Mikalo's Flame

by Syndra K. Shaw

  “So, enjoy it. Please.”

  I nodded.

  “That young man you were with,” I then said. “In the park. Is he someone special?”

  A small smile spread across her lips.

  “Yes, maybe,” she then said quietly.

  “You know,” she continued. “Jacob and I always had this agreement, if you will, about dalliances and extra-curricular activities. Very forward of us, perhaps, and certainly not for everyone.

  “But with our separate lives, it just made sense.

  “And after all this time, Lucas is my first dalliance. My first extra-curricular activity.

  “But he’s more than that,” she then said, correcting herself. “He’s ... I don’t know.”

  She sat back again.

  “Younger than you,” I said.

  “Oh yes,” she agreed. “With the energy to match.”

  And then she laughed.

  She put her hands to her face, the palms moving over her forehead and then smoothing back her hair.

  “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know, Ronan. I just don’t know.”

  “Talk to me,” I said.

  “What am I losing with Jacob? I mean, really? What am I losing? A dream of something that never was. That’s what I’m losing. A part I was playing with a man I used to love, used to respect. That’s what I’m losing.

  “Not much, is it?”

  I shook my head.

  “No, not really,” I then said. “Could you have that with this Lucas?”

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  “Who knows?”

  She swiveled the chair to face the window, her eyes on the late-afternoon sun as it started to dip below the horizon.

  “I used to wonder if any of us could ever have anything like that,” she said. “Wondered if it was even possible.

  “And then Mikalo happened. For you. And I saw what he did, how he changed your life, changed you.

  “And I thought ‘maybe, just maybe’ it could happen for me. If I let it.

  “Now Jacob is leaving me for a woman young enough to be a youngest daughter and there’s this new man in my life who really seems to like me and, god knows, loves being with me, if you know what I mean.”

  I nodded.

  “And here I am, just sitting here in the middle of the wreckage, torn between what I thought was and what maybe perhaps could be, and I really ...”

  She turned to me again.

  “I’m scared, Ronan. When the shit hits the fan and I hit the streets showing my brave face, showing how fucking strong I am, just know, my friend, that I’m dying inside.

  “This is killing me.”

  And, once again, she stood, her arms wrapped around herself as she walked to the window, looking out over the city as the sun prepared to set.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Mikalo and I sat at the table, our plates clear, our glasses empty, both of us lost in our own thoughts.

  Deni and Jacob were still having their dinner, I realized. Or maybe they weren’t. I wasn’t sure.

  But somewhere in this great city of ours, her poor heart was being ripped to shreds by a callous soon-to-be ex-husband and a positively pre-pubescent bitch.

  My heart hurt for her.

  Let’s face it. I didn’t like change and, right now, my life was nothing but.

  Part of me was seriously craving continuity and sanity. Something predictable.

  I glanced up at Mikalo.

  His eyes were on the table, his brows low, that little dip in his forehead indicating he was deep in thought.

  “A bird of worry is around your head,” I gently teased, using a phrase he often used when he knew I had something on my mind.

  He looked up and smiled.

  “There is much to consider, my Grace.”

  “Would you like to talk about it?”

  He paused, waiting, considering the idea.

  “Today I was told that the Byzans, perhaps only Mara, I think, they have made a decision to buy my father’s first business. The store. The first thing he made that made all the other things we enjoyed in our lives.

  “They want to buy the business, buy the store, and then ...”

  He stopped.

  “And then,” he then said. “The first building, the first place the store was at. The place I first remember as a child before it all was changed. Made bigger. Bigger house. Bigger car. Bigger.”

  He looked down at the table again.

  “My room in that small apartment above the first store, it was so small. Too hot in summer, too cold in winter, Silvestro and I in the bed, trying to keep warm.

  “We were close then, my family. My brother and I. Before the rooms grew big and life grew lonely.

  “Before that time, they are good thoughts. Good thoughts. Good memories.

  “And this is what the Byzans now want to take from me,” he then said looking up, his eyes now on me.

  I had no idea. No one had told me this was something the Byzans wanted or were planning or had even considered planning. And it certainly would screw everything up with all the tax planning I had done.

  If I was in this for the money and the billable hours, the Byzans would be a gift that just kept on giving.

  But I wasn’t. And, to me, the Byzans were becoming like one of those pre-menstrual migraine headaches I deeply dreaded and could frankly do without.

  First thing tomorrow would be a meeting with Blazen to find out what in the hell was going on.

  “And worse --” he then said.

  “Wait,” I interrupted. “It gets worse?”

  He nodded.

  “Silvestro, he very much likes the idea of selling that store. Of selling our father and our mother. The memory of them.”

  He sighed, his eyes once again down.

  Then he leaned forward and, like a child, put his head on his arm, his face into the table.

  “Nothing can be done without your approval, Mikalo,” I reminded him. “Turn to your family, the others who are standing behind you, and fight it.

  “It’s not over.”

  Raising his head, he offered me a weak smile.

  “Maybe it is time to lay down the sword and let them die,” he whispered. “Perhaps the time is now for a new life.”

  I breathed deep, not sure what to say.

  This was his fight and if he wanted to stop, he had my support, of course.

  But if he was just tired and depressed, this latest left hook from the Byzans and Silvestro knocking him harder than usual, making a decision like that now could be easily regretted. And quick.

  “Whatever you want, Mikalo,” I finally said. “I’ll support you. Always.”

  He straightened up and stretched his arms above his head.

  “Maybe the day is long and my body, my mind, they are tired.

  “It is early, I know, but I am going to put my head on the pillow for a moment.”

  “Of course,” I said. “I’ll take care of these dishes and be up to snuggle next to you.”

  Standing near me now, he bent and kissed me on the forehead.

  “Ah, that I would like.”

  He turned to go.

  “And I think, perhaps, it is time for me to buy my own home here. In New York. My own place. That is something we can talk about as well.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “What the hell, Bill?”

  He sighed and took another sip of his coffee.

  We were in his office. It was nine in the morning.

  And I was majorly pissed off.

  So was he.

  “I’m telling you, Ronan, I don’t know where this is coming from,” he said for the millionth time. “I haven’t even heard about this since you ambushed me in the coffee shop, followed me into the elevator, and screamed at me as we walked down the hall.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked again.

  He looked at me with one of those Oh Please, Give Me a Fucking Break looks.

  Okay, so h
e didn’t know anything about it.

  “Oh,” I suddenly said.

  “What?”

  “Abby and Mara had their heads together at dinner the other night. As I left, I remember looking back and seeing them.”

  “You finally got an invite, huh?”

  “Nope,” I said. “Crashed it. Abby and Marcus weren’t happy, but Richardson was happy to see me and Mr. Byzan, to be honest with you, seems like a pretty nice guy.”

  “And Mara?”

  “All over Mikalo, drunk, angry, spiteful, desperate, and pathetic.”

  “Ah,” he said. “And Mikalo rejected her --”

  “Politely but firmly --”

  “She figured out you and he were --”

  “Abby told her.”

  “Bitch,” he said. “And here we sit with her going after the one thing Mikalo treasures above anything else, other than you, of course.”

  “Oh no, I think he loves this more than me.”

  “You think?”

  “I know,” I said.

  “He gave up his life in Greece for you, Ronan. Put his ambitions, his parents’ business, all of that at risk just so he could be with you.

  “If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”

  I waited, not quite willing to revisit the bombshell from last night.

  Taking a deep breath, I spoke.

  “He wants his own place.”

  Bill looked at me, his eyes finding mine from over the rim of his coffee cup as he stopped halfway through a sip.

  “Really?” he said, swallowing and then putting the cup down.

  “Really.”

  “Any idea what brought this on?”

  I shook my head.

  “Nope, no idea. All I know is things are going great between us, really, really good, and then, boom!, there it is. He wants his own place.”

  Bill leaned back in his chair.

  “Is this such a bad thing?” he asked.

  “It sure feels that way!”

  “Why? So, it moves a little slower. It’s not the end of the world, is it? And weren’t you the one getting all defensive about only knowing him for a few months or something and how you weren’t racing to the altar and, you know, check with you guys in a year or two years or five years and see if you’re still together?

  “Him living on his own doesn’t mean he’s not going to see you or you’re not going to see him or you guys aren’t going to be together.

  “All it means is you won’t wake up next to each other every morning or go to sleep with each other every night. That’s all.”

  “But that’s a lot,” I said. “I like that. I love having him there every morning and every night. I love feeling him next to me when I wake and having his arms around me when I drift off to sleep.”

  “So now when that happens, you’ll appreciate it even more, right?” Bill asked.

  Reluctantly, I nodded.

  “As for this Abby bullshit, with the Byzans and swooping in to buy Mikalo’s business, I’ll get a word into Richardson and see if there isn’t something we can do.”

  I stood to go.

  “I’m sorry for ambushing you and stalking you and then screaming at you.”

  “No worries,” he said as he sat with the phone to his ear.

  “Besides,” he continued. “It woke me right up.

  “I should be drinking less coffee anyway,” he then finished with a wink.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  She sat next to me, uncomfortable, the stiff fabric of her predictable Chanel suit, rubbing against her chin as she waited for Rainier Richardson to speak.

  On the other side of her sat Marcus, eagerly leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, his toe tapping impatiently. The poor boy completely misreading the mood of the room, convinced, one would think, that he was here to be promoted to Grand Poobah or given the keys to the kingdom or something.

  Across from us sat Rainier Richardson, silently angry, quietly furious, the gentle blush of his cheeks betraying the rage he felt.

  He cleared his throat.

  I felt Abby take a deep breath as she straightened her shoulders.

  Rainier’s grey eyes turned to me.

  “Ronan, if you will,” he said, his voice low and courteous.

  “Not with him here,” I said, indicating Marcus.

  “I have every right to be here,” he quickly said, his voice rising. “My department has a great deal to do with --”

  “Your department,” Richardson interrupted quietly.

  Marcus had the intelligence to at least stammer his reply.

  “Yes,” he said. “My department. The one I --”

  “And what would that be?” Richardson asked, his fingers at his lips, his thumbs at his chin.

  “M&A,” Marcus finally said. “Mergers and Acquisitions --”

  “I know what M&A means,” Richardson interrupted. “And I don’t remember it being ‘your’ department.”

  He turned his gaze toward Abby.

  “Is Mr. Blazen aware of this change in leadership, Miss White?”

  She cleared her throat.

  “I think what Marcus means to say is --”

  “No, no,” Richardson said. “He clearly said what he meant to say.”

  He turned to Marcus.

  “Hear me, understand me, and do not forget what I’m about to say,” he began. “And for god’s sake stop bouncing your foot.”

  Marcus put his hand on his knee, immediately silencing what had become an increasingly distracting nervous tick.

  Richardson continued.

  “You are not the Head of M&A. You never were and, as long as I’m here, you never will be. Bill Blazen is your boss. He is the one you listen to. He is the one you answer to. If this is something you cannot handle or refuse to handle, I have no doubt you can find employment elsewhere.

  “Is this understood?”

  “You see,” Marcus began. “Here’s the thing. It’s my belief that this Firm, and that department specifically, needs new blood. A new way of thinking. Of finding business.”

  Richardson raised his finger to silence him.

  Marcus continued, standing to make his point.

  “Blazen and Ronan --” he continued.

  “Miss Grace,” Richardson said.

  “Miss Grace, Ronan, whatever,” Marcus said. “We could be doing so much more with different people in charge.”

  “Do you see this?” Richardson asked, indicating his raised finger.

  Marcus stood there, silent and confused.

  “Do you see this?” Richardson repeated, his tone damn near parental.

  “Yeah.”

  “And do you know what it means?”

  “Your finger?”

  “Yes,” Richardson said through gritted teeth. “My finger. When you see a finger raised like this, do you know what it means?”

  “Rainier --” Abby began.

  “Mr. Richardson,” he corrected her, his eyes never leaving Marcus.

  “Do you know what it means?” he asked again, his finger still in the air.

  “It means to be quiet,” Marcus finally said.

  “Ah, so you do know,” Richardson said, his finger finally leaving the air. “You just chose to show a galling disrespect and a stunning lack of manners by ignoring it.

  “You can go now,” he then said. “Go home, take a long weekend, we’ll talk about your future on Monday.”

  “I really think --” Marcus began.

  Richardson’s cheeks blushed a deeper red.

  “Go.”

  He then rose, his hands on the desk, leaning forward, his grey eyes cunning and cruel and very, very angry.

  “Now.”

  Abby spoke, her voice almost a whisper.

  “Marcus, we’ll speak later.”

  Marcus took a step away from the chair, turning toward the door to go before looking back at her.

  “You’ll be okay?” he asked Abby.

  “Don’t you dare respond,�
�� Richardson warned her, his square jaw set in anger.

  He looked to Marcus.

  “She is not your boss. She’s not Managing Partner and she’s not calling the shots. I am. You listen to me and to only me.

  “I’m waiting for you to leave,” he then said.

  Marcus finally opened the door and, after another look back, left, the door closing a bit too hard behind him.

  Richardson picked up the phone and dialed.

  “Yes, please escort Mr. Marcus Marunder from the building. Use force if necessary.”

  He hung up with a loud click and turned his gaze to Abby.

  “So, Miss White,” he began, flashing her his pearly whites. “Let’s talk about you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I couldn’t see the sweat rolling down her neck, but I could feel it.

  And, although she still sat to my side, I was almost tempted to break protocol, look unprofessional, and turn to the side to take a look, savoring the sight of that single bead sliding from her perfectly sculpted dark coif to wander down her pale neck.

  But I didn’t. I just sat, listening in disbelief at the shit she was shoveling.

  “I don’t know why Miss Grace, who we all love and respect, wasn’t invited to any of those meetings,” she said again. “Really, I blame myself for leaving those small details to my secretary, a horribly unprofessional young woman -- and we can speak about replacing her another time perhaps -- or to Marcus, a man I obviously shouldn’t have trusted.

  “You know,” she continued. “I’ve never had anything but warm feelings for Miss Grace.”

  “And yet this doesn’t answer why you’re offering tax planning advice, income tax advice, estate planning advice, all issues handled exclusively by Miss Grace and her department, by the way, to Mr. Byzan,” Richardson said.

  “Oh,” Abby said, pushing the thought away with a little laugh. “I don’t know where you heard that. I’d never do anything that bold. And I obviously could never dream of matching wits with someone as brilliant as Ronan.”

  Oh Jesus.

  “Mr. Byzan,” Richardson said.

  “I’m sorry?” Abby asked with a small smile.

  “Mr. Byzan was curious why you and Marcus were offering him advice instead of Miss Grace,” he said. “He also asked me if I’d please send his best wishes for Ronan’s speedy recovery from, well, whatever it was keeping her from attending all these meetings and dinners.”