by J. D. Mason
“Don’t look at me like that,” she warned, shaking her head. “Don’t you dare fuckin’ look at me like this is my fault!”
“I didn’t shoot Reggie, Colette,” he blurted out. He shouldn’t have said it. Frank realized it as soon as he saw the look in her eyes, but it was too late. And it was the truth. “You fucked up, baby. All you had to do was wait it out. You needed to sit tight and let it pass. It would’ve passed, Colette.”
Out of nowhere, Colette’s hand landed flush against the side of his face. Frank grabbed hold of her arm, and the other hand almost landed on the other side of his face, but he grabbed her by the wrist and stopped it.
“You’re coming loose, Colette, and you’re bringing us down,” he snarled.
“And you left me!” she spat. “You left me behind to take the heat for murder, Frank! You think that shit was just going to pass? But you weren’t there, so you have no idea what I’ve been going through! You don’t have to walk through the doors of that precinct every day, wondering what they’re whispering about. Reading things into the way they look at you that couldn’t possibly be right. But you don’t know if it’s true or not. Maybe they know what we did. Maybe they’re just waiting for us … me to slip up and make a mistake, or waiting for the lieutenant to call me into his office because they know it was my gun who killed a man. You ran away like a bitch! Tucked your tail and took off first chance you got, expecting me to stay behind, man up, and take the fall? Is that what your plan was, Frank?”
She’d insulted the hell out of him. “You know that’s not true! How could I set you up if all you’d have to do is tell them that I was there too?”
“It’d be my word against yours,” she said, gritting her teeth.
“Ballistics came back with two separate bullets from two separate guns. Of course they’d come looking for me!”
“That doesn’t mean they’d find you, Frank,” she said coldly. “That brother of yours give you money yet?” She jerked away from him.
Is that what this was about? Is this why she was here? “I don’t have any money.”
She looked like she didn’t believe him.
He stood up. “If I had money, why the fuck would I still be in Paris, Texas?”
His argument fell on deaf ears. “I read about him, Jordan Gatewood. That fucker’s got more money than the state of Texas.” She walked over to him and stood close enough to kiss him. “Did you tell him who you were? If it’s even true, I mean. Did you tell him?”
He thought about lying. But why? She already didn’t trust him, and maybe she had good reason not to. The longer the two of them talked, the more he was starting to see things about himself that he didn’t find too cool. “I told him who I was,” he admitted. “And I told him that I wouldn’t tell the press if he did what he needed for me to keep my mouth shut.”
She seemed surprised that he’d told her that, but Colette still didn’t look like she had any faith in him. “What did he say?”
This was the part he didn’t want to talk about.
“He told you to go fuck yourself,” she said dismally. “Didn’t he?”
Frank dropped his gaze from her. “Pretty much.”
“So that’s it,” she said, turning and crossing the room. “We’ve got nothing.” Her voice cracked. “He could’ve given us enough to leave the country, Frank. Hell, he could’ve given us enough to fly to the moon, baby, but you punked out with him the same way you punked out on me.”
Frank was getting sick and tired of people thinking he was a punk. “Not that it’s any of your damn business, Colette, but I put my shit on the table for the man, and he chose to turn his nose up at it. I didn’t go there and get in his face just to walk away with nothing.”
She chuckled. “What the hell are you planning on doing, Frank? Go back to him and ask, pretty please give me some money, rich brother of mine. I swear I won’t tell anybody. Pinky swear,” she said, wiggling her little finger. “Why don’t you let me ask him,” she dared him. “Unlike you, Frank, I already know I’ve got nothing to lose. You’re too much of a pussy to admit it to yourself. Let me ask big man for the money. Or rather, let me tell him to pay up or we tell them reporters the truth about who he is really is. I’ll get it out of him. Watch me.”
Colette was a liability. She was a trick with a great gift for blowjobs, but not much else. He had every intention of calling Jordan’s bluff, or of at least making him think he would. Jordan had been paying Joel for years for his silence. Even if it did end up being Frank’s word against Jordan’s, Frank could make a hell of a lot of noise, enough to make Gatewood nervous. He had read that Jordan was in the middle of trying to take over another rival company. The last thing he needed right now was a scandal, and Frank could create enough of one to throw him off his game. But he was done with Colette. He’d decided that right here and now. Even if he did manage to get money from Gatewood, he didn’t need to be dragging a meth head behind him, shooting off her damn mouth.
“I’ll get the money, Colette,” he said calmly.
“Yeah, right,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“And I’ll give you half, but when I do, we go our separate ways.”
She stared at him. “You just telling me that to get me to leave?”
From the look on her face and the tone in her voice, Colette was pretty content with the thought of separating.
“We’re too much trouble together, and we’d be far too easy to find. I’ll get the money. You do whatever you want with yours, and we’ll never have to lay eyes on each other again, but you’ve got to go back to Cotton, and you’ve got to be smart. If you lose your cool again the way you did with Reggie, then they will catch up with us, and we’ll both go to prison.”
She swallowed and shifted nervously from one foot to the other. “How long?” she asked, clearing her throat.
How the hell should he know? Frank had to give her something, though. If he gave her this to look forward to, to hope for, Colette could maintain, and he needed her to maintain.
“Two weeks?” he finally said.
She looked at him long and hard. Frank could almost hear the wheels spinning in her head. “Don’t fuck with me, Frank,” she threatened. “I swear, if you get that money and take off without giving me mine…”
“Two weeks, Colette,” he said again, with more conviction this time. Of course he had no idea what would happen in two weeks. But it was something, and Colette needed something. Frank just needed more time. “Give me two weeks. If I don’t have the money, then … I don’t know, baby. You and me will just have to do what we have to do.”
She laughed. “Oh, that’s rich, Frank. And what is it that you and me are going to have to do? Go to prison for murder?”
He stared unemotionally at her. “That’s one option.”
It’s Tempting to Pack Up Your Throne
Jordan arrived back at the office just in time for his two o’clock meeting with June and several others who’d come together to discuss the Anton buyout. He had made a fool of himself with Lonnie. But Jordan hadn’t been thinking clearly. Even now she had this way about her that left him flapping around like a fish out of water, pushing him to limits beyond his natural boundaries. She brought out the worst in him. Lonnie, just her presence, brought out the animal in him. When things had been good between them, his feet didn’t touch the ground. He was hungry for the woman. Jordan craved her beyond what was natural or moral. It was the reason behind why he’d lost it on her the way he did, two years ago. The line between loving Lonnie Adebayo and hating her had always been as thin as thread.
“Older investors are jumping the Anton ship like crazy,” June explained to the group. “But there are just as many signing on as there are leaving. The new investors are younger, more aggressive players, all as anxious for this takeover to happen as we are.”
“Anton is still refusing to file bankruptcy?” someone else asked.
“Robert Jorgensen is a stubborn, old bastard,” June stated,
in reference to the CEO. “He’s a dinosaur when it comes to his business model, which is why it’s failing, and has been for the last decade. He’ll let the business crumble and fall apart into rubble before he’ll take a Chapter 11. And that’s good. Good for us. Stock prices at Anton right now are dirt cheap. Once the merger’s complete”—June leaned back and looked like she had been born to make this merger happen—“that’ll change overnight. A lot of people stand to make a fortune off this deal.” She smiled and her gaze landed on Jordan. “And so do we. Isn’t that right, Jordan?”
June had come into the business days after Jordan and his team had begun proceedings for buying out Anton.
“Mind if I sit in on a few meetings?” she’d asked him eagerly. “This is fascinating stuff, big brother. I could learn a lot.”
In Jordan’s mind, June was supposed to do just that, sit back, listen, watch, and learn. So, when the hell had she decided to take the lead on the whole goddamned thing? June had no idea who she was up against. She saw numbers. She saw investors and stock dividends. She saw an outdated business model. But Jordan saw something else entirely.
“Robert Jorgensen may be a dinosaur,” he began calmly, “but he’s no fool. And the worst thing you can do is to underestimate the man.” His gaze fell on every pair of eyes in that room staring back at him and hanging on every word. “That old-ass business model you all are looking down your noses at netted Anton profits higher than any other U.S. oil company for longer than some of you have been alive.”
June suddenly looked agitated and amused. “He’s been losing money.”
“He’s made so much more than he’s lost, June,” Jordan shot back coolly. Jordan leaned forward, rested his elbows on the table, and laced his fingers together. “Do not make the mistake of taking Jorgensen for granted. The fact that he hasn’t filed bankruptcy tells me that he must know something we don’t.”
“It only proves that he’s an old fool,” June retorted.
June thought she knew so damn much. Her tunnel vision was amazing, and the longer he worked with his sister, the more he realized how much she depended on her textbook knowledge of the business world, and how little she understood about the ugly makeup of corporate America.
“Of these new investors, who’s bought up the most Anton stock in the last month?” he asked her. Of course she’d know. June was as efficient as she was intelligent.
She scrolled through pages on her laptop. “Probably a woman named Jennifer Mason.”
Jordan smiled. “Jennifer Mason is Jorgensen’s great-granddaughter,” he informed them all. “She’s a junior at Texas State, studying nursing, and I can almost guarantee that if you were to ask her about these stock options she’s just spent so much money on, she wouldn’t know anything about it.”
June looked stunned and confused. Everyone else sitting around that table looked unimpressed because they were used to Jordan knowing these kinds of things and stealing the air out from under their sails.
“Jorgensen,” June muttered, embarrassed.
“If he’s buying stock in his own damn company like that, then what does that tell you?”
She glanced sheepishly at Jordan. “That he’s not fighting too hard to keep this takeover from happening.”
“You said it yourself, June. He’s an old man. He’s done. He’s tired. And he’s ready to let go of Anton.”
Jordan leaned back, satisfied that he’d made his point, and that he’d shown his sister she was nowhere near ready for what the oil industry really had to offer.
After the meeting was over and everyone else left the room, June stayed behind. “You could’ve told me what Jorgensen was up to before we sat down at this little powwow and I made a fool of myself,” she told him.
Jordan dismissed her annoyance. “You’ve got your numbers, June. You’ve put a lot of heart and soul behind them, and it’s good stuff. I admire your due diligence and your faith in your expertise and, most of all, your ability to sell it.”
She took her time responding. “But the devil’s in the details.”
“That’s the only place he is,” he said convincingly.
“I’m getting to you, though,” she said introspectively. “Aren’t I?”
He looked at her questioningly.
“I’m not stupid, Jordan. I know that the only reason you moved over and made room for me in this company is because I’m your little sister and you’ve always been taught to play nice with me, but you don’t want me here,” she challenged. “Except to sit back, and stare wide-eyed in fascination of you. You strong-arm me, but in such a way as not to hurt my feelings.”
Now it was his turn to be amused. June was astute, and she’d pretty much nailed it. “The last thing I’d ever want to do is hurt your feelings.”
“It’s my company too,” she finally stated. “And I have every right to be here that you do.”
“I never said you didn’t.”
“So, maybe I haven’t been around long enough to really see just how low all you corporate CEOs can really get, but I am learning, and I am taking notes,” she said with conviction.
“You coming after my job, June?”
She thought about it before responding. “When’s the last time you spoke to Mother?”
He looked caught off guard by the question. But Jordan reluctantly answered. “She doesn’t speak to me.”
“It’s not a good feeling. Is it?” June said thoughtfully.
It was no secret that June and Olivia had never been close. Olivia doted over Jordan, and barely glossed over her daughter as she was growing up, because June was the rebel, the difficult one. June didn’t buy into Olivia’s program. When Olivia wanted her to be a debutante, June scoffed and made sure that she behaved so badly with the debutante committee that she embarrassed the hell out of Olivia. After June graduated high school, Olivia insisted that she go to an all-girls’ private university in Massachusetts. June dropped the bomb on her over tea at the country club that Olivia belonged to that she was going to attend Berkeley in California.
“She talks to me a lot now,” June admitted. “I mean, some days aren’t so good. She either thinks I’m six, or she doesn’t know me at all, but on those days when she does know me, it’s not bad.”
Olivia hadn’t spoken to him since he’d had her put under a doctor’s care and tucked safely away in that senior citizen community. He’d done it for her own good, to keep her safe from the police and public scrutiny, but Olivia didn’t see it that way.
“You animal!” she’d screamed at him, as he walked out and left her in that room. “How dare you take me out of my own home! How dare you turn your back on me!”
Jordan waited until he thought she’d calmed down and went to visit her again. “Mother,” he said as he sat across from her, trying to get her to listen to him, even just to look at him. “I love you. And I wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t think it was the best thing for you.”
Olivia eventually cut her eyes at him. “Liar,” she growled. “Just like him. Liars, both of you. Cheats and liars. You want to get rid of me.”
“No, Mother,” he tried to tell her. “But the police have been asking questions. I don’t want them to take you from me. They think you shot Julian.”
Olivia’s expression hardened, her lips pinched tight. “I shot him. I shot the bastard for fucking that whore! And I’d do it again if I had the chance!”
Those were the last words she’d said to him.
His thoughts drifted back to the conversation he was having with June. Was she rubbing the fact that their mother was now her best friend in his face? It didn’t matter. Jordan had done what he did to save Olivia, and if he had to make the choice again, he would make the same one.
“I’m happy for you, June,” he said. “Happy that you and Mother are on better terms.”
“She’s the reason I came to work at Gatewood Industries, Jordan,” June admitted. “‘Don’t let that bastard take what’s yours, June,’” she said,
repeating what Olivia must’ve told her. “Never in a million years did I ever expect to hear words like that coming out of her mouth about you, her golden boy.”
June’s words were subtly laced in venom, and even though he’d never give her the benefit of knowing it, they hurt.
“People change. But it’s never been my intent to take anything away from you. My job is and has always been to preserve Gatewood Industries, to keep it, to grow it. But never to take it from you, baby sister.”
June packed up her laptop and stood up to leave. “Then you won’t mind one bit, if I decide to hang around a little while longer. I like it here and I belong here. Even you can’t argue with that.” June smiled at him, and left Jordan sitting alone in that conference room.
Nutty Nutmeg Phantasy
Desi Green was a New York City girl at heart. L.A. was nice, but it didn’t fill her with the same kind of energy as Manhattan. She spent most of her time now between those two places, and it had been months since she’d last set foot in Texas. Finally, she’d come out of the fog she’d been living in most of her life, and looking back at everything that had happened to her in the last almost thirty years, it seemed like bad scenes from a bad movie.
Desi was strong because she’d had to be strong. Before she was barely old enough to vote, her freedom had been stolen from her and she spent the next twenty-five years of her life growing up in prison for killing a man she loved dearly. Mr. J had been everything to her and her mother, and Desi watched Olivia Gatewood shoot him, and watched him fall to his knees on her mother’s living room floor. The next thing she knew, she was holding the gun that killed him, Olivia Gatewood vanished in a puff of smoke, and the police burst through the front door, put handcuffs on Desi, and her life was never the same.
“It’s late, baby,” Solomon said, coming out onto the balcony and wrapping his strong arms around Desi. “And it’s chilly.”
Desi laughed at the way he said the word “chilly.” Solomon was a Texas boy, through and through. Desi melted in his arms as he wrapped the blanket he’d come out with around her too.