Going Wild

by Gretchen Galway

But Jane wasn’t just anybody. He’d pushed the Whitman connection out of his mind to justify enjoying the convenient living and working quarters and, maybe, her company.

  “Good or bad news for Jane?” Grant asked Troy, who was wearing a corporate getup that made him look to his older brother as if he were a little boy dressed up like a grown-up for Halloween: black suit, gray tie, shiny shoes with no tread. It was a wonder he could make it up and down the minor slope of Jane’s driveway without falling on his ass.

  “Neither,” Troy said. “Grandfather has been in bed all day. Rachelle said he had a rough night and needed to sleep.”

  “Did you talk to him yesterday?”

  “I talked to Nicole, Jane’s manager. I think I know why he fired her.” Troy cracked his knuckles, a nervous habit he’d had since childhood. “It’s a mess. A client wanted Jane to inaccurately portray several of his lucrative assets on certain official federal, state, and local documents, and she refused.”

  “Somebody wanted Jane to cook the books?”

  “When she wouldn’t, the client took his business elsewhere,” Troy said. “Recently that client told Grandfather it was because of Jane.”

  Grant felt uneasy. His grandfather was a difficult man but surely an honest one.

  “I’m sure the prick lied about the details,” Troy continued. “When Grandfather’s feeling up to it, I’ll tell him everything I know.”

  “Why would Grandfather believe this guy?”

  “Frank Bostock just happens to be the son of Bob Bostock, who died a few years ago. Bob was Whitman’s first client back in the seventies.” Troy paused, raising an eyebrow. “He was Whitman’s first client because he was Grandfather’s best friend.”

  As soon as Troy had said Bostock, Grant had understood the problem. He remembered Bob Bostock. They’d met. His picture was next to his grandmother’s in the living room. “I can see why this might be awkward.”

  “Given Grandfather’s poor health, I thought it was better to wait until he’s stronger before I tell him the son of his best friend grew up to be a lying, thieving dickwad.”

  “Yes,” Grant said reluctantly. “I have to agree.”

  “I came by to tell Jane she could come into the office today since Grandfather won’t be coming in any day this week, but she refused. Formal guarantee or nothing.” Troy cracked his knuckles again. “She’s absolutely right. If only he’d just retire. He still has the final word over too many things.”

  “You need to tell him that,” Grant said.

  “I can’t tell him now. He’s sick in bed.”

  “When he’s feeling better.”

  Troy flexed his fingers and made a fist. “I’m not sure he’ll ever be feeling well enough for that conversation.”

  “You can’t fire Jane if the client pressured her to do something illegal. She could sue for unlawful termination. Or something.” Grant didn’t know squat about the law, but he wanted Troy to be on Jane’s side.

  “And now you’re living in her house. The lawyers will love that little complication.”

  “It was entirely my idea. I didn’t realize—”

  “You knew I was in a bad spot already. Why did you make it worse?”

  “I was trying to help her in a way you couldn’t. To reduce some of the financial pressure on her. Buy everyone some time.”

  Troy shoved his hands in his pockets and looked over at his car with a sigh. “Yeah, I know. I might even be glad you did. If I can’t save her job, she’ll land on her feet. Probably make more money somewhere else. People like her always do well.”

  “People like what?”

  “You know. Tough, driven, type A workaholic, born for corporate life,” Troy said. “Dad would’ve hated her.”

  “That’s a shitty thing to say.”

  Troy looked at him in surprise. After a moment he said, “Yeah, it was. I shouldn’t have said it. Jane’s all right.”

  Grant swallowed, uncomfortably aware his pulse was elevated. Had he almost gotten into a fight with his brother over a woman he’d met the day before yesterday?

  He thought of the way she had acted after backing up into his old Rover, how she kept trying to force him to accept her insurance information or money. “It can’t be easy, trying to be perfect all the time,” Grant said.

  But his brother thought he was talking about him. “It isn’t,” Troy said, smiling. “Maybe I should chuck it all and join a band. Mom could tour with me. She’s been talking about traveling. Ben and Justin are too busy to go. Something about having jobs.”

  “You should do it,” Grant said. “Then Grandfather would be forced to admit you’re running the show.”

  “When it falls apart without me?”

  “Would it?”

  “Yes,” Troy said. “I couldn’t do that. Jane’s not the only employee I have to look out for.”

  Grant glanced at the house. He would rather be talking to her than Troy, as charming as his brother was generally agreed to be. But he wouldn’t be talking to her if he did as she asked and stayed in his room, which is where he should be anyway because his word count for the day was way too low.

  “I should get back to work,” Grant said.

  “Me too. Listen, forget what I said. I appreciate it that you’re trying to help. It’ll work out.”

  “I’m sure it will,” Grant said. “If the bank forecloses on the house, I’ll lend her a tent.”

  “You can take her on your next wilderness trip,” Troy said, then burst out laughing. “Can you imagine? Jane?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  Troy continued to chuckle. “You just met her. You don’t know what she’s like.”

  Grant felt his pulse rising again. “What is she like?”

  “The type to use hand sanitizer after she shakes hands with anyone.” Troy shook his head. “No, before and after. And casual Fridays? Nope. No such thing.”

  “Being fastidious at work doesn’t mean she wouldn’t enjoy a change.”

  Troy’s laughter died, his eyes widening with alarm. “Grant, you’re not— This is awkward enough— Don’t even think about—”

  “Relax,” Grant said, telling himself the same thing. “You know me, I like to get everyone out of their cars and cubicles for a walk in the woods.”

  Troy nodded but looked uneasy. “I should let you get back to that new book so you can do just that.”

  “Right. Thanks.”

  “How’s it going, by the way? How many pages have you written since you got here?”

  “Goodbye, Troy.”

  Troy laughed, patted him on the shoulder, and jogged to his hybrid Lexus, waving one last time before he got in and drove away.

  Reluctantly, Grant turned and went back into the house. It would’ve been much easier if Jane had her job reinstated and could go away and spend her time there. He was finding her presence to be distracting.

  Before going inside, he made a silent vow to stay away from her. For his sake and hers.

  The week dragged on without any formal resolution of Jane’s job situation, but Troy called her personally every day and assured her he was working on it. He confirmed her suspicions that Mr. Whitman blamed her for losing the Bostock account but assured her he would explain to his grandfather what had happened.

  She already knew what he didn’t say: Mr. Whitman might not believe it. The Bostocks had been tight with the Whitmans.

  “I’ll have something actionable for you on Friday,” he said on Wednesday afternoon. And then on Thursday, he asked if they could talk at four on Friday afternoon. Friday arrived, and he called at four-oh-six. And twenty seconds.

  “Have you spoken to Mr. Whitman?” she asked as she picked up a sponge and began scrubbing the grime off the burners on her late grandmother’s stove. Sentimental memories of Grammy’s peanut butter cookies and turkey stuffing (not served together, thankfully) kept her from replacing the stove with a model from the current millennium.

  “I haven’t had a chance,” Troy said
slowly.

  She closed her eyes and reminded herself how unpleasant it would be to start over at another job, possibly adding years to her path to partner.

  Troy continued before she could reply with the calm professionalism she was proud of. “He’s been ill. Rachelle—his caregiver—wants to get him to the hospital, but he’s well enough to yell— Anyway, there hasn’t been a good time.”

  Jane’s irritation lessened. “I’m sorry, Troy. That’s got to be hard on all of you.”

  “I hate to do this, but could you wait another week? I’ve talked to Nicole about redistributing your client workload a little so you won’t be swamped when you get back. Assuming, you know…”

  Great. By the time she went back, if ever, nobody would need her anymore. “Do I have a choice?”

  Troy didn’t reply.

  “I like working at Whitman, Troy.” Jane threw the abrasive sponge into the sink. “Enough to wait a little longer.”

  She heard Troy exhale on the other line. “That’s great, Jane. I won’t forget this.”

  His lasting gratitude was exactly what she was counting on. But perhaps she should formalize it a little. “Nicole has always given me excellent annual reviews.”

  “I know that. I was just reading them yesterday, actually.”

  “I’ve brought a lot of business to the firm, I get along with all kinds of people, I’m a power user with the new software, and I’ve always been flexible about travel,” she continued.

  Troy waited a second before he said, “Yes?”

  “I’m overdue for a raise.”

  “All right,” he said. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “And I’d really like to work parallel with Nicole instead of subordinate to her.”

  “A promotion?”

  “Senior manager.” Jane took a deep, silent breath.

  “Again, I’ll see what I can do.”

  She smiled. “Thank you, Troy. I do hope your grandfather is feeling better soon.”

  He hesitated again. “Thank you. I’ll be in touch.”

  Jane hung up and hoped she hadn’t sounded insincere about his grandfather. If he died, she’d be back at work the next day.

  But she would never wish somebody dead for a job or anything else.

  “Damn it,” she muttered, scowling at her phone. Did he think she would be happy at the idea of his grandfather kicking the bucket?

  She picked up the cleaning spray and squirted the burner again.

  Should she call him back? What could she say that wouldn’t sound insincere?

  Similar thoughts spun around obsessively in her mind for the next hour until every burner and oven rack was sparkling and her hands were painfully raw with light chemical burns.

  When she heard Grant walking in the hallway, she fake-casually stepped out to join him. Shadow bolted out from the living room at the back of the house and headed directly to Grant, purr-barking and rubbing his legs.

  “Oh, hi,” she said. Then she noticed he was headed for the front door, an overnight bag swinging on his shoulder. “Going out?”

  He bent over and stroked Shadow’s back. “Going to drag my grandfather to the hospital. Literally, if necessary. My mother shouldn’t have to do it.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. “Best wishes to you and everyone.”

  “It’s his bronchitis. He started smoking as a baby, as far as I can tell, and since that was, like, two hundred years ago, that’s a lot of damage.”

  “He still smokes?”

  Smiling at Shadow, he straightened. “No, but he did for a long time.” He reached for the door handle. “This would’ve been a lot easier if he’d gone to the doctor during regular hours like a normal person. But he held on until five on a Friday, so now it’ll be an emergency room thing with all the delays and my mom— He’s not her father and wasn’t nice to her when Dad was alive, so she’s basically a saint. I don’t want her to have to go, so. Anyway. I might be back tonight, might not.”

  “You don’t have to… you know, keep me informed of your movements.”

  He frowned, looking away, and adjusted the strap holding the bag on his shoulder. “I know that. I just thought you’d like to know. Since there isn’t a door yet and you like your privacy, which is completely understandable, and I’m in no way implying that it isn’t.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And speaking of movements, I bought a plunger. For my bathroom.” He flashed a quick smile, stepped outside, and shut the door quietly behind him.

  Shaking her head, she went over to turn the dead bolt just as he was doing the same thing from the other side with the key. She waited a moment, listening for him to start up his car and drive away.

  Shadow expressed disapproval of his departure by walking away with her head and tail in the air.

  “It’s not my fault,” Jane told Shadow, who had obviously formed an unhealthy attachment.

  Telling him he didn’t have to inform her of his comings and goings had embarrassed him. Or maybe he’d just wanted to make a poop joke.

  She unlocked the door and peered out at the driveway, just to make sure he’d left.

  It was still warm, still sunny, the sky overhead a pale blue instead of the usual evening gray. Looking down at the bay, however, she could see that San Francisco was socked in under a blanket of thick fog and that it was creeping their way like a living thing. Within a few hours, Oakland and the entire east side of the bay would be swallowed by it.

  Grant’s SUV was creeping up to the stop sign at the end of the block, his turn signal blinking.

  Nice guy. He didn’t like his grandfather, but he fulfilled his responsibilities like the eldest in the family should do. She could relate to that, being the eldest of quite a plethora of siblings and half-siblings.

  She wondered what his other brothers were like. What his mother was like. What his father had been like. Or even his grandmother, the wife of the man who was too stubborn to go to the doctor by himself.

  It really wasn’t healthy to wonder so much.

  10

  As she often did since she’d broken up with Andrew (and admittedly even while living with him), Jane fell asleep that night on the couch, streaming British TV with Shadow curled up on her stomach.

  When the front door opened at the opposite end of the house, Jane bolted upright, making Shadow jump to the floor with an angry meow.

  The room was dark around her except for the city lights pouring in from the wide windows overlooking the bay. She blinked, heart pounding, unable to remember at first where she was, what was happening.

  After a moment, she picked up her tablet and checked the time. One fifty-eight. Remembering Grant had gone to the hospital with his grandfather, she got up, finger-combed her hair, and walked down the hall to…

  To what? If she seemed eager for news, she might appear self-serving, just as she had with Troy. She paused outside his door, listening to the sound of him kicking off his shoes, throwing something on the floor, moving about.

  And then opening the door. She gasped, embarrassed.

  “Grant,” she said. “Hi. I was just…” Being nosy, she realized. God, as soon as it was morning, she was calling Ian to rush that door.

  He peered at her through the doorway, looking her up and down in surprise. “Were you waiting up for me?”

  Should she have? She didn’t want to lie, but she didn’t want to admit she’d fallen asleep in her clothes. “Oh, I was just binge-watching a mystery series on Netflix. I had to find out who did it.”

  He didn’t look as if he believed her. A gentle smile curved his lips. “Sure.”

  Her heart skipped. He really did have a nice face. Right there above his chest, which was also nice. Broad and strong-looking, encased in warm, manly fabrics like fleece and flannel. In her dream, she’d been giggling as she unfastened the buttons and licked the tufts of chest hair that—

  Hold on. In her dream?

  Delicious images and sensations came back to her i
n flickering, tempting waves.

  Nononononono. No more sofa sleeping for her. If she couldn’t fall asleep in her own bed, she’d try melatonin and yoga. Or just bungee cord herself to the headboard.

  She slapped at the switch on the wall, illuminating the hallway with blinding, clarifying light. “How’s your grandfather?” She crossed her arms over her chest, burrowing each hand into an armpit where it couldn’t do any harm.

  Grant shrugged. “They sent him home with antibiotics and an inhaler. They wanted to admit him, but Grandfather insisted that would be the beginning of the end, insulted the doctor, and threatened Justin with disinheritance.”

  Unfortunately, it was obvious Mr. Whitman had been in no state to discuss Jane’s employment status. She would have to keep waiting.

  “Justin?” she asked.

  “Brother number three,” he said.

  “I’ve never seen him at Whitman.”

  “He’s been there a few times but would’ve been quiet about it. He’s an engineer. Doesn’t really want the money but hates conflict.” Grant frowned at her chest. “I hope you weren’t waiting up for me. You look really tired.”

  Which would be more embarrassing—that she was or that she wasn’t?

  When in doubt, go with the truth. “I fell asleep on the couch.”

  “That doesn’t sound like something you would do,” he said.

  She wasn’t sure she liked the idea of him forming an opinion about what she was like after only knowing her a week. “Actually—”

  “I’m sorry, it’s none of my business.”

  “No, the truth is I fall asleep on the couch all the time.” She shrugged. “I’m not as perfect as I look.”

  “Falling asleep on the couch doesn’t mean you’re not perfect.”

  She allowed her armpits to release her hands. They sank to her sides, where she shoved them into her pockets. “It doesn’t?”

  “Perfect people fall asleep on the couch all the time,” he said. “So you’re not off the hook that easily.”

  “I’m still perfect?”

  “I’m afraid so,” he said gravely.

  She laughed at the ridiculousness of it but felt strangely disappointed, like she’d been let off the hook and then placed back on it. “Listen,” she said, “you’ve had a rough night. Would you like a nightcap?”