by Crafter, Sol
They were eating on the patio outside. His father had a crazy fondness for barbecuing and had tossed on some steaks--as well as one lone chicken breast for Jessica.
"So I hear you're thinking about buying a house in the neighborhood," Jessica said.
Anderson looked at her like she was crazy. "Huh?"
She licked her plump lower lip. She must have used some serious kind of lip stain because none of the color came off. "Well, I live about a block away, and there's a house available pretty close to mine. You might start looking there."
Anderson had no idea what she was talking about. He had no plans of moving out of his penthouse apartment. "What are you talking about? Who told you I'm going to move here?"
Jessica blinked. "Your dad said you were looking for a place in the area. I'm a realtor."
Anderson looked at his dad, who was attempting to look innocent while sipping his beer and nibbling on toast points slathered in spinach-artichoke spread.
"Dad?" Anderson questioned.
George Bester had never been someone to mess around with. He'd been swimming with the sharks since he was twenty years old. He'd made grown men cry.
He at least had the grace to look a bit embarrassed. "I'm not trying to set you up or anything. I just wanted to present you with some options."
"Options for what?"
George's eyes flicked to Jessica, then back to Anderson. "You live so far away; it took you nearly forty minutes to get here. But there are houses available in the area now, and you know this is a good neighborhood."
Anderson gave him an irritated look. "I like where I live now, you know that. Plus I'm only ten minutes from work and I have a great view of the city."
George made sad eyes at him. He'd gotten pretty good at coming off as a nice old man. Anderson wasn't buying what he was selling.
On seeing that he wasn't just going to get his way, George dropped the loveable old man act. "Look, we don't see nearly enough of you. I thought that if you moved a bit closer you might visit more often."
Anderson made a face at him, then reached over to take one of the prepared toast points off George's plate. He took a bite, humming in appreciation of the spread. "I'm sorry to tell you this, Dad, but you're stuck with me as a son. I'll visit more often, I promise, but at this point in my life I'm just more comfortable in the city." He grinned mischievously. "But if you buy me a place here, I promise to at least vacation here."
He'd meant it as a joke, but by the spark that entered George's eyes he took it as a challenge. "Deal." He turned to Jessica, who had been watching their interactions with a bemused expression. "We'll take that one house we were talking about earlier."
"It's forty-six million," Jessica said. She didn't seem to know how to deal with George's abruptness.
George shrugged. "Bring me the paperwork to sign and I'll have my accountants release the money."
Anderson mentally groaned. Now he was going to have to spend time in the area.
It wasn't that he didn't like visiting his dad and Laura, it was just that his dad always tried to take over his life.
It would start with a friendly visit, then things would move on to how Anderson was living his life and when was he going to start having some kids.
The last visit had ended badly when George had brought out a list of surrogate mothers he'd had prepared. All those beautiful women with their attached bios. Anderson had practically fled the scene after yelling at his dad that there would be no grandkids until he had a steady partner or husband.
"I can't believe you're buying me a house here." Anderson rolled his eyes with a huff.
"Once you have some kids, I'll want to spend some time with them," George said. "Have you met the man of your dreams yet?"
"Oh Jesus." Anderson slid down in the chair. "Is this going to be the new Waterloo or what?"
George bared his teeth at him. "This ain't no Waterloo, boy. This is the continuation of the Bester line and neither one of us is getting any younger."
"I'm twenty-six," Anderson said.
"Exactly."
Anderson groaned softly. It was going to be one of those visits.
He couldn't help thinking rather regretfully about Mary's comfortably lumpy couch. Then, of course, he had to think of adorably shy Cole with his soulful dark brown eyes.
* * *
"I own you!" Jeremy pointed his finger right in Cole's face obnoxiously.
Cole moved his head back to keep from getting poked in the eye. Jeremy was the world's worst loser. He balanced it out by also being the world's worst winner.
He sighed and threw his controller down on the table. He stood up and started gathering up empty soda cans. "Do you want another soda?"
"Sure," Jeremy said. He flopped backward on the couch and put his feet up on the coffee table. He was settled in for the long haul.
"Sure," Cole echoed. "Get your feet off the table you heathen. What would your mother say?"
"That I'm her handsome little man," Jeremy grinned.
Cole shook his head and walked into the kitchen. Jeremy was in a class all his own and nothing was going to change him. Certainly not the bitching of his younger cousin.
"Do you want some ice cream?" he asked, poking his head out the kitchen door.
"You got strawberry?" Jeremy asked. He had started another game and his fingers were fast on the controller.
"You got strawberry? Of course I have strawberry. I knew you were coming over, didn't I?"
"Great. I'll take a bowl."
Cole gave him a thumbs up, then went back in the kitchen.
Two sodas and two bowls of ice cream--one strawberry and one rocky road. It was a real balancing act getting them onto the coffee table. Jeremy didn't lift a finger to help, of course.
"Lazy bastard," he said fondly.
"Huh?" Jeremy barely lifted his eyes from the screen.
"Huh? Nothing," Cole said, settling back into his spot.
He watched the side of Jeremy's face while he ate his rocky road. The tip of Jeremy's tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth and his cheeks flexed and twitched while he worked the controller.
Jeremy wanted to finish the level before pausing. His ice cream was probably going to turn into a melted mass of pink strawberry soup by the time he got around to it, then he would complain bitterly even as he slurped down every drop. It was the same thing he did nearly every time.
Cole couldn't help feeling a bit sad when he thought about how this was all going to change. Jeremy was really becoming someone and soon he wouldn't have time to just hang out on Saturdays wasting time. He would be on location in far off places and eventually he would forget about Cole altogether.
"Stop it, you're bringing me down," Jeremy said.
"You're bringing me down," Cole echoed. "What do you mean?"
Jeremy shot him an irritated look. "You're getting all depressed or something, I can feel the vibes you're putting out. There's no reason for it. You're my best friend."
"You're my best friend. I wasn't getting all depressed," Cole protested.
Jeremy snorted. "Yeah, you were. You're getting all 'I have no friends. I'm gonna be so lonely when you're gone.' But like I've told you before, you're stuck with me forever. We're cousins and we're friends. Nothing is going to take that away."
Unable to help himself, Cole threw himself into Jeremy's arms.
Jeremy grunted and hurriedly hit PAUSE on his controller before dropping it on the floor next to the couch. He wrapped his arms tight around Cole. "I just don't know why you've always gotta be so down on yourself. You're a great guy and people are blind not to see it."
Cole made a wordless sound against Jeremy's neck.
"Yeah, yeah, but your speech impediment isn't all there is to you. If I could go back and kick the asses of all those assholes in junior high and high school, I would." Jeremy sighed and pressed a quick kiss against Cole's forehead. "All right, let's get back to the game. It's time to pull yourself together."
&nb
sp; "It's time to pull yourself together," Cole agreed, sitting up. He scrubbed at his sandy eyes with the palms of his hands. "I'm gonna kick your ass at Halo."
They went back to playing video games like nothing ever happened. It was their usual routine when Cole had one of his moments.
CHAPTER THREE
On Sundays, Cole had to deal with the lovingly oppressive presence of his mother. Sunday was her day to come by and check on him, cluck at the food in his refrigerator, and just generally make him feel like a little kid again. He didn't really mind, but sometimes it could get a bit annoying.
It was as though she thought he was a perpetual twelve years old. She had to bring him food and make sure he had clean clothes and just generally wasn't wallowing in his own filth.
"Well, it doesn't look too bad," she said, peering around his kitchen.
Cole rolled his eyes where he was sure she couldn't see. She was quick with her hands and he didn't want to get slapped. "It doesn't look too bad. I clean up after myself, Mom. You're not going to find like dirty band-aids in the dishwasher or anything."
The look she gave him could have curdled milk, but there was a glint of affection in the back of her eyes. "You're a man," she said, as though that explained everything.
Shaking his head, Cole went back into the living room to watch TV. She would poke around as she liked.
There were a lot of people that thought Anne Heath was a cold, unfriendly woman, and maybe she kind of was toward outsiders. But family was everything to her, and though her words might come across as harsh sometimes, she was actually very loving.
He turned the volume up on the TV to drown out the sound of his mom clattering around in the kitchen. He thought he could identify the sound of the pots and pans being reorganized.
Cole rolled his eyes with a sigh. He wouldn't be able to find anything by the time she was done. Then, when he finally got used to the new arrangement, she would come around again and rearrange everything.
He thought she liked to mess with his life so he would always have to need her.
"Hey Ma, can you make me some of that stuff I like?" he yelled.
There was the muffled sound of an affirmative and he smiled and slouched back on the couch, propping his feet on the coffee table. He would have to make sure to bring his feet back down before she came in or he'd get yelled at.
Still, just having her around made a shot of warmth go through him. Not only did she make delicious food, but she was his mother and he loved her.
Next to Jeremy, she was the one constant in his life. And if that made him a mama's boy... well, then he was a mama's boy and nothing was ever going to change it.
She'd made him feel better in a time when he'd felt like the whole world was out to get him. She'd held him when he cried, and comforted him when he thought there was no way he was going to be able to go on.
In a time when he'd seriously been considering suicide, it was his mother's love that had let him hold on. Because the thought of her crying her eyes out over his grave was the kind of thing he never wanted her to experience.
The kitchen door opened and he quickly jerked his feet off the table.
"I saw that," Anne said, giving him a sharp look. She was carrying a plate in one hand and a glass of milk in the other. "You better watch yourself, young man."
He bowed his head in mock contriteness, then had to grin when she set the food on the table and tousled his hair.
Her tone was sharp, but her touch was gentle and loving. "You need to eat more, you're too skinny."
"You're too skinny. Thank you, Ma," he said, looking up at her through his eyelashes. With his baby face, he knew that expression made him seem sweeter and more innocent.
She tweaked his ear sharply. "Don't try that crap on me, young man. I was the one that taught that look to you."
He laughed and reached out to give her a quick hug. "I was the one that taught that look to you. I love you, Ma," he said.
"How did you get so sweet?" she asked musingly, hugging him back tightly. "You must have gotten that from your father."
* * *
He was relaxing in a chair by the large window overlooking the city. He had a tumbler of scotch on the table next to him and his e-pad on his lap displaying a book he'd pretty much given up on. He felt a bit sleepy, but it was too early to go to bed.
Sighing, he sat up straighter in his chair and set his e-pad down on the table in exchange for his phone. He flicked through his contacts until he found the name "Cole" and the secret picture he'd snapped off when the other man wasn't looking.
Cole's head was half-turned and there was a faint quirk to his lips. His lightly tanned skin looked amazingly smooth and touchable and he could have passed for sixteen in the right light. Anderson wanted to bite those apple cheeks and kiss those lips.
Anderson's thumb hovered over the phone number as he wondered if he was ready to call.
His phone lit up and vibrated in his hand. The ringtone was "Devil Went Down to Georgia."
Wincing, he hit the ANSWER key. "Hey Dad, what's up?" he said.
"I need you to take over a project," George said with no preamble.
"I'm fine, and how are you?" Anderson said. "Now what are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about those idiots that were supposed to be handling the Weinberg account. They've totally ballsed everything up. You have to go in there tomorrow and take over," George ordered.
The Weinberg account was a multimillion dollar account and had been with Bester International for close to five years. It was the kind of thing that no one wanted to mess up unless they wanted their head removed from their shoulders.
"Okay, I'll handle everything," Anderson promised, as usual.
He'd been groomed from a young age to take over his father's position and he was pretty sure he'd done a good job of being the company's number one go-to guy. He'd had no major screw ups so far, at least.
"Good, at least I can be sure things are going to be done right." George made a tired growling sound. "Sometimes I wonder where we find these people. Jon Weinberg has been with us for years and there's no way we want to run him off."
"He's your friend," Anderson said, "I don't think he would just jump ship without letting you know first."
"Still. He's a good man and he doesn't deserve substandard work. It really makes me wonder what else those idiots have screwed up. You handle things and clean up whatever's going on in that department, all right?"
"Yeah, Dad, I'm on it."
"Good. Come around later in the week and we can have a barbecue while the weather lasts," George said.
Anderson laughed. "God, you and your barbecue."
"Hey, it's about the closest I ever get to being a gourmet chef," George said. "You know, that was my dream when I was a kid, right? I wanted to go to culinary school, but your grandfather made me go to business school instead. I never forgave him for that."
"I don't think Granddad much cared," Anderson.
George barked a laugh. "Probably not. He was one hard-nosed bastard. Get this crap handled and let me know how it goes."
"Will do," Anderson said. "Bye."
"Bye." George hung up.
Well used to his father's abrupt nature on the phone, Anderson wasn't offended. What he was, was a bit upset about how much he was going to have to do.
He sighed regretfully. There was no time to call Cole now.
"I'll call him tomorrow. I've got too much to do right now," he muttered.
He stood up and went to get his laptop. He needed to catch up with everything going on with the department he was going to be taking over. Hours and hours of work dropped on his lap when all he really wanted to do was veg out.
It was mildly aggravating.
CHAPTER FOUR
Monday always seemed to come too quickly for his tastes. He'd just barely start getting into his weekend state of mind, and it would be over.
He woke up to the rude blaring of his alarm clock and stumbled
into the bathroom for a quick shower. Afterward he would brush his teeth and shave before pulling on a suit and heading to the office.
He'd chosen his apartment because it was close to work, so he walked briskly to the Bester International building. Being part of the busily moving crowd made him feel oddly connected to the city around him without him actually having to try and make conversation with anyone.
It was kind of nice.
When he got to the office, there was a weird vibe in the air that had him ducking his head and hurrying to his tiny office. He would find out what was going on later without actually having to get involved with anything.
The one thing he'd found out about working in the business world was that the people that spent their whole lives wrapped up in gossip and other peoples' business usually ended up getting fired. It might take a while, but it always came back to bite them on the butt in some way. He was better off staying out of things.
He'd just opened a file in front of him when his door slammed open and Mark stumped in to sit on the edge of his desk. Cole raised his eyebrows questioningly. He could tell the guy was pretty worked up about something.
"You would not believe this crap!" Mark reached out to grab one of the pens out of the little cup on Cole's desk. He popped the lid off and on and twisted the pen in his fingers. "If there was anything really wrong with the way I'm running the department, you would think someone would say something to me, but no. Instead they go behind my back and do this shit."
Cole cocked his head, too nervous to actually try saying anything. Every line of Mark's body was tense and quivering with barely suppressed energy. It felt like he was an inch away from violence.
It seemed that Mark didn't really need him to say anything because he kept going. Talk-yelling about how his job had been taken away and he'd been demoted by "those dickless morons in management."
Cole couldn't help glancing at the door. Mark was getting pretty loud and he didn't want to be associated with his complaints about the company. Especially since he still didn't know what was going on.
"They're trying to say that I haven't been doing very good at my job," Mark complained.