“It won’t be for long. Maybe a week or two,” Huxley says. “In the meantime, if we have questions, we’ll communicate in person. I don’t want to leave any sort of paper trail.”
“So then what the hell am I supposed to do for the next one to two weeks?” I ask.
“Maybe help Lia with her knitting,” JP says. “I know you know how to knit.”
I glance at Huxley, and he says, “Knitting might keep you busy.”
“Fuck off . . . both of you,” I say right before I exit the car and head straight for mine.
“Your food is smelling up the entire elevator,” Mrs. Gunderson says as she stands as far away from me as possible, her umbrella tucked under her arm. It barely ever rains in Los Angeles, yet she carries around a large black one every day . . . just in case.
“Thank you for pointing that out,” I say to her as the elevator slows and then beeps, indicating our floor.
“Sarcasm is the devil’s tongue,” she shoots at me before heading toward her door. I walk in the opposite way and right past my door to the apartment next to mine. “Pre-marital sex is also the way of the devil,” she shouts before walking into her apartment.
“I hate that woman,” I mutter as I knock on Lia’s door three times, kick the footer, and then say, “Walla-walla-bing-bang.”
Lia is quick to open the door, her familiar freckled face easing the tension roaring through my body.
I remember the first time I ran into her in the hallway of my dorm. She was unsure of herself but also so confident that she couldn’t help the things flying out of her mouth. Her vibrant red hair and mossy-green eyes under her purple-rimmed glasses stood out, but it was her pure honesty that really drew me to her—unlike anyone I’ve ever met. And now, I can’t go a day without talking to her.
“You didn’t say ching-chang,” she says with a smirk.
“Ching-chang wasn’t a part of it.”
She points her finger accusingly at me. “I knew it.”
Chuckling, I open my arm that’s not holding the food and pull her into a hug. “Missed you.”
“Missed you, Pickle,” she says, using my nickname that she gave me one night after a misspelled pickle during a Scrabble game. “What took you so long? I started to tear apart the dessert I got us.”
“You don’t want to know.” I sigh, and we both walk into her apartment.
I remember the moment she found this place. She’d been looking for about two days and then came across this building in Westwood. She had no idea if they had apartments for rent, but she liked the flowers out front and the Jamba Juice across the street. Lo and behold, when she inquired, there were two apartments right next to each other. She called me immediately and told me I was moving. We’ve lived here for the past five years.
Whereas my apartment has more windows and open space, Lia’s has more character, with exposed brick on almost every wall. And the way the individual apartments wrap around, our bedroom walls buddy up, and our balconies sit across from each other over the atrium in the lobby.
“I do want to know what took so long because glass Yahtzee can only wait so long, and if you’re raging, our game is going to end short.”
“Who says I’m raging?” I ask as I set the food on her pristine white kitchen countertop. I have the same one, and we try to compete on who can keep theirs whiter. It’s so stupid, but fuck, I think she’s winning.
“I’ve known you for a decade, Breaker. Pretty sure I can tell when you’re simmering in rage. What’s going on?”
Taking a seat on one of her barstools, I rest my arms on the counter. “I don’t want to ruin the night. I haven’t seen you in over a week, and the last thing I want to do is talk about work.” Or lack thereof, thank you, Gemma Shoemacher.
“Yes, and since I haven’t seen you in over a week, the last thing I want to do is eat dinner and play a fragile game of Yahtzee with a grump. Now tell me what happened so we can move on and have fun.” She sets two plates on the counter and adds, “I’ve been planning this night for a few days now. Do not ruin it.” She threateningly points her finger at me, which I knock away.
“Fine, but we’re not harping on it, okay?” I drag my hand over the back of my neck. “I’ve thought about it enough on the drive over here. I just want to forget it.”
“Fine, now spill.” She empties out the carton of lo mein and divides it equally on our plates.
“Do you remember that one girl who used to work for me, the one who made me that advent calendar?”
“Remember her? I still have every picture she drew of you in a box in my room. December 17th will forever be my favorite. The way she accentuated your nostrils was pure perfection.”
My nostrils resembled two giant life rafts on my face, but of course, Lia thought it was the greatest thing she had ever seen.
“Gemma is my hero. Sad she got so crazy and you had to let her go,” she adds.
“Yeah, well, she’s suing us now.”
Lia pauses, smirks, and then shakes her head. “Oh, Gemma, bad, bad move. Don’t mess with the Cane brothers and their business.” She glances up at me. “What’s she attempting to get money out of you for?”
“Claims hostile work environment, beratement from me—”
Lia lets out a large guffaw. “Beratement . . . from you?” She points the fork in her hand at me. “That’s laughable. I don’t think you could hurt a fly if you tried, let alone berate someone in a workplace.”
“I know . . . but she’s on some sort of warpath, claiming wrongful termination and all that other bullshit. She’s posted it on social media and is now getting press attention because we’re Cane Enterprises. Anything to bring us down.”
“Yeah, but she’s being a total moron because you can’t go and make up lies on social media like that; if you’re caught, you’re effed.” She tops our plates off with some General Tso’s chicken. “So is Huxley countersuing?”
“How do you know that?”
“Please.” She licks the sweet yet spicy sauce off her fork. “I’ve known you and your family long enough to have witnessed the hard work, dedication, and many hours you’ve put into building Cane Enterprises. No way in hell is Huxley going to let some stalker—albeit a rather comical one—get away with tarnishing the brand and the business you three have spent so long creating.”
“Yes, they’re putting together all the evidence they need to present their case. I don’t think we’re in it for the money because we don’t need it, nor are we in the business of putting people in debt, but Huxley wants to set a precedent. Make sure that people know not to fuck with us.”
“Probably smart because this girl has opened the door to the possibility of lawsuits, and if you end this correctly, no one will want to go up against you.”
“Yeah, that’s the plan.”
“So what’s the problem? Sure, maybe your ego is slightly tarnished, but when has that ever affected you before? Remember the time in college you were mistaken for the third-best Scrabble player rather than the second? You took that like a champ.”