Chapter 12
Pink.
“It was my Grandpa’s,” Beau said bluntly. “The truck is in the shop, get in.”
I carefully eased my way into the passenger seat. My hips were still achy and stiff, but getting into the pinkmobile was much easier than forcing myself to climb into Beau’s giant truck.
Beau drove out of the garage and we headed to the city for my sixteenth week prenatal appointment.
The mid-century car hadn’t been updated to have a stereo, so we would have to spend the next hour and a half listening to FM radio instead of the Bored Bros podcast. The car didn’t even have cup holders, either.
I had to secure my giant pink water cup between my feet as I held my yellow cup in my hands.
Hints of orange washed over my tongue as I drank. Divorced dad music played from the local alt-rock station, but I preferred it to silence.
Beau might have opened up on Christmas, but he had clammed back up in the days afterward. We had both promised each other that we would try, but emotionally the man was still cowering in an imaginary treehole like a frightened squirrel.
I let him lick his self-inflicted wounds in peace, though. I was too busy to deal with him. As soon as a new pair of glasses was shipped to the manor, I spent days researching historically accurate decor for the Kaye house.
Just the night before, I had emailed Ashley an entire file of different wallpaper samples, tile, and paint swatches that would complete the Kaye house renovation. Ashley had been so ecstatic with my findings that she had replied to my email with the famous clip of her shaking me with glee.
After the singer finished crowing about how he wished the devil in red heels had never walked into his garage, a commercial blasted through the speakers.
“Like lightning from the heavens, it’s TYSOOOO—”
Beau quickly switched off the radio.
Weird. Maybe the man had a personal affront to advertising? Rich guys probably got access to ultra premium packages that blocked all ads except for commercials for buying private islands or whatever.
I put down my water. “Was that Tyson’s toothpaste sponsorship or the car dealership one? Both commercials start out the same.”
“Don’t know,” Beau said, keeping his eyes glued to the highway.
I hummed. “I wonder how much companies pay to use that clip from the national championship game?”
“Too much.” He flicked the turn signal and steered toward an exit ramp.
Did Beau have something against Tyson? No, he couldn’t—no one had anything against Tyson.
Tyson certainly didn’t have a problem with Beau, either.
He would even shut Ashley down when she would bring up a rumor about the Fontaines—always saying Beau was a decent guy and not a foreign spy or a crime lord.
I decided to poke Beau a little more to get to the truth.
“His Tigerade sponsorship was the best one,” I said innocently. “Tyson kept my fridge full of those six-packs for months. Blue was my favorite flavor.”
“Blue is not a flavor,” Beau said curtly.
I cut him a glance. “You sound like a cop.”
He rolled his eyes in response, clamming up yet again. Beau bled crimson and ivory just like all Lindsay University worshipers, so he probably just hated Tyson for winning the championship for Plains State when we were seniors.
How petty. Lindsay couldn’t win every championship. Get over it, loser.
Beau pulled up next to a pump at a gas station and got out of the car.
“Want any snacks or drinks?” Beau asked through the open door as he clicked the nozzle in place. “If you do, give me the name of an actual flavor—not a color.”
I finished the last of my wake-up water. “I’ll stick to the waters for now, officer.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’ll go grab some food just in case. Just sit tight, Jenny here takes forever to fill up.” He gently tapped the hood of the car. “Like Dad always said, Jenny sucks down gas like a Plains State girl sucks…”
I glared at him through the open door. Thankfully, Beau knew when to shut up.
“Anyway,” he said with an awkward second tap on the hood. “Snacks. I’ll be back.”
I concentrated on hydrating so I wouldn’t have to look at him.
Once he disappeared, I watched the numbers on the pump climb and climb.
Since he was a modern oil baron, I couldn’t imagine Beau was too concerned with buying the most expensive gas possible.
Hell, Fontaine Energy probably supplied the gas.
Of course, that would depend on which gas station we had stopped at.
I rolled down my window and stuck my head out to get a better look at the sign. I spotted a green dinosaur on the sign—StegCo. I didn’t know much about them, not like…
I turned my head and instantly scowled. I knew my old nemesis was near. Just across the street was that ugly red geometric logo that some shitty focus group had thought made an acceptable “H.”
Fucking Herringbone. Their station was advertising prices that undercut the StegCo station by ten cents because of course they were. A $98 million verdict wasn’t enough. I should have asked that jury for much more.
Fueled by the hatred in my heart, I flipped off the Herringbone station just as the driver’s side door shut.
Beau settled in the driver’s seat and set the plastic bag of snacks on the console. “Is that for me?”
I put down my middle finger as a hot flush crept across my cheekbones. “No! That was for Herringbone. My verdict against them was what my $2.9 million bonus came out of.”
Beau raised his eyebrows and started to drive away from the gas station. “You sued Herringbone and won? What happened?”
A little yellow butterfly in my chest fluttered its wings. I could have talked for hours about everything that went on in the Herringbone case, but this was the first time Beau wanted to really speak to me since Christmas and I didn’t want to risk annoying him.
“Long story short,” I said, “Herringbone made a bunch of contracts with smaller companies they never intended to fulfill. Enough of the smaller companies got together and sued for the money they were owed, money from lost business due to the non-payment, and…”
Oh, might as well brag.
“I pissed off the jury enough with Herringbone’s history of shady business deals that they awarded a few million extra as a ‘fuck you.’”
Beau laughed. “Damn, sugar. You kicked them in the teeth.”
I took a sip of my water to keep from blushing. “Well, one of the partners did most of the trial. I did the grunt work before and after…but I still got to get up in front of the jury and yell about how shitty Herringbone was.”
Beau changed lanes and sped up. “That’s what happens when a company is publicly traded.
When you promise your stock holders continuous growth quarter after quarter, a lot of businesses will do anything to raise profits.
It’s why Fontaine Energy is still family-owned.
We can take some losses every now and again for the ultimate health of the company because we have no one to answer to but ourselves. ”
Made sense why Beau was so concerned about heirs, then. I imagined our babies in matching pinstripe suits, sitting at tiny desks and…doing whatever Beau does.
“Where did you go at Christmas?” I asked. “You’ve never actually explained what you do for the company.”
His jaw clenched and I studied the passing billboards on the side of the highway as I waited for him to answer. Maybe he really was attending that masked orgy like Ashley had suspected.
He cleared his throat. “So, my dad runs the company as the CEO, but he doesn’t get out much.
My grandpa used to go out to the oil fields and offshore rigs to meet with the managers and shake hands with some of the workers.
I started going in his place during the last year of his life and I’ve been doing it ever since.
It builds unity and loyalty to the brand when you can put a face to the Fontaine name. ”
We passed a Lindsay University billboard, featuring their goofy felt Crimson Knight that danced on the sidelines at games. “So…you’re like the company mascot?”
“No, I take important business matters into consideration and…” He sighed. “Yeah. I’m like the company mascot.”
Well, that’s a little embarrassing.
I rattled the ice in my cup and took a drink. “Mascots are good for morale.”
“Exactly, and that’s what I was doing at Christmas,” he explained.
“I flew down to the gulf and met with all the managers of our offshore rigs so they could air out all their concerns. And for all the rig workers who didn’t get to go home for the holidays, I rented out this huge dance hall on Christmas day and threw a massive party.
Every year, I pay for an open bar, grazing tables full of barbecue and seafood, and tons of door prizes that the company gives out through the night. ”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s…a good time—like I’m fraternity president again and everyone likes me. We have low turnover on our rigs compared to everyone else and I like to think the Christmas party is a big reason why.”
“But then I had to fall down a hill and spoil the party this year?”
He shrugged. “I had already made my big ‘thank you for working for us’ speech. Everyone had their alcohol and food by then, so they probably didn’t miss me too much when I had to run out.”
My stomach growled a little at the mention of food. I dragged the plastic bag from the gas station into my lap and inspected the snack haul—carrot sticks and beef jerky. Was he joking?
“Can we pull over at the next gas station?” I asked. “I have to use the bathroom.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Can’t you wait until we get to the appointment?”
“You really want to test that?”
With a quiet sigh, he merged onto an exit ramp and pulled into another gas station—one that luckily didn’t have Herringbone pumps outside of the store.
After visiting the bathroom so I wouldn’t have completely lied, I grabbed a bag of chocolate mini donuts and walked up to the register.
As I paid, the clerk glanced at my belly.
“Six months, right?” he said.
This motherfucker.