Grumpy Boss

by Hamel, B. B.

  And beneath that, I kept wondering when grandmom would find out, and what I’d tell her.

  I couldn’t lie. I made a promise to her a long time ago, back when I was an unruly teenager—or at least as unruly as I got, which wasn’t very—that I would never lie to her about the big stuff. Little stuff was fair game, since a person’s got to be able to have some privacy, and bending the truth is a part of life, but the big stuff was all honesty. We lived that policy, even when it wasn’t comfortable, and our relationship was better for it.

  This though, this was enormous, and I wasn’t sure I could tell her. Grandmom’s mind hadn’t been good for a while, and I worried that if she knew it was fake, she’d talk to a reporter and let it slip. It wasn’t that she was senile—but more that she was old and forgetful. For the most part it was fine, and she could function, but I still worried about putting her in that position.

  It wouldn’t be fair to ask an old woman to deceive reporters for me. And so I avoided my phone, like it might hurt me.

  The suburbs opened up into more farm land, and I got an eerie feeling, like we were going to see Byron again. But instead of driving down a bumpy gravel road, we stopped outside a large gated driveway, which buzzed and opened as soon as we stopped and waited. We rolled forward, along a tree-lined path, and pulled up to the most absurdly opulent house I’d ever seen.

  “That’s a god damn palace,” I say, gaping. I heard our driver laugh to himself, but I ignored him.

  “Modesto Fitzgerald is one of the biggest preachers in Texas,” Rees said, frowning out at the huge white columns and marble arches and the enormous gold cross that sat at the peak of the roof. “He runs a super church that brings in more people than the Houston Texans do.”

  “My god,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Exactly,” Rees said, and put a hand on my leg. “While we’re here, it’s best behavior. No cursing. No getting overwhelmed by your desire for me and trying to make out. None of that.”

  I brushed his hand away. “I can handle myself. I think we should be more worried about you.”

  The car pulled up in front of the house and stopped. Rees smirked at me then pushed open the door and stepped out just as a big man wearing sweater and slacks came out from the huge wooden double doors that looked like they were pulled off some ancient European church. The big man spread his hands wide then clapped them once.

  “Rees!” he shouted.

  “Hello, Modesto,” Rees said, and walked up the steps. The men embraced, which surprised me, since Rees didn’t exactly love intimacy.

  Modesto was tan with slicked back hair and light blue eyes. His smile seemed deceiving and simple, and his demeanor made me relax almost right away. I slowly joined them as the driver removed our bags from the trunk.

  “This is my assistant,” Rees said, introducing me.

  Modesto shook my head. “Good to meet you,” he said, then turned back to Rees. “Come on, you’ve got to see what I did to the back.” He draped an arm around Rees’s shoulder and the pair headed inside.

  I wasn’t sure if I should follow or get the bags—so I opted for following.

  The house was absurd. The entryway was all white marble with light blue accent colors on the walls. The statues were Greek or Roman, and the paintings were all strictly religious. It was a strange mixing of pagan and Christian, the symbolism all over the place, and the only real unifying principle was sheer, gaudy extravagance.

  Modesto took us on a short tour, likely for my benefit: the game room, the library, the kitchen with its long tables and professional appliances (“I don’t ever come in here, it’s all the staff, you know how it goes,” he said, which no, of course I didn’t know how it went at all, since I wasn’t stupidly wealthy, but Rees just nodded along like that was a normal thing to say), and the enormous open living room with its big couch and movie screen sized TV on the wall.

  “And this is the crowning glory,” Modesto said, sliding open the back patio as if a one-hundred-inch TV wasn’t crowning enough.

  And he was right. We stepped out onto a large back deck overlooking a gorgeous yard—in ground pool, immaculate landscaping, plenty of seating—and leaned against the far railing to look down at a cross at least thirty yards tall and all in gleaming gold.

  “Wow,” I said, not sure what else I could say. It was the perfect encapsulation of the house: overtly wealthy, and unabashedly religious.

  “That’s one big cross,” Rees said, and I liked to imagine he understood how hilarious that was, although I wouldn’t let myself laugh.

  Modesto clearly didn’t see any humor in it. “Yes it is my friend,” he said, staring down at the monstrosity with pure love in his eyes. “That is gold taken from Byzantium, allegedly owned by the first Christian emperor himself, Constantine the Great. Can you imagine, having some of Constantine’s own gold?”

  “I really can’t,” Rees said, and glanced at me with this wry smile.

  “I’m sure it’s not real,” Modesto said with a sly smile. “But it is gold, of course.”

  “What are you going to do with it?” I asked despite myself. I almost didn’t want to know.

  “Hang it in my church,” he said, waving a hand like, of course. “We’re building a new one. It’s going to be the largest religious complex in the United States when we’re finished, and this cross will be the heart of it all. I’m going to minister to thousands beneath the gold of a saint, and all glory to god.”

  “Amen,” Rees said, grinning now. “I see you haven’t changed a bit. I bet that thing’ll look great on TV.”

  Modesto laughed loudly, and I thought that was a risky ojek, but apparently Modesto didn’t take himself too seriously—or at least they were close enough that kidding around was allowed. I kept my mouth shut, of course, but I had some thoughts about that thing down in the grass. For example: if he sold it, and took all the money he made, he could probably fund and run a charity that would help thousands of people.

  “Yes, yes, I know, Rees the heathen, but it is good for the lord, and good for my flock.” Modesto leaned with his back against the railing, weight on his elbows. “You know how the gifts go. You’ve been blessed yourself.”

  “I’m no heathen,” Rees said, shaking his head. “Only not as pious as you are.”

  “Not many can be.” He glanced over at me with a slight frown. “And what about you, Millie? Have you accepted the Lord Jesus Christ into your heart?”

  “Of course,” I said, which was sort of true. I grew up Christian, went to a Methodist church, and was probably baptized—but I wasn’t particularly religious. Grandmom was too busy to take me to church, and I was too young to go on my own, and so I sort of let it lapse. As I got older, I was too busy surviving and working hard to think of anything else.

  “That’s good, that’s good.” Modesto’s face grew serious as he looked down at his feet. The vibe shifted instantly, if only slightly, and I didn’t understand why. Rees seemed oddly perplexed by Modesto’s sudden mood change, and I moved a little closer to him without thinking about it. “I am happy you came here, my friend,” Modesto said.

  “I’m happy to be her, though you know it’s not an entirely social visit,” Rees said.

  Modesto nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, your SPAC. I spoke with my investment advisor. There are people who believe this is a no-brainer investment, and that the shares are criminally underpriced. And yet I wonder why it is you come to me, asking for money, when people should be giving you everything they have.”

  Rees tensed, and I knew that was the question that bothered him. All the scandals were driving investors away, not the underlying fundamentals of Rees’s business or his ability to successfully run the SPAC. Nobody questioned that aspect of the deal, only the murky political and social aspects that floated around it.

  “I’ve had some bad press lately,” Rees said, glancing toward me, but pushing forward. “It’s all been bullshit. You know how that can be.”

  “Yes, of course,” M
odesto said, nodding along. “I didn’t think you’d sleep with a married woman. That doesn’t seem to be your thing.”

  “Giana and I were friends,” Rees said. “That’s been cleared up between us, even though the press still thinks it’s happening.”

  “It’s an ugly thing,” Modesto said. “And as a man of faith, that’s a real problem for me.”

  “But as a man that likes to make money, you can invest through an intermediary,” Rees said, facing his friend with his arms crossed over his chest. “You know me, Modesto. You know I don’t make stupid mistakes like sleeping with a woman married to a politician.”

  “I know that,” Modesto said, wiping his brow, and looking uncomfortable. “But there have been rumors, and the rumors aren’t good for you.”

  “They’re lies,” Rees said, and glanced at me.

  “He’s not kidding,” I said. “We’ve been trying to catch the guy responsible.”

  “Of course,” Modesto said, then pushed away from the railing and walked toward the house. He stopped and turned, spreading his hands out, an almost regretful smile on his face, and I felt my stomach sink into my feet. He was going to turn us down—I could already see it. I didn’t know why the bastard would invite us all the way out here then send us home without a cent. He knew all the rumors before this was set up, and yet he still was going to pull this.

  But before he could speak, Rees held up a hand. “I know what you’re about to say, but hear me out,” he said, and Modesto let a breath out, head tilted like he was waiting. “I know you think it’s a lost cause, investing in my SPAC if it’s only going to cause drama. But I know where Desmond is, I have his phone number, and I’m going to handle it. He’s the one that’s been spreading the rumors, and I’m going to ensure he stops.”

  Modesto raised an eyebrow. “You found him?” he asked.

  “I found Alvin,” Rees said. “And that led us right to Desmond.”

  “Ah,” Modesto said, chuckling. “His little henchman. Interesting.”

  “We’re going to fix this. And in the meantime, I could really use your support.”

  Modesto touched his face with a palm and pulled his cheek down, letting out a long, frustrated breath. I could tell he was torn—he wanted to invest, since it was a good financial move, but there was a part of him that knew his Christian flock wouldn’t be happy if he got involved with someone with scandal written all over them.

  “I’ll consider it, if you’d be willing to do something for me,” Modesto said.

  “What do you need?” Rees asked, and I noted that he didn’t instantly agree.

  “Sign a contract stating that you will not have any affairs until after the SPAC has gone public. No more women, no more clubs, no more anything. You will behave yourself.” Modesto stepped toward Rees and I felt my heart race. Rees pushed back when people told him what to eat for breakfast—and I could only imagine how he felt about Modesto telling him that he can’t date or go out if he wanted.

  I studied Rees, but he kept a surprisingly straight face, like he was actually considering it. The massive cross glittered down in the grass and Rees didn’t move, and there was some part of me that felt a surge of anger. If he agreed to this, then whatever we had going on, our little fake romance, or even the real one that might be blooming, that would be over. He’d give up too much for this one man, and I couldn’t stop it.

  “I’ll think about it,” Rees said finally, and I wanted to cry. I couldn’t believe he wasn’t turning Modesto down right away. The idea of him considering it almost broke me, and I had to turn my back on them and stare down at the grass to keep from showing too much distress.

  “Alright then,” Modesto said. “I can’t expect you to agree right away. So stay the night, we’ll have a good dinner, we’ll talk a bit in the morning, and you’ll decide one way or the other. I think this could be good for us all, really, for you and for me. I get you to behave, and you get my money.”

  Rees didn’t answer. Modesto shot me a look, and in that moment, I knew he knew— or maybe he suspected. But either way, he thought I was sleeping with Rees, and this was his way of stopping that in its tracks. Maybe that reporter leaked the news and we hadn’t heard yet, or maybe Modesto had heard it some other way, but it didn’t matter.

  This was his play. He wanted to keep Rees on a short leash, and he’d use his money as leverage to make it happen.

  “My housekeeper will be out sooner to show you to your rooms,” he said. “Forgive me, but I have some work. You’re free to do as you wish with the house. I suggest going for a swim—it is very lovely outside right now.” He left with a happy wave, and disappeared back inside.

  I stood staring at Rees. I couldn’t believe what just happened. He should have shouted at Modesto or at least pushed back.

  Instead, he said nothing.

  “What the hell was that?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

  Rees glanced back at me, but I didn’t see anything in his expression. “He’s playing a game, and I need his money.”

  “You can’t be serious. You’re considering that stupid deal?”

  He shook his head. “I’m considering everything right now.”

  “Rees—“ I started, but he walked to the sliding doors. I gaped at him, feeling betrayed.

  “I haven’t decided anything,” he said. “And we need time to convince him to change his mind. So relax and try to enjoy yourself while we’re here. That’s some cross, right?” Then he opened the door and went inside, leaving me alone.

  I stayed there and turned, staring down at the glittering gold in the grass, the sunlight breaking off its polished face in small rainbows on the stonework walkway, and I wanted to jump off the deck, and go running into the hills. I wanted to get away from here—away from Rees and this sick game he’s playing, away from all his rich friends and their absurd rich lives. I wanted to get away, but I couldn’t, not with what was on the line, not with all this life changing money I could make if only I held on for a little bit longer.

  16

  Rees

  My room was barely large enough for a bed and a dresser. Modesto had me tucked into the top floor in the far corner, away from the rest of the house—probably trying to keep me separated from Millie.

  That asshole. He knew what he was doing. He knew that I wasn’t some playboy. Maybe we weren’t best friends, but he knew my reputation, and he must’ve known that all these rumors were total garbage stirred up by Desmond. I couldn’t believe he thought he had to make some morality clause in order to invest with me, and the thought sent chills of rage down my spine.

  I couldn’t sleep. Dinner was awkward and strained. Millie barely spoke, and Modesto left halfway through, making some excuse about work. I let him go—I wasn’t going to win this battle if I kept pushing him hard, but even still, I tried. He wouldn’t budge though, and insisted that the contract would benefit us both, and that he wouldn’t enforce it either way.

  It still rankled. I hated being told what to do. I worked my ass off to get into my position so that I wouldn’t have to take shit from men like Modesto, men with puffed-up egos and an inflated sense of importance. That god damn gaudy cross lying in the grass out back was the perfect metaphor for Modesto, all flash and no substance. He knew what he was doing though, and as much as it pissed me off, he knew that I needed his money, and needed it badly enough to give in to his demands.

  Sleep wasn’t happening. I got out of bed a little after midnight, pulled on some clothes, and stepped out into the hallway. Paintings of the manger, and Mary, and a hundred little religious icons plastered the walls. Some of it must’ve been fairly old, likely a few hundred years at least, and yet he had it on the wall casually like it didn’t actually belong in a museum. I lingered in front of one particularly striking image of the rock in front of Jesus’s crypt, partially rolled away, and light coming out. That was all: simple, understated. No wonder it was tucked up away from the rest of the house. It was by far the most gorgeou
s piece he owned.

  Downstairs was quiet. I found something to eat in the kitchen, and a hidden bottle of whisky in the back of a shelf. I grinned to myself as I poured a drink—it was probably the kitchen staff’s, but shame on them for leaving it somewhere I could find it. They’d get another bottle though. Right now, I needed a drink.

  I walked into the living room with the bottle under my arm and the glass in my hand. I wondered how the cross would look under the moonlight, and went to the sliding glass door. Before I could open it, I stopped and saw Millie leaning against the balcony, wearing a sweatshirt, and staring up at the sky.

  I hesitated, sipped my drink, and took a breath. She didn’t want t see me right now, that much was clear. I couldn’t say exactly why she was pissed—but considering Modesto’s deal clearly made her angry, which only confused me. Our relationship was supposed to be fake, and although I was starting to feel some things I hadn’t felt in a long time, I wasn’t sure if she shared them.

  Maybe she did, and this was her way of showing it.

  I opened the door and stepped outside. She jumped and turned around, hand going to her throat. I held up my hands, bottle in the left, glass in the right. “Just me,” I said.

  “Shit,” she said, sucking in a breath and letting it out. “You scared the crap out of me.”

  It was nice out, not cold, not warm. She crossed her arms and leaned against the railing, watching me carefully as I closed the door behind me.

  “I thought I’d be alone out here,” I said. “You can’t sleep?”

  “No,” she said. “Something about a creepy painting of Mary staring down at me from the wall across from my bed is keeping me up.”

  I laughed and sipped my drink, then held up the bottle. “Want some?”

  She walked over and took it, then drank it straight. “I thought this house was dry,” she said, returning to her spot against the railing, bottle still in her hand.