Chapter Two
Kiyah
“Hello, Grant.”
He answered on the last ring as usual. I knew he’d take five rings to decide whether to answer or let it go to voicemail, but… we both knew the outcome. His heavy breaths filled the receiver, and I could imagine his chest heaving up and down and steam blowing out of his nose like a raging bull.
“Grant… are you there?”
“Why are you calling?” he demanded. I rolled my eyes and hooked my helmet on a bike handle.
“I’m in town.”
“Leave.”
I hissed through my teeth as I stretched towards the sky with my fingers laced above my head. “No can do. Daisy was beside herself when she called me last week, begging me to be a bridesmaid. I can’t let my little sister down on her big day, can I?”
“It wouldn’t be the first fucking time you’ve let someone down, and I highly doubt it’ll be the last.”
“I’m at the firm.”
“I’m not here,” he lied.
“Is that why your truck is in your assigned parking spot?”
“Kieran drove it to work today.”
I don’t know how this man is an attorney because he’s a horrible liar. Grant would never allow Kieran to drive his truck!
“I see you peeking at me through your office blinds,” I said dryly. I giggled when the blinds snapped shut.
“You’re trespassing.”
“How can I trespass when my name is on the building?” I taunted as I entered the office.
I wasn’t surprised when I wasn’t greeted by a bubbly receptionist because Grant was always difficult to work with, and he’d scare them off time and time again.
All except one… Jocelyn, who, for months, endured the ice-cold glares and the barking orders from Grant the Grinch for a glimmer at a shot for a ring.
She thought she’d write the story of a cliché office romance between the soft-spoken, doe-eyed secretary and the overworked, misunderstood, grumpy CEO.
Little did she know.
Grant gave her a pink slip because of poor performance.
His idea of poor performance was a call that was forwarded to his office when she didn’t answer it in time.
He sent her packing, but like a woman scorned, she wouldn’t take her dismissal lying down.
There were some threats from her end—the usual—false claim of sexual assault, dragging the family business’s name through the mud, revealing inside knowledge to the competition.
Daisy, my inside woman, told me how much stress this delusional woman was heaping on top of Grant’s head.
I was in town a week later and quietly handled her business.
No one even knew I was in town. I didn’t plan on staying and didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up.
I visited Granddad while Grandma was at her weekly hair appointment, and he suffered from dementia and would forget I was even there fifteen minutes later.
I didn’t have to worry about him spilling the beans.
“Your last name may be Baker, but make no mistake, you don’t own any parts of Baker Personal Injury & Law.”
I snickered. “You and I both know that’s not true.”
“I want you to leave.”
“Grant, give me what I want, and I’ll be out of your hair forever,” I whispered before hanging up and entering the conference room.
My brow raised at the sight of Nori angrily signing in Daisy’s face.
Her usual pale skin was crimson as she read my sister the riot act.
Daisy’s arms were crossed over her chest, and she sported a sour, unimpressed expression.
Norquisha was wasting good energy popping her neck and working her fingers to the bone, only for Daisy to stare out of a black eye at her like she had a million things to do, and watching her fiancée bitch and moan wasn’t one of them.
Yes, I call her Norquisha when her invisible melanin starts settling in.
I sighed when Daisy rolled her eyes to the ceiling.
In an impressive display of pure dominance, Nori grabbed Daisy by the cheeks and backed her into a wall with a loud thud.
I looked around the room while domestic abuse was happening in real-time and observed Casey and Kieran grazing over the breakfast buffet, and our fathers engaged in a heated conversation about black eyes and stolen hearing aids.
Over the years, Daisy and Nori’s crap turned our fathers from best friends and brothers in arms to frenemies as they blamed their daughters’ antics on the failures of one another’s parenting.
Once, they didn’t speak to each other for a month—forgoing their weekly bro dates to the country club or movies.
Dad spent his Friday nights pestering Mom instead of attending Friday Night Poker with Uncle Ant, Walter Burgess, and some other schmucks.
The icing on the cake was when Uncle Ant canceled a fishing expedition they had planned for months.
According to Mom, Dad looked forward to the trip and moped around somberly like we all were when Buzzard died years ago.
Our dads did all that beefing, and Daisy and Nori went on a romantic getaway to Paris soon after.
They swore up and down that they’d never let their daughters’ issues get between their friendship again, but… here we were.
I entered the buffet line behind Kieran and grabbed a plate.
“I got my money on Nori,” I teased. The words barely slipped from my lips when he abandoned his plate and crushed me into a bear hug. “P-put me down,” I wheezed.
Jesus! He needs to lay off the protein powder, steroids, or whatever the hell he does with Ronan.
Kieran mainly took after our father. He was 6’1 and a lean, mean muscle machine—let him tell it—with a shock of loose, dirty blonde curls that he kept in a faded undercut. His hair was infinitely better than Ronan’s stupid-ass fuckboy mullet.
I hope to God he shaves that shit off for the wedding.
Kieran had Mom’s dark eyes and permanently sun-kissed skin, but besides that, he was all Dad in the face, down to the wire-rimmed bifocals that he swore made him look like a dapper intellectual. He was still my loser baby brother to me and always would be.
He set me on my feet after nearly severing my spine. “Geez. Look what the cat dragged in. How long has it been since anyone heard from her, Kier?” Casey asked.
Kieran squinted before answering, “About eight months, I think.”
“You’re so fucked,” Casey reminded me with a dark laugh.
Don’t I know it.
The last voicemail I received from Dad made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. To say he was upset by my lack of communication and visits was an understatement. He promised the next time I was in town that we’d have a long overdue heart-to-heart.
I imagine it won’t go much differently than the other talks—a lot of sighing, headshaking, and nagging.
“You’re an asshole, Ki. Mom and Dad have been worried sick about you. How hard is it to answer the fucking phone?” Casey chastised.
“Brrrrring, Brrrrring,” Kieran mocked.
“Hello?” Casey answered with his pinky finger to his mouth to mimic the speaker and his thumb to his ear.
“Kiyah, it’s a random loved one. How are you?” Kieran asked.
“Oh, you know. Just being the black sheep of the family—unemployed, sex, drugs, and rock and roll,” Casey said, poorly mimicking my voice.
Kieran nodded appreciatively. “That’s so lovely to hear, Kiyah. We’re so glad that the private school and college degree we paid an arm and a leg for went to good use,” Kieran proclaimed cheerfully.
“Yeah, uh-huh. Listen, I blew through that ten grand you sent last week. Send more money. Love you, byyyyye.” Casey hung up his imaginary phone, and I was not impressed. “See. It’s as easy as that.”
Casey definitely took after his birth mother, Eliza.
I remembered her from the time she came to the dojo and fucked up Dad’s SUV with a baseball bat.
Once, I’d come across an old photo album and found pictures of the Baker family before Mom and I arrived.
Casey shared that same condescending smirk, straight nose, and brunette hair.
He inherited Dad’s height, but that evil woman left her mark on him.
“I don’t do drugs,” I interjected.
“Don’t you love how she didn’t deny anything else?” Casey commented.
“And I work…occasionally,” I mumbled.
“I didn’t know professional groupie was a job.”
“That was one time,” I hissed.
You kick around with a rock band for a few months, and the lead singer may have allegedly written a song about you, and some folks just can’t let it go.
I worked sporadically when my allowance ran out, and I didn’t feel like hearing a lecture.
I’d bartended in some shit-hole bars a handful of times, worked in several mom-and-pop garages, and waited tables at the greasiest of spoons until I saved up enough money to leave that town and my problems behind for the next one.
“Well, if it isn’t the prodigal daughter.
” Uncle Ant beamed as he shoved my brothers aside with his cane to greet me.
“Damn, Ki. I almost forgot what you looked like. Bring her in,” he said, opening his arms for a hug.
We hugged, and I nearly sighed. Uncle Ant gave the best hugs.
“I love you like you’re my own, Ki, but your Uncle Ant can’t save you this time.
Your dad is none too pleased with you. I’d tread carefully this week. ”
“Message received,” I mumbled, pulling away from him.
The trio parted like the Red Sea when Dad finally acknowledged me with his presence. I squirmed under his heated gaze and fiddled with the diamond “R” pendant around my neck—something I did when I was anxious.
Jonathan Baker was a kind, generous man. Back in the day, some would even describe him as soft, but nothing about the glowering man before me could be described as soft, mushy, or subdued. He wasn’t Granddad hard, but he was still tough as nails.
He breezed past me and gestured with two fingers over his shoulder for me to follow him.
Yeah, I’m super fucked, I thought, following him out of the conference room. I pulled a face when I passed the DV Barbies, who were deeply kissing like no one was watching.