The Usual Family Mayhem

Chapter Twenty

The summons arrived before nine the next morning in the form of a text. Brock picked the restaurant and set a time to meet, leaving no room for argument. Unfortunately, he had good taste or a phone app that told him about local eating spots because he chose one in Reynolda Village, Gram’s social hunting grounds. That guaranteed I’d see someone I knew, or Gram and Celia knew, when Brock lost it and fired me.

The reality of impending embarrassment didn’t make me rush to get dressed, but I did have a clear path to sneak away from the house. Celia and Gram were in the annex, finalizing their baking for that charity event. I left a note saying I had to run some errands. They’d need to depend on Charlotte, or some other person Gram knew, to be lurking around and report back about my real activities.

Ten minutes before the set time of the grand showdown, I walked into the Village Tavern wearing the only halfway-work-like item of clothing I brought with me to North Carolina, a short navy-blue dress with three-quarter-length sleeves and pin tucks in the front. It was cute and kind of casual and the best I could do on short notice.

The luring scent of cheese and all sorts of food goodness hit me when I walked into the place. The sights and smells threw me back to all the times before I left for college when we’d eaten here. My teenage mind found it fancy and special. Gram really wasn’t a go-out kind of gal except for her regular lunch with the ladies, but she knew I loved the place and made excuses to take me there.

Reynolda Village consisted of a group of buildings that used to be part of a bigger estate owned by a tobacco-rich family, though a different tobacco-rich family from the one that owned Graylyn Estate. The main house now operated as a museum. The former barn and other outbuildings had been turned into an upscale eating and shopping destination.

I was a big fan of all of it but mostly this restaurant. The white building with the green shutters. The outside tables with the big umbrellas. Those amazing homemade potato chips served warm with a ranch dipping sauce. I’d eaten about a million of them over the years.

The good memories screeched to a halt when I saw the one bad thing about the restaurant—Brock sitting in it. He’d picked the lunch rush to meet—the more people to see my downfall the better—because everything about him was annoying.

I waded through full tables filled with lively conversation to get to him. He glanced up but didn’t say hello. Just nodded at the empty chair in front of him. Not the cheeriest of welcomes but then, we didn’t like each other, so why pretend.

He studied me for a second. The kind of studying an old-time executioner might have done before sharpening his axe.

He jumped in without preamble. “Where’s your status report? I asked for it in writing. It’s due today. Right now.”

Oh, right. That. It didn’t exist because what the hell would I write? “I told you I’d experienced unexpected delays.”

After a few beats of tense silence, Brock leaned forward with his elbows on the table. “You mean you needed time to invent a scheme that would cover your lies.”

Exactly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I’d already lost the thread of the conversation because a server went by carrying a tray. Every meal on those plates looked delicious. Interesting how Brock had both menus on his side of the table.

“Maybe you think it’s okay to have your employer pay for a trip home and an unnecessary vacation, but it’s not. It’s unprofessional.”

He set his water glass to the side. “Even you should know that.”

Even you? I fell back on fake outrage to avoid admitting he had a valid point. “This is an intricate deal with a lot of moving parts. My deal. There are emotions at play but there’s also an opportunity for a lucrative ending that benefits all of us.”

Kudos to me for using a firm voice and projecting confidence. I’d been clear, no-nonsense, as I spouted bullshit. Mostly I wanted to know if he’d ordered and if he intended to buy my lunch.

Brock shook his head. “How do you think this is going to end, Kasey?”

Excellent question. “It’s possible this deal won’t work. I suggested it. I didn’t guarantee its success.”

“You’re wasting time and I’m about done.”

In his defense, he wasn’t wrong. He was the boss, and we all needed the firm to make money. I was the one lying and making the mess. That didn’t mean I had to like the words or him.

He placed his napkin on the table as the crowd noise swelled behind him. “I’m going to use the restroom. When I get back we’re going to discuss how you intend to present the truth to Micah and what that will mean for your continued employment with NOI.”

With that not-so-veiled threat, he and his expensive sneakers stomped off.

“Kasey?”

The unexpected male voice made me jerk and smack my hand into Brock’s water glass. I caught it right before it tipped. “What the—”

Jackson stood, looming over the table, looking kind of pissed. “Who was that?”

“Have you always been this sneaky?”

I looked around. “Where did you come from?”

“I just finished a business meeting. I was sitting a few tables away.”

He pointed somewhere behind me. “You walked past me when you came in. I guess you didn’t see me.”

Only because I’d been so focused on Brock and my dislike for Brock and how much the meeting with Brock was going to suck.

Jackson sat down in the unused chair next to me. “Answer my question.”

Tension thrummed off him. His face had this clenched look to it, like he planned to bluster around and not listen to anything I had to say.

“Are you okay?”

If he got this stressed at work then he needed to find a new job. When I said the law sucked, people should listen to me.

“Your friend?”

he asked without context or more information.

I didn’t understand the question. “Brock. He’s not really a friend.”

“Boyfriend, then.”

Talk about a nightmare scenario. “Do you really think I’d like that guy? Blowhard jackass is not my type. Not on purpose. Sometimes I find out too late, but you get it.”

Something in Jackson’s expression changed. Something unreadable. “I’m trying to figure out—”

“Excuse me.”

Oh, good. Brock returned.

Brock took his seat and stared at Jackson. “I’m assuming you’re an old friend of Kasey’s. Now is not a good time. We’re in the middle of a meeting.”

The mood at the table flipped from uncomfortable to hostile. I thought the energy was negative before Jackson got here. Now it felt like a toxic swirl of angry dudes and chest thumping.

Time to shut this down before the other diners noticed a problem and went running to Gram. “Jackson Quaid, this is Brock Deavers. Brock and I work together.”

“I’m her boss.”

Not the way I would say it, but yes.

Jackson relaxed back in his chair. “Interesting.”

“We were . . .”

What did I say next? I stopped talking and hoped neither of them noticed.

“Why are you in town, Brock?”

Brock’s eyes narrowed at Jackson’s familiarity. “Well, Jackson, Kasey and I are in Winston-Salem about a business venture.”

Jackson’s eyebrow raised. “Even more interesting.”

That got my mouth moving. An offensive strike. That was the only play here. This one time I needed Jackson to play along and not make my life more difficult. “Jackson is the attorney for the, uh, enterprise.”

Jackson slowly turned his head and shot me that deadly stare of his.

I rushed on, hoping Jackson had somewhere else to be and would go there now. “He’s been clear it’s too early for any status or commitment discussion. The ladies need more time to think about the potential and rushing them only guarantees they will decline.”

Jackson blinked a few times.

Embarrassment hovered right in front of me, ready to pounce.

Then Jackson turned to Brock. “Kasey’s assessment is correct. The hard sell is detrimental to your interest. That statement is not personal or targeted. My clients simply are skeptical of claims to grow their business that involve them giving away a share of their profits. They’ve been hugely successful without assistance or the worry about conglomerate politics.”

That sounded real. Jackson had some skills.

“I understand the hesitancy. That’s why I’m proposing a meeting so we can pitch our services. Spell out what we have to offer and the type of investor clients we cater to.”

Jackson nodded. “Lobby them, in other words.”

“Educate them,”

Brock said in a louder voice.

The conversation had my head swiveling back and forth as if I were watching a tennis match. They both seemed to be winning, though Jackson had inched ahead. Maybe.

“Fair enough.”

Jackson continued to use his serious lawyer voice. “I’ll talk with them and get back to Kasey with an answer.”

“That’s not usually how—”

“That is the only option I can offer. You won’t get a shot at my clients without me being present and, right now, I can’t in good conscience recommend a business deal. Not without due diligence and more information.”

The words flowed. Jackson was in control and acting the part. “I’m sure you understand that while you’re assessing their business for a possible future relationship, they’re assessing yours.”

“I can provide any information you need.”

Brock pulled out a business card.

Jackson waved it away. “I can go through Kasey. After all, this is her project, correct?”

Brock hesitated. He had that could-explode-at-any-minute expression on his face. The man did not like being told no. He really didn’t like being told I was in charge.

That crush on Jackson? It kicked stronger than ever. I couldn’t deny it this time.

After a few stressful minutes, Brock relented. The fight ran right out of him. “Of course.”

Really? That worked?

“I’ll be in client meetings in South Carolina for a few days.”

Which was code for playing golf with my buddies. “Then I’ll be back, Kasey. I’ll need to see some progress.”

Then he was going to be disappointed. “Sure.”

“Jackson.”

Brock nodded.

Jackson nodded back.

I had a first-row seat to the odd male ritual.

A punch of relief hit me as soon as Brock stomped off until I realized that meant I was stuck paying the bill for anything he’d ordered. I was about to thank Jackson for jumping in and playing along when he ruined it.

“Tell me what the hell is going on.”

It looked like my procrastination days were over. Time to come clean. Maybe being in a public place would prevent this from being as terrible as I feared.

Knowing Jackson, probably not.