“Seriously?” I say, unable to keep the heat out of my voice. “You really think buying me a goddamn drink is somehow going to make up for me losing my job? Really? You obviously don't understand how badly I needed this job – as shitty as it was.”
“You're right. It's not enough,” he says with a smug grin. “So maybe I can buy you dinner too?”
I laugh, mostly out of pure shock over what was happening here. This man directly contributed to me losing my job, and now he has the nerve to ask me out on a date? Only minutes before, he was treating me like trash and talking down to me – and now he wants to date me?
What an arrogant prick. An absolutely arrogant prick.
“You're a piece of work, you know that?” I'm so pissed, I'm almost shouting by this point.
“You wouldn't be the first woman to say that,” he says, giving me what he probably thinks is a smile that will stop my heart from beating. “Probably won't be the last.”
“Have a good day, Brady,” I say, rolling my eyes and hoping he picked up on the sarcasm dripping from my tongue. “And I hope the coffee was worth it.”
I push open the door and walk out into the summer heat, the weight of everything that happened hitting me hard. Again. I don't want to cry, not publicly. Again. I already made a fool out of myself for basically getting canned in front of everyone. The last thing I need is a public breakdown too. It would be the cherry on one screwed up sundae.
I hear the bell ring as someone comes out of the coffee shop behind me, but I don't pay any attention. I don't want to see or talk to anybody anymore today. I've had it. I'm done. I just want to go home, curl up in a ball and cry myself to sleep – and then sleep for the next ten years. Maybe when I wake up, my life won't be the shitshow it currently is.
Seriously, can it get any worse than it is right now?
“Amanda, right?” I hear him say.
Apparently, it can get worse. Since I no longer have to worry about my job, I simply hold out my hand and flip him off without turning around.
“Okay, I deserve that,” he says.
Gee, you think? With my other hand, I hail a cab, giving a silent word of thanks as I see it pulling to the curb a moment later. I can't really afford to take a cab right now – I obviously need to save every penny – but I need to get away from him as quickly as possible before I punch him. The last thing I need today is to get arrested for assault on top of everything else.
“Amanda wait,” he says, in that slow Texas drawl he probably thinks is charming enough to make me forget that I hate him. “I feel terrible. Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Can't you take a hint?” I ask. I stepped to the curb. “You just screwed me over and ruined my life. Screw off.”
“That's not what I –”
I turn and glare at him as I climb into the cab. I give him the finger once more for good measure before slamming the door and telling the driver to go and go quickly. As we pull away from the curb, leaving Brady and his stupid black hat standing there, I settle back in my seat.
The nerve of that guy, I think to myself as we drive off. The nerve of that arrogant, smug, condescending son of a bitch.
I need to blow off some steam and although I'd have loved nothing more than to punch Brady's lights out, some other poor schmuck at the gym will have to do. I just need to go home and get my stuff.
After that, since I can't beat the shit out of rich boy Brady, I'm going to destroy somebody else.
Chapter Nine
Brady
“Thomas,” I say. “Good to see you.”
Thomas comes around his desk – a nice, but normal sized desk, unlike Kendrick's – and gives me a firm handshake.
“Nice to see you too, son,” he says.
Thomas is one of the most brilliant men I've ever known. He came from nothing, made it into MIT and started in the R&D department here at KT – it seems like a lifetime ago. And now, he's sitting in the CEO's seat – keeping it warm for me, he's fond of saying. But like Miss Delia, I think Thomas gives me more credit than I deserve. His are yet another set of shoes I could never possibly fill.
But, he is an inspiration. A real-life success story. He's responsible for some of Keating Technologies' biggest innovations. It probably wouldn't be unfair to say that without Thomas Newhouse, there might not be a Keating Technologies – at least, not as it's known today. Without Thomas, I don't know that KT would be the empire its become.
Thomas, Kendrick, and my father were the best of friends. The Three Musketeers. They did almost everything together – fishing trips, camping excursions. I remember getting together with them for family barbecues and whatnot. I grew up around Thomas and thought as highly of him as I did Kendrick. They're both great men. Aside from my father, the best I've ever known.
Thomas is tall, but not nearly as wide as Kendrick. Whereas Kendrick is built like a linebacker, Thomas is built more like a cornerback – a little more slender and agile. Despite being well into his fifties, Thomas' ebony skin is smooth and unlined. The only thing giving his age away is the liberal sprinkling of white through his still-full head of hair and neatly trimmed goatee.
He's as un-Texas as Kendrick is Texas – which makes sense, given the fact that Thomas was born in Philadelphia. No snakeskin boots or Stetsons for him. No, Thomas wears a very nice, but conservative three-piece suit. He's a frugal man, not given to lavish spending sprees – in fact, he drives a ten-year old car and has had the same modest, two-story home as long as I can remember.
My father always told me that I could – and should – learn a lot from both Thomas and Kendrick.
I take a seat in the chair before his desk, setting my hat on the seat next to me. Thomas walks around, dropping down into the chair behind it. He looks at me and pats the arm of the chair, giving me a wide, warm smile.
“It's nice and warm for you, son,” he says.
I give him a smile. “You look better in it than I ever could, Thomas.”
He laughs out loud and shakes his head. “Well, you can always update it to a more fashionable, stylish chair when you take over.”
“If I take over.”
He nods. “Oh, you will,” he says. “I have every faith that you will. Can I get you some coffee or anything?”
I shake my head. “No, I'm fine,” I say. “Thank you.”
I don't want to debate the point with him right then and there. Needless to say, I'm having more than my fair share of doubts. Two years may seem like a long time, but as I've pondered it since meeting with Kendrick, I'm starting to see that it's not all that long at all in reality. Two years to find a wife and learn the intricacies of all of KT's different divisions? Yeah, when I really sit down and think about it, I'm not feeling all that great about my odds.
“How are Marie and the kids?” I ask.
He smiles and I can see the light of pride in his eyes. I'm not proud of it – in fact, I'm pretty ashamed of it – but deep within me, I feel a small spark of jealousy when I see that look. It's a look of pride I never saw in my own father's eyes – and would never have the chance to see. Thomas is proud of his kids – and he should be. They're both remarkable. But I would have given the world to see that same light of pride in my parent's eyes – if only just once.
“Marie is good,” he says. “She's keeping busy with the gallery. Anna is graduating from Temple next year. She's going to be a lawyer.”
“Better keep her away from Kendrick,” I laugh.
“I plan on trying,” he says with a grin. “But he's already been pouring honey into her ear.”
“And Jonas?”
“Jonas is heading out to California,” he says. “He's going to start his PhD work in San Diego.”
“Marine Biology, wasn't it?”
Thomas nods. “Indeed. The boy loves the ocean,” he replies. “And all the critters in it.”
“Yeah, I've seen Jaws too many times to feel comfortable getting into the water like that.”
“You and me both, son,” Thomas' laughter is booming. “You and me both.”
As the laughter dies out, we sit back in our seats and stare at each other for a moment. It's as if Thomas is waiting for me to say something – though, I have no idea what it could be.