Real Good Man (Real Duet #1)

I stand in the middle of my apartment and turn in a slow circle. “They’re only walls.” I swallow back the rising lump in my throat. “I can figure this out.”

It’s not like I have a choice.

I head for my bedroom to change into the armor I’ll need to face my parents.

God help me.

*

Jansen and Jane Regent live in a house they’ve owned for as long as I can remember. While I was growing up, we bounced between Manhattan and the three-acre estate that still boasts green shag carpet from the ’70s and the ugliest avocado-green appliances you can imagine.

It’s not like they don’t have the money to renovate, but my parents would never take the time to deal with that kind of project when they can hole up in their state-of-the-art lab they built only twenty yards from the house. Actually, I’m pretty sure the lab and its contents are worth triple what the house and the land are.

What exactly do my über-genius parents do? Freelance research and development for biotech and defense contracting firms that’s so top secret, they can’t even talk about it to their daughter. Not that they would if they could.

My mother still hasn’t forgiven me for the C I got in AP Chemistry in tenth grade (on purpose, I might add, so I could screw over my GPA and any chance of getting into MIT). I believe that day was when she officially gave up on me ever following in their footsteps. My mother doesn’t blink at dropping a million dollars for super-special mice for their lab, but the chances of her offering to bail me out for a fraction of that amount are slim to none. And yet, given that I’m up shit creek with no paddle, I’m going to sacrifice my pride and give it a shot.

When I knock on the door to the house, Albright, my parents’ jack of all trades, answers the door.

“Ms. Banner, it’s a surprise to see you here.”

I’m sure it is a surprise, because generally I only show up for one or two federal holidays, and usually leave as quickly as possible.

I give Albright a quick hug and step inside. “Are my parents available?”

He smiles. “They’re in the lab. I can check with them to see if they’re able to take a break to speak with you, though.”

As much as I want to change my mind and tell him not to bother so I can turn around and walk away, I decide I can’t waste the Uber fare I spent to get out here if there’s a chance in hell they’ll help.

“That would be great.”

Albright disappears into the kitchen, no doubt to exit out the back and find my parents. He reappears five minutes later. “Do you want me to fix you something to eat? It will be about thirty or forty-five minutes before they can take a break.”

I should have figured this wouldn’t be a quick process.

“A drink would be fabulous.”

Albright’s smile becomes strained. “Your parents don’t drink anymore, so this house is dry now.”

Wow. That’s a first.

I study the older man for a moment. “I bet the house isn’t completely dry.”

Albright has lived on the premises for the last ten years or so, and I raided his liquor collection once upon a time when he first moved in. He got smart pretty quick and locked it up. Why he didn’t rat me out to my parents, I have no idea.

One corner of his mouth edges up. “I may be able to get you a Scotch.”

“I would be forever indebted to you. This isn’t a conversation I’m sure I can handle without liquor.”

He nods and disappears in the direction of the butler’s quarters. When he returns, it’s with a small tumbler of Scotch, neat. Three fingers, if I’m not mistaken.

Albright hands it to me with a sober expression. “This stays between us.”

I accept the glass and grip it with both hands like it’s the key to surviving this afternoon, which it might very well be.

“You know I’m not going to tell.” I sip and hide my grimace. Scotch has never been my favorite. “Speaking of which, why didn’t you ever tell my parents I stole your booze when I was seventeen? They probably would’ve shipped me off to boarding school immediately.”

He doesn’t answer right away. “Maybe because I didn’t think you needed to give them another reason to find fault with you.”

His words sting, but they’re the truth.

“They never needed help finding reasons.” I down the rest of the Scotch in three small sips. “But enough about my fondest childhood memories. How are you these days? Are you ever going to retire?”

“I’m quite acceptable. My health is good, and your parents are generally easy to please as long as I keep to their requirements. I’m not sure I’ll ever retire at this point.”

I want to ask about his children, because I’m pretty sure Albright has two sons he doesn’t see often, but unless he brings it up, I’ll leave the subject alone.

“Fair enough.”

“And yourself, Ms. Banner? What brings you here today?”

I think about the complete and utter shit show my life has turned into seemingly overnight. Deciding to spill it all to Albright, I unload.

“I’m getting evicted because I lost my job, and if I can’t prove that I have money in the bank or a steady income stream, I have to be out of my apartment in a week.”

Albright’s silvery-gray eyebrows climb upward as I drain my glass.

“Really? That’s terrible. Shouldn’t you be able to prove an income from your grandparents’ trust?”

It’s not surprising that Albright knows about the trust. “I’ve hit the max for withdrawals this year. I don’t have anything else to show for it—yet. I just need some time.”

He’s silent for several long moments before speaking. “And you’re here for your parents’ assistance with this financial issue?”

I nod slowly. “I’m not expecting a great outcome, but it’s either this or a cardboard box down on Skid Row somewhere, and I’m not asking my friends for help.”

Albright reaches for my empty glass. “I’ll get you another.” He doesn’t have to say anything else. It’s clear that he knows my parents will say no.

So, why am I even bothering with what is sure to be an incredibly humiliating episode? Probably because my options are limited, and I’m hoping for some kind of miracle.

Unlikely.

I sip the next glass of Scotch more slowly, letting it mellow me out. When Albright takes the empty glass away, I know I only have a few more minutes before my parents will appear. The timing is almost perfect, because the back door opens and in they come.

They’re not clad in lab coats and safety glasses like one might expect. My father is dressed in pressed khakis with a knife-like crease down the front and a white button-down shirt. My mother is wearing a black skirt, white blouse, black cardigan, nylons, and ugly shoes. They look like they’re headed on a Sunday drive rather than stepping out of a state-of-the-art lab.

“This is certainly a surprising interruption,” my mother says. Her use of surprising interruption rather than pleasant surprise doesn’t bode well.

“Banner, how are you?” my father asks.