The Usual Family Mayhem

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Busted.

Of course Brock would pick this one time in his life to step away from a golf course earlier than expected. He played in the rain. He played when it was freezing outside. He played on public and private courses. He played in tournaments. He played then insisted the playing was really a business meeting. He played so often I wondered if his useless ball-hitting obsession explained his broken engagement two months ago.

I’d already forgotten her name because Brock never talked about her. She was an . . . architect or accountant. Something with an a but not assassin because I would have remembered that. Congrats to whatever her name was for being smart enough to run.

Brock’s arrival on Gram’s porch was a power play. I’d hoped Jackson’s lawyer puffery would have prevented this. Jackson told him not to drop in. I told Brock the same thing. Despite all the warnings to the contrary, Brock plunged ahead with his you can’t tell me what to do plans.

I ushered Abigail around Brock and watched her scurry down the walkway to her car. That solved one problem, though it would boomerang eventually.

On to the next issue. Dead husbands should trump general boss asshatery but not today. Good job, Brock.

“Are you stalking me?”

Because stumbling over him every few days was not my idea of a good time.

Brock crossed his arms in front of him, sending a clear I’m-not-open-to-discussion message. “Do you think this situation is funny?”

“I don’t think anything about my job is amusing.”

The most truthful comment I’d ever uttered.

“You are on a work trip. I’m your boss.”

As if he ever let me forget that. “I’m aware.”

“Then you also know we expect results, not roadblocks.”

I deserved his anger but ignored it anyway. “I’m trying to make the deal work.”

“By hiding in North Carolina?”

Time to bring out the big guns. “The business lawyer told you to back off or risk blowing the deal.”

Brock scoffed. “That guy?”

The punch of anger surprised me. Jackson didn’t need me rushing to his defense, but he didn’t have a choice. “He’s a respected lawyer.”

“He’s been handled.”

What kind of mob talk was that? “Meaning?”

“Your sole focus should be on me. On getting this deal done.”

Brock leaned in as if he needed to emphasize his words with a bit of intimidation. “I’ve been very clear about this. Your continued employment depends on your being able to deliver this deal. You are out of chances.”

More stuff I already knew or at least guessed.

“Micah sees something in you. I don’t get it. I think he’ll soon regret giving you an opportunity and realize that his storied ability to read people was off this one time.”

Brock shook his head. “Lucky for you, and since Micah believed this deal could be lucrative, rather than waiting on you I started the financial health assessment on the business with what little information has been made available so far.”

Gram would love that. “Why?”

“This project has legs.”

Brock said nonsense stuff like that all the time.

“Because of that, I need to step in before you blow this.”

He finished his speech and made a move toward the house.

Not so fast. I performed the perfect block. I also caught him off guard and dragged him off the porch to the space under the maple tree out front. The trunk should block anyone from watching from the road.

“Kasey?”

He sounded more stunned than angry but give him time. “What the hell are you doing?”

Touching him and not enjoying it, so I stopped. “Keeping you from making a mistake.”

He brushed his hands over his arms. Right where I’d touched him, as if I’d given him girl germs.

This guy.

“I don’t get it, Brock. All the directors are cultivating clients and making deals without your interference. They’re on calls, out to lunch, visiting sites.”

I had listened just enough in work meetings to know those things happened. “For some reason I don’t get the same respect.”

“You haven’t earned it.”

“I’m trying to.”

Not really, but still. This conversation called for an indignant response. I aimed for fake indignation. I could pull that off. “You are the problem here. Micah gave me a deadline. I’m still inside of it.”

Barely, but I had a few days.

“The difference between the other directors and you is simple.”

Brock crossed his arms in front of him. “I don’t trust you.”

Wise. That Yale education really did come in handy. “You’ve made that clear from my first day in the office.”

His mood shifted. The abrasive guy with his own agenda—gone. A choking whiff of smugness filled the air. “You’re not going to like the way this ends, Kasey.”

Okay . . .

He continued. “Remember when this implodes that I tried to help you and keep this from becoming an embarrassing disaster. You’ve been warned.”

The chilling words haunted me as I opened the door and stepped back inside. Celia and Gram stood there with dire expressions reminiscent of mourners at a funeral.

“Uh, hi.”

Because, really, what else could I say?

Did they hear Brock? See him? All the unexpected visitors made me want to install a better alarm system and locking gate to the driveway.

“Kasey Adelaide Nottingham.”

Oh, damn. Gram pulled out my middle name. She didn’t weaponize it often but when she did it was a clear sign of terrible things to come.

“Kasey.”

Celia going with the usual name she called me was only a little less terrifying. “Is there something you need to tell us?”

So many things. “Like?”

Gram sighed. “Do not make me use your full name again, young lady. Start talking.”

Shit.