of HR wondering if he’d misheard her. He leaned forward in his chair annoyed by her distracting habit of blinking at him and twitching. “What?”

Miranda cleared her throat in a nervous gesture and clasped then unclasped her hands. “I said she has to go.”

“Why? What are the circumstances?”

“I was given orders.”

“By whom?” he asked, but as he said the words he already knew the answer.

“Your father, I mean Bishop Senior said so.”

Curtis bit the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted blood. He had to keep calm. Control was everything. He couldn’t get angry, he couldn’t get upset. Facts were neutral, how he responded to them was all that mattered. ‘Never let them know how you feel,’ his father had taught him.
The damn bastard
. Why couldn’t he have told him what he was up to instead of making him look like a fool? Why couldn’t he start treating him like an equal instead of a minion? But then his father didn’t have an equal. He was the ruler--the man who must be obeyed.

Miranda plastered on a smile that made her look sick instead of happy. “I’m sure Ms. Thurston will get a great--”

Curtis held up his hand, silencing her. He didn’t like her false cheery tone. He knew she was caught in the middle of a power play that made her feel uncomfortable, but he didn’t care. He had to figure out his next strategy. He pulled the pink slip from his pocket and placed it on the desk. He kept his gaze lowered and slid it across the desk. “This didn’t happen.”

“But--”

“For now,” he added, slowly lifting his gaze to meet hers. “Understood?”

Miranda swallowed and nodded, even though from her expression she clearly didn’t understand what he was talking about.

Curtis tapped the desk with his knuckles. “Good,” he said standing. He left the HR department and returned to his office as though nothing had happened. He shut the door with a soft click, stood in front of his large window, then stared down at the sight of his biggest failure--a venture his father would never let him forget. Several years ago, he'd spent an enormous amount of money and resources on a new innovative drive-through drug store. It had bombed. The building could have been bulldozed or cleared, but his father wouldn't let anyone touch it. And every day when Curtis looked out his window he was reminded of how far he'd fallen short of his father's greatness. It didn't matter that he’d recently saved the parent company millions. Over the last year he'd shown how good he was. He'd raised profits by fifty percent and partnered with three big companies and licensed rights to other companies to use several devices they had patented. But he was still not as good as the great and mighty Benjamin Bishop.

His father still wanted to keep him in line. Wanted to remind him who was boss. His father’s current action, to fire Amera, was a chess move and Curtis decided he would make one of his own. Winners and losers, that’s all life was about. He’d received that lesson early as a young boy. He remembered going to Thailand to visit one of their factories with his grandfather, who’d Anglicized their family name to Bishop when he’d come to America, and created a booming worldwide business in clothing manufacturing.

Curtis remembered driving through the streets of Thailand, in their plush car wanting to go back to play with the baby elephant at the hotel and talk to its trainer. But his grandfather had told him he had to see what he would inherit one day, and by then he’d already learned the responsibility he had to carry. On that particular day, before they reached the garment factory, Curtis saw people running, some screaming and many fighting. He saw large wooden signs lying on the ground and people too, lots of them--some with blood seeping from wounds. He saw people hitting others with baseball bats and the sight scared him. “What’s going on?”

“We’re taking care of the cockroaches,” his grandfather had said. “The ingrates that try to feed off us.” Curtis later learned that his grandfather had taken care of the picketing workers and Curtis had never asked why they were unhappy, having learned early that his grandfather liked to clamp down any signs of a soft heart. At times, using his cane against Curtis’ shins to make his message clear.

When he was older, his father had taken him on a helicopter flight over New York City, and had him look down at the bustling cars and crowds of people. “See how small people are from up here? That’s how you have to see them--always. Like rodents, otherwise they’ll destroy you like the Black Plague.”

Curtis shoved his hands in his pocket, then rested his forehead against the cool glass of the window. He didn’t see people as cockroaches or rodents. He tried his best not to see them at all. They were a necessary evil, tools for winners. He didn’t know why his father had made such an unexpected move with Amera, but he’d find out and make him understand that he didn’t plan to stand in his shadow forever.

Someone knocked on the door.

“What?” he snapped, keeping his gaze on the empty building outside.

“How many holidays have you ruined this year?” his half brother, Kyle Carroll, said closing the door behind him. There was a seven year age gap between the two and they looked nothing alike, although they shared the same mother. Kyle always had a grin and kind word for others.

Curtis didn’t turn around. He hated his brother’s annual visits. “What do you want?”

He heard his brother pick up something and skim through it. “ Peale House? Sounds interesting. Looks like another proposal from Ms. Thurston.”

“You can take it and use it as a sleep aid.”

Kyle tossed the brochure down. “Stop being such a jerk. I’m sure they made a good effort and worked hard on it.”

“More’s the pity.”

“If I had the money--”

Curtis slowly turned and looked directly at his brother. “Right, but you don’t.”

Kyle shrugged. “I get by and I’m happy.”

Curtis lifted a brow and flashed a malicious grin. “Really?”

For a second, his brother’s carefree veneer slipped. “Yes.”

“Good.” Curtis sat behind his desk and steepled his fingers. “Let’s not pretend you’ve come here looking for brotherly love. The only reason you stomach me is because I’m worth it. What do you want?”

“Mom wants to know if you'll be coming for Christmas.”

Curtis drummed his fingers against each other. “Remind me. What did I say last year?”

Kyle fell into a chair and sighed. “No.”

“And what do you think I’ll say next year?”

“Come on. It’s once a year and it would be nice to have you.”

“Really? How long did you have to practice saying that without throwing up?”

Kyle folded his arms. “I mean it.”

Curtis glanced at the ring on his brother’s finger. “Still married?”

“Yes. We’re expecting our second child.”

Curtis looked at his brother for a long moment, sensing something not right. “You don’t sound happy. Was it an unexpected surprise?”

“Of course I’m happy.”

Curtis nodded. “That’s right,” he said with a note of sarcasm. “Congratulations. You and your little family, and Mom, can be happy and celebrate without me.”

Kyle shook his head. “You know, one day Mom may stop asking you and I’ll stop coming.”

“Why wait? You can start now.”

“You don’t have to keep acting like a bastard just to please him.”

“I’m not acting.” Curtis held his brother’s gaze. “Don’t try to make me out to be someone I’m not.” He leaned back in his chair and glanced at his watch. “Do you want anything else?”

“Yes, to know why Mom even cares about you anymore.”

“You should ask her. And when you do, tell her to stop.” He stood and grabbed his jacket. “We’re done?”

“I’d say we’re finished.”

“Good.” Curtis nodded then left.

***

Kyle stood up and kicked his chair, toppling it over. Damn, he wished he didn’t let his brother get to him. He righted the chair just as Amera entered the room carrying a manila folder. “You’re still here?” he asked watching her set the folder on his brother’s desk. “I don’t know how you’ve managed to last this long.”

“It’s a job.”

“You could get other jobs.”

“It’s a challenge.”

“So is being a lion tamer, but not many people sign up for a job like that.”

“Forget about him.”

“I can’t. I wish I could, but every holiday his absence at our annual family gathering seems to grow and my mother misses him more and more. I hate seeing her so unhappy.”

Amera leaned against the desk and folded her arms. It wasn’t an aggressive move, but somehow it felt like a powerful one, as if she were taking charge of the situation. “She’ll remain that way until she stops wishing things were different.”

“You’re telling me not to come back.”

“I don’t believe that’s what I said.”

He couldn’t read her and he could read most women. Women liked his good looks and charm, but while he didn’t sense Amera didn’t like him, he didn’t get the sense she liked him either. She had a hard edge that unsettled him. “So what do you expect me to do?”

“I don’t expect you to do anything. It’s up to you whether you’ll accept that he’s not going to change. Wanting things to be different than they are will only hurt you,
and
your mother.”

“You know from experience?”

Amera blinked slowly, then pushed herself from the desk. “It’s a lesson few people wish to learn.”

He wasn’t surprised by her vague response. She remained a mystery to him. “Happy holidays. Think he’d noticed if I left a lump of coal on his desk?”

“He’d just find a use for it.”

***

Curtis rested his hands at the foot of his father’s massive, sleigh oak bed ready to do battle. His father had aged and his illness had given his face a cadaverous look, but he still maintained the menacing air of a raptor.

“My executive assistant stays,” Curtis said, maintaining an even, almost, cordial tone. He’d learned early that riling his father was never a good counter-strategy.

Bishop Senior took off his oxygen mask and pinned his son with a dark look, a cold smile touching the corners of his mouth. “She doesn’t if I say so.”

“She’s not going anywhere.”

“Why? You don’t need her. You’re using her as an excuse.”

“An excuse for what?”

“To not get married. You don’t need an assistant. Get yourself a wife. It’s about time and it will save the company money.”

Curtis tapped his chest. “I am in control of who does or doesn’t works for me.”
“It’s my business and this recent hire--”

“She isn't recent.”

His father’s gaze sharpened. “How long has she been with you?”

“Long enough to know my ways. I don’t want to train anyone else.”

“How long?”

Curtis gritted his teeth. “Long enough to--”

“How long?” he snapped.

“Five years.”

Bishop Senior swore and shook his head. “My God. I wasn’t even married to your mother that long.”

“She’s an excellent worker--”

“And she’s made you soft,” his father finished with a note of disgust. “When I was your age and running this business, profits were through the roof.”

“I’ve doubled them.”

“Why not triple them? Quadruple them? And what new markets have you dominated? Which of our competitors have you destroyed? None.”

“Times have changed. I don’t think you need to destroy--”

“Come here.”

Curtis gripped his hands into fists. “Father.”

“I said come here,” he repeated in a hard tone, which commanded obedience.