Boss Next Door

by Beverly Evans

  “Sophia,” I greet her.

  “Braxton,” she responds. “I trust Thaddeus hasn’t made a mess in your yard again?”

  “No. He hasn’t,” I reply. “Thank you for taking care of the problem.”

  She gives me a small, languid shrug. “It’s the neighborly thing to do.”

  We stand there, staring at each other for an awkward moment. I have no idea what Chloe told her but judging by the somewhat amused look on Sophia’s face and the hardness in her eyes, I’m guessing she knows everything.

  “What do you want, Braxton?”

  “I’d like to speak with Chloe,” I tell her.

  “She doesn’t want to speak with you.”

  “Be that as it may, she and I have quite a bit we need to discuss,” I tell her. “In private.”

  “So I’ve heard,” she gives me that reptilian grin again. “But I think any communication you feel you need to have with her can be done with either myself or my lawyer present.”

  I sigh and shake my head. “There is no need for this to get ugly, Sophia,” I declare. “That’s not what I want.”

  “I think what you want is pretty irrelevant at this point, isn’t it?” she shoots back.

  Her attitude combined with my frustration about the situation with Chloe – and mostly about my impotence to fix it – is really starting to piss me off. I know I can’t afford to let my temper get the best of me here. I’ve already fucked things up as it is because I couldn’t rein it in, and the last thing I need right now is to lose it again. But Sophia is making it oh so difficult to keep myself in check.

  I know she’s just protecting her daughter, and that’s the thing. I can’t even blame her for any of this. I fucked up – and bad. But I don’t know how to fix this if all I’m being met with is a wall.

  “I don’t want this to be any more difficult than it has to be,” I say through gritted teeth. “But I’m not going to be brushed off without getting some answers and resolving certain situations. I don’t want to –”

  “You don’t want to what, Braxton?” she presses. “You don’t want to punch me out? I’ve heard that’s your preferred method of communicating your displeasure with somebody.”

  I take a step back and blow out a long breath, my anger boiling just below the surface of my skin. Sophia’s eyes narrow as she glares at me as if she’s daring me to do something.

  “You know, if I had my way, I’d make sure the only thing you had to do with this child is sending in your monthly support checks,” she hisses. “You’re not fit to be a parent.”

  “Lady, you don’t know the first thing about me.”

  “The only thing I need to know about you is that my daughter is terrified of you,” she fires back, her tone ice cold.

  Terrified of me? Those words hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest, and I have to keep myself from staggering back a few steps. Those are words I never expected I’d hear. Words I can’t believe I’m actually hearing in regard to Chloe.

  I shake my head. “She has nothing to be afraid of,” I say stupidly. “Not from me.”

  “Yeah, well, she doesn’t seem to share that opinion.”

  Looking down at the ground, I run my hand through my hair and blow out a loud breath. It’s insane that Chloe would be afraid of me. I’d never raise a hand against her, and she should know that.

  Does she think I would do that? It breaks my heart. I didn’t mean for any of this. I was just trying to protect her from those assholes who were bothering her.

  But – yet again – I let my temper get the better of me. I knew what would happen if I did anything, and I chose to ignore Chloe’s warnings. And for what? To get in a fistfight in public?

  Man, I fucked up.

  I turn back to Sophia and glare at her, that sanguine smile on her face really pissing me off – which is only playing into her hands. I force myself to unclench the fists I have balled up at my sides and take a deep breath. I let it out slowly, deliberately, and shake my head as a wry chuckle passes my lips.

  “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” I ask.

  “More than you know, Braxton,” she purrs. “More than you know.”

  She closes the door, leaving me standing there in the dying light and heat of the afternoon.

  “I have no idea what I’m going to do, man,” I say. “I really fucked up.”

  I pace back and forth in front of the computer in my home office, squeezing the life out of a stress ball, the frustrated and furious energy flowing freely through me. After my encounter with Sophia, I wanted to punch something. Instead, I managed to talk myself down, have some water, and dialed up Noah on the computer. If there’s one person on this planet who can talk me down, it’s him.

  “What happened, Braxton?” he asks.

  I stop pacing and drop down into my chair but keep working the stress ball. Not that it’s helping very much. I purse my lips and try to focus enough to tell the story coherently. I lay it all out for Noah, telling him everything about what happened – and about what came before.

  “Where’s Nadine?” I ask.

  “She took Jackson to our parent’s house.”

  He nods and looks at me thoughtfully. Noah knows I have a temper. He’s always known. And he’s always encouraged me to do something about it. To get some help and learn how to manage it. He encouraged me after I’d snapped hard on one of his contractors – a confrontation that nearly came to blows. It exposed my weakness – one Noah counseled could be a death knell in the sort of client-driven business I run.

  “Jesus, Braxton,” he mutters, once I finish my story. “How much shit are you in with the cops?”

  I shake my head. “I’m not. Witnesses came forward and corroborated the story,” I explain. “Plus, the two assholes aren’t pressing charges.”

  “You dodged a bullet, man,” he notes. “I don’t think doing jail time would have been a good look for you.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it.”

  “One thing’s for sure, this definitely isn’t going to win you any points with dear old mom,” he laughs.

  “Yeah she’s loving the shit out of this,” I tell him. “She picked a great time to try and start being a mother.”

  I run a hand through my hair and growl, then hurl the stress ball across the room. It hits the far wall and ricochets across the room, hitting a small glass bauble. It knocks it to the floor with a clatter.

  “Yeah, let’s talk about that temper,” Noah starts.

  I sigh. “I know, I know,” I groan. “It’s a problem. It’s always been a problem.”

  “Not just a problem, but a very fucking big major problem, dude,” he says. “One of these days, you’re going to get arrested or hurt someone or yourself, and you’ll only have yourself to blame.”

  “I admit that. And I probably should have done something about it before now. I get it.”

  “Listen, I’m not trying to bust your balls here, man,” Noah says. “But that’s bullshit. It’s gonna take a lot more than some tossed-off words to fix this.”

  I grunt under my breath.

  On the screen, Noah takes a long pull from his bottle of beer and looks at me. I can see him thinking and formulating his words. He puts the bottle down and nods to himself.

  “The way I see it, you have two problems,” he starts.

  “I’ve got a lot more than two.”

  He waves me off, ignoring my comment.

  “The first problem is your situation with Chloe. You have to figure out how you’re going to get out of that one. Part of that is your problem with her mother. Because they’re a unit now. You can’t afford to piss either of them off.”

  “And what’s my second problem?” I ask.

  “This whole thing. All this anger, man.”

  I grimace and nod. He’s right.

  “I get it. You’re frustrated, and you work in a high-stress environment, and you deal with assholes like that. But that’s no excuse for lashing out, especially because you
knew exactly how Chloe was going to react. You brought this on yourself.”

  I nod, really taking in the enormity of the situation for the first time.

  “These two problems are connected,” he continues. “You won’t be able to solve one without the other because the only way you’re ever getting Chloe back is if you work on your temper. And the only way you’ll be able to keep her is if you really make actual progress with it. I think you can do that, but it’s going to take a lot of work on your end. It’ll take time and some effort. But you and I both know that without it, she’ll never come back to you.”

  I lean back in my seat and run a hand through my hair. I can see the logic in his words, painful though they are. Every word drills deep into my heart, sending weights into my chest.

  “So what do I do?”

  “Take it one step at a time. First, you need to come up with a plan to work on yourself. And you need to apologize to Chloe. You need to lay it all out there, take responsibility for how you’ve fucked up, and show her that you’re going to change.”

  I nod. Rather than lumping everything together, making it seem to be an overwhelming and insurmountable problem, breaking it into smaller, more manageable pieces is probably wise. Accomplishing that is going to be the trick.

  “That might be easier said than done,” I note. “With her mom playing gatekeeper, I’m not going to get anywhere near Chloe.”

  “So find a minute when they’re not joined at the hip,” he offers. “I’m sure there will be a moment.”

  “And what exactly is my play?”

  “You need to show her not only how sorry you are but layout some real concrete steps to prove that you’re serious.”

  “And how do I do that?”

  He runs his hand along his jawline and looks up as if he’s trying to figure out the answer.

  “It’s got to be something real. Something concrete,” he finally says. “It can’t just be words, man.”

  “I’m open to suggestions.”

  He shakes his head. “I really don’t have any, man,” he tells me. “That’s something you have to find in you – and I know you can do it.”

  “I’m glad one of us thinks so,” I mutter.

  “Don’t sell yourself short, brother,” he replies. “Look, man. I wouldn’t be saying any of this if I didn’t care about you. I know that you can make this right.”

  “This is different.”

  “Not really,” he chides me. “It’s all a matter of getting out of your own way long enough to find the answers.”

  I reach for the stress ball before I remember I’d hurled it across the room. A dull throb starts behind my eyes, and I feel a real bitch of a headache coming on. I know he’s right – words aren’t going to work this time. I need to show her something solid and tangible. The question is what? What is it going to take to make her stop seeing me as a monster? How can I convince her that I’m not some violent psychopath who gets off on kicking people’s asses?

  That’s the million-dollar question – and one I don’t have the answer to.

  “Don’t overthink this, Braxton. It doesn’t have to be something elaborate,” Noah continues. “It just has to be real, and it has to be from the heart.”

  I nod. “Yeah, you’re right,” I respond. “I just need to figure out what that is.”

  “Look, I can’t promise that it’s going to work, and Chloe will come back to you, and everything’s going to be okay again,” Noah goes on. “But what I do know is that she loves you with everything in her and if you love her with everything in you, then you need to find a way to regain her trust. I think she’ll give you a chance.”

  “I hope you’re right about that,” I say.

  “Of course I’m right. Have you ever known me to be wrong?” he laughs. “You’re on your own when it comes to her mom, though. I have zero advice about how to make that work.”

  I laugh along with him. “Yeah, I’m not sure that’s something that can be salvaged.”

  “Well, that’s one less problem you have to deal with, then.”

  “True enough,” I grin. “That’s one way to look at it.”

  “That’s me, always looking for the silver lining.”

  We laugh together and talk for another half an hour, and by the time we’re done, I’m feeling a bit better and slightly more confident that I can fix things with Chloe. I want to believe I can get her back. I have to believe that. After all, we’re each other’s destiny.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chloe

  I’ve been putting it off for a couple of weeks now, but I can’t put it off any longer. I obviously can’t continue working for Braxton, and I need to clean out my office. Maybe it’s immature to quit my job because my heart’s been broken – hell, it probably is – but I can’t see myself continuing to work him. Seeing him every day would just be too difficult. It would be a constant reminder of what I had – and what I lost. And I just can’t do that to myself.

  What’s most upsetting to me is that after my mom turned him away at the door that one night, Braxton hasn’t tried to contact me. Not once. There has been nothing but radio silence from him.

  On the one hand, I know it should be a relief. It’s helping make it easier to cut ties with him – which I know is the smart thing to do. Not having him in my face as a constant reminder of what I’m walking away from should make this a lot more painless. It will be easier to not have to deal with all those feelings being stirred up all over again by seeing him every single day.

  But on the other hand, the fact that he’s given up so easily and isn’t even trying to fight to get me back – hurts. It makes me feel like I don’t matter to him. Or at least like I matter less to him than I thought I did. I know it shouldn’t matter – I should be thankful he’s making it easier for me. But knowing he’s just disconnected and detached from me so completely and so easily hurts worse than anything I’ve ever felt before. It feels like my heart is literally being torn out of my chest, and I walk around most days with this constant nauseous feeling in my stomach that has nothing to do with my pregnancy.

  This pain is so intense and excruciating that it’s almost too much to bear. I just have to keep reminding myself that this is the best thing I can do for myself. I can’t be with somebody who solves problems with their fists – and I can’t allow my child to be raised in that kind of environment. I won’t.

  I don’t have much in my office, but I do have a few things I don’t want to leave behind, so I had no choice but to come in – and to drop off my resignation letter. I’m hoping that at the very least, I can get a decent letter of reference so I can find another job.

  I walk into my team’s pod – rather, my former team’s pod – to find it empty. I have no idea where the rest of the team is, but I let out a small breath of relief and give a silent word of thanks as I make a beeline straight for my office. I pull the things I want to take with me off the shelves and out of the drawers, quickly throwing everything into my bag. I just want to get my things and get out of here before anybody comes back.

  “Well, look what the cat dragged in.”

  The sound of his voice sets my every nerve on edge at the same time a cold shudder runs down my spine. As much as I didn’t want to run into Braxton while I was clearing out my office, I wanted to run into Curtis even less. I didn’t want to have to deal with his smug, arrogant, condescending garbage. Not today.

  I don’t bother looking up at him, but in my peripheral vision, I see Curtis fold his arms over his chest and lean against the doorway. I’m sure he’s got an ugly sneer on his face – that seems to be his default setting.

  “It must be nice to be able to come and go as you please and take a couple of weeks off just because you feel like it,” Curtis goes on. “Of course, I guess that’s one of the fringe benefits of sleeping with the boss. Well, that and being praised for your outstanding work when you’re basically just a talentless hack.”

  It’s in that moment; I understa
nd Braxton’s impulse to punch somebody because I’m overwhelmed by the urge to slap him across the face. Unlike Braxton, though, I have enough restraint and self-control to not actually do it because I know that’s not how a mature adult behaves in a civilized society.

  No, the right way to handle somebody like Curtis is to not take the bait and refuse to let him goad you into lashing out.

  I continue ignoring Curtis as I grab my things, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing me upset. He’s not worth it. I’m hoping that by not paying attention to him, he’ll get bored and leave. But he remains right where he is, planted in the office doorway. Clearly, he wants to savor every last minute of this.

  “I knew you weren’t going to cut it,” he sneers. “I tried to tell them you don’t have it in you to do this job. You don’t have the vision or artistic flair for it.”

  My face red with anger, I turn to Curtis. “Was there something you wanted?” I spit. “Or are you just here to be an asshole?”

  A feral grin crosses his face, and he shrugs. “Just saying goodbye to an oh so valued team member.”

  I scoff. “You know, you have some good people on this team. There’s some real talent in this pod,” I say. “It’s too bad they’re stuck with such a mentally and emotionally fragile, insecure, pathetic excuse of a man to lead them. If they had an actual leader who valued his team, your pod might not be the running joke of the company.”

  His face darkens as he glowers at me. Curtis is used to browbeating the people he commands into submission. He’s used to them cowering and obeying his instructions without a word of dissent. He’s not used to somebody standing up to him. Especially a woman.

  “Y – you can’t speak to me that way,” he stammers. “I’ll have you written up.”