Power Play (10 page)

No, it was a good thing he wasn’t around. Even after years of deconditioning, I couldn't trust I wouldn't slowly just defer to his seniority.

Even if I didn’t, socking a client wasn’t exactly going to get people to stop talking.

Ok, even if I hit him in private, it wasn’t like I could crack the powerful cliffs of his cheek. I'd just end up cupping his face.

That'd just give him an excuse to scoop me up in his arms. He'd probably punish me for it, right here on the desk. It wouldn't matter at all to him that our winding silhouettes would be obvious to anyone who walked past the fogged glass walls. He’d do whatever he wanted to me.

Someone rapped once on the door.

I startled from my nightmare of a daydream. Even with Deacon out of sight, my traitorous mind just kept leading me further into Deacon’s grasp.

“Come in,” I said, brushing my shirt down.

Trey strode in, an immaculate slate suit draping off his long, lean form. He could have crashed a Houston Rockets post-game press conference and not looked out of place. Or he could have just as easily crashed a Harvard economics lecture. The guy was really smart.

“I've got the files you requested,” he said. He fanned himself with a brown folder just a shade lighter than his face.

Oh, good, something real to be annoyed about. “Habibi Solar sent you a paper copy?” I said. “Are you serious?”

“Some of the guys in the Middle East are old school when it comes to existing contracts.”

“Or they're hiding something.”

His lips trembled then stilled. “It’d surprise me if they are.”

Of course it would. He’d done all this work already. It’d taken one meeting for it to be clear that he wasn’t expecting much from us. My team and I were just actors in a really dull improv skit.

Though maybe that was because I’d gone and shut Deacon down with a ‘no’ instead of a ‘yes, and.’

“It’s always good to be skeptical,” I said.

“Sure enough. That’s what you’re here for.”

He handed me the folder. My fingers brushed his palm as I grasped it. His skin was rougher than his manicured hands and his VP title suggested. Not exactly cowboy hands, but not completely moneyed ones either.

I took a fresh glance at him. He wasn’t old at all. He could be Deacon’s leaner twin if they were the same color.

“Can I ask you something?” I said.

He chuckled. “You’ve asked me more since you walked in than the rest of your team combined.”

“This is more personal.”

“I see.” His eyes glowed like copper. “Go on.”

“How long have you been working here?”

“Stone Holdings? Two years.”

“Two years! You’re a VP in two years?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not the first time it’s happened. Deacon’s father got a couple guys to shoot up too.”

I nodded. He was no simple liaison. He was one of their best guys. Just like we were our firm’s top consultants. Why was he being wasted on a useless project?

But then his words made sense.

“Deacon’s father had a couple guys,” I said. “Does that make you Deacon’s guy?”

It should have made him puff up. No guy wanted to belong to someone else. But he shrugged. “You could say that. I wouldn’t be a VP in any other damn company, that’s for sure.”

“But are you guys close?”

His eyes went slender. He adjusted forward. “We hang. Why? You need to reach him?”

“No!” I snapped to my screen as if something had popped up. “I just wanted to know who exactly I’m dealing with.”

“Will I do, then?”

God, what had gotten into me? This guy was my boss here. I was being way too informal. “Of course. Sorry.”

He watched me a moment longer, then shoved up out of his seat, much the same way that Deacon did. Maybe they really were twins somehow.

“Holler at me if you need anything more,” he said, clicking the door shut behind him as he left.

He hadn’t seemed pissed off. That was good. Whatever this case meant or didn’t, pissing off my client still mattered.

I looked up Trey quickly on the org charts. His resume on there was amazing. Ok, yeah, he’d come from the same top business school as Deacon. But he’d graduated as valedictorian, won dozens of awards, published papers and even led the sports teams.

It made me realize two things, though. Deacon might act like a dictator, but he wasn’t starting a cult. He kept good people close, not just loyal ones.

The second thing, I couldn’t be sure was true. Maybe Trey was just our liaison just because he had done the earlier study. But it seemed possible that he was Deacon's way of staying just out of arm's reach.

I wasn’t crazy enough to ask Trey if he was babysitting me. But it made sense.

Deacon wasn't stupid. He must know the pain I sometimes thought about inflicting on him while I stewed on his useless project. He would have to take his reports from a distance.

Still, my chest felt a little tighter as I kept working. I couldn’t tell whether it was because I was being watched.

Or because my watcher was so far away.

****

My phone rang just as I got out of my car back in my apartment complex. It was a Houston number, but not in my contacts. I only knew one of those.

I held my breath, but hit answer. I could always hang up if Deacon said something I didn't want to hear.

But it was a soft woman’s voice that came out: “Hello, Kerry.”

It wasn't Deacon. This was someone who I had far less desire to hear from.

My mother.

“Why are you calling me?” I said. “I told you never to call me.”

“Kerry, stop it. This is serious.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want to hear it.” She was lucky that she hadn’t put my father on the phone. I wouldn’t have stood two words from him.

“Your father is sick,” she said.

“I know that. You’re both sick.”

“Enough. I’m telling you he might have cancer.”

My lips bent up, but I pressed them flat. No, I wasn’t a monster. I wasn’t going to toast to someone’s bad health. “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “But I have to go.”

“Kerry, stop and think a moment.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Being free to think was what had got me here.

“Please don’t call me again,” I said.

Her voice trilled on, but I clicked it off. I stood in the warm, muggy lot, breathing softly. Outside the gate, a woman jogged by in tight clothes with her dog loping along beside her.

Life went on. Normal life went on. I was here. I knew who I was now. No force would take me back to that house.

What if he were in a hospital though? That would be a safe place to see them.

I breathed the thought out of my head. There was still nothing I’d learn from talking to her. And there was certainly nothing I needed to hear from him.

I unlocked the door. Mira was my oasis. Maybe she’d be painting inside. Watching her always brought me back down.

Oh, she was painting alright.

Her easel was set up in the living room, over a bed of newspaper. She stood before it, hair bunched up, wearing a smock smeared with red, staring at her canvas like she was a chainsaw murderer and it was the victim. Snowflake sat watching, swishing his tail, transfixed by her ferocity.

“You, uh, alright there?” I asked, moving tenderly her way.

“I’m great,” she said, still huffing. “I’ve got so much feeling to work with here.”

Her painting was a crumpled fence of red and orange strokes. I placed a hand tenderly on her shoulder.

“What exactly inspired this…bout of creativity?”

“Family.”

“Ah.” My own blood rose back to a simmer. “I understand.”

“You don’t,” she said. “This is so not part of the tapestry of an ordinary human life.”

Normally, I didn’t much care for being undercut, but Mira got a pass. Her folks had their own special brand of crazy.

“Come on.” I unhooked her spattered apron and led her back to the couch. “Tell me about it.”

Still staring at the bizarre picture she’d slashed together, she shook her head. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Do about what?” I grasped her dark tan hands in mine. “Tell me.”

She finally met my eyes. “My parents want me to marry a guy.”

“They’ve always wanted you to marry one guy or another.”

“It’s so not the same this time. They found this Indian doctor who wants an artist wife and they’ve made it very clear that I better fall for him.”

“So just go mess up another lunch date.” I smiled. “He sounds rich. Didn’t you say you’d try out a rich guy?”

“It’s not a trial, Kerry. They’re pressing me to accept.”

“Accept what? All they can do is have you meet. This isn’t India. They can’t make you marry him.”

“That doesn’t even work in India anymore,” she said, sighing. “You know what does? Cutting off your daughter’s rent.”

“They’re cutting off your rent unless you marry a guy?” My grip felt weak suddenly.

“My rent, my tuition, everything.” She gave me a mournful look with her deep, dark eyes. “Apparently they only tolerated it because they were building me up to be some boring guy’s manic pixie dream girl. I’m just in finishing school apparently.”

I understood that all too well. It was amazing how close our lives came when we’d grown up on opposite sides of the planet. It wasn’t religion chaining her as much as culture, but there was hardly any difference.

My mother couldn’t have picked a better day to call. I needed a fresh reminder of who I'd become.

I threw a tight hug around Mira. “I’ll help you figure it out. Don’t worry. Worst comes to worst, I at least have your rent a bit.”

Mira laughed out a sob against my shoulder. “That’s sweet Kerry, but I can’t live with you forever.”

“Just until you figure things out. No one should force you to be with someone you don’t want.”

Mira pulled apart with a smile. “Guess this means I’ll have to start understanding the whole concept of money right?”

“You don’t spend much, but yeah, it can’t hurt to cut down. Personal finance is easy. I can start you off right now.”

Mira rolled her eyes. “Oh, god. Ok, I didn’t mean like
right
right now. Don’t you have improv tonight?”

I gritted my teeth. I wasn’t exactly feeling in a free mood. “Things might get a little uncomfortable for everyone there if I went today anyway.”

“Fine. Go ahead and tell me what a budget is.”

I smiled, opened a new page on her easel and began my own brush strokes.

Numbers always put me at ease. With Mira and Snowflake and the dim yellow living room light, it was almost a perfect evening again. The only thing that could have made it better was Antoine cleverly undercutting my every word as he texted someone on Grindr.

Maybe I should join one of those apps. After a while though. Right now, it was still hard to compare anyone to Deacon. I'd have to wean myself off him like a drug, patiently and persistently.

Next week, I’d be off in Abu Dhabi, talking to the solar company on-site. I should be dreaming about the travel, the amazing opportunity for my resume. Instead, it made me nervous.

Because travel meant I’d have to see Deacon Stone again. And over there, I’d be in a strange place, away from everything I knew.

And just like in Chicago, I might be confused enough to do the wrong thing about it.

****

Friday afternoon came and it looked like I might get out early. I double checked my initial report for the solar company’s financials along with the dozens of questions I planned to get answered on site.

My team leader, Leo, had been a little slackjawed at the afternoon meeting when I presented. Even Trey had been taking notes. He might have thought this project was pointless, but that was just because he wasn’t skeptical enough to ask the right questions.

The memory brought me a dozen fresh smiles through the day. It was a soaring feeling knowing you had something special in you. No one could take that away from me. It made all my other problems trivial.

Mira just needed to find a part time job like every other artist. I had helped her fill out a few forms for coffee places. She had the perfect vibe for it.

As for my mother’s new number? That’d be easy enough to block.

And Deacon…well, maybe he’d leave me alone once we got over there, too. I could handle a couple stray looks if they came from the far end of a conference table.

Sooner or later I’d stop having those embarrassing dreams about him. They were fantasies, nothing more. A thirty second talk with him would be enough to remind me just who he was.

Trey rapped on the door outside. I knew his energetic cadence by now. Maybe he was here to praise me again for my meeting performance.

“Come in,” I said.

The door brushed open, but it wasn’t an NBA player that stood in the gap. It was the big, rough form of a Texas billionaire.