Nothing Personal (The Kincaids)

by James, Rosalind

  “I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with what you’re doing,” Alec said as patiently as he could. Even though, yeah, maybe so. Rae’s contributions had been tactful, matter-of-fact, but they’d been on-target, and she was doing as much to move their marketing efforts forward as Brandon was, which was telling Alec something right there, something he wasn’t going to be able to ignore much longer. Which was going to be pretty damn tricky, because Brandon was a partner.

  But now wasn’t the time. “I’m saying, she’s on the team,” he said again. “And that I’m inviting her.”

  “And that we have to watch our language, and not offend her delicate sensibilities,” Brandon muttered. “This should be a real fun time.”

  “You can’t make dick jokes, if that’s what you mean,” Alec agreed. “Which aren’t that funny anyway. You might think about moving past that.”

  He shoved himself back from the little table, wanting to be out of here, out of the crowd, the warmth, the noise of a hundred chattering voices, about eighty of them looking to get lucky, and most of the other twenty wishing they were free to try. “I’m going home. Who’s in the office tomorrow?”

  “Me,” Joe said. “Got a couple things to run by you, too.”

  Alec nodded, looked at Brandon.

  “I’ll be working from home,” the other man said. “Got a hot date later on tonight. I’m not planning on being too available in the morning, because she can’t get enough.”

  “Yeah, I needed that information,” Alec decided. “Thanks for that. See you tomorrow, then,” he told Joe. “I’m out of here.”

  “Anyway,” he said to Rae now. “Would you like to join us?”

  “Well . . .” she began, but stopped as he held up a hand.

  “One sec.” The voices had been there, on the edge of his consciousness. Two of them, coming from the break room next door. They’d been getting louder. And now they’d intruded fully.

  “Talk about somebody who needs to get laid. Maybe if she got worked over hard enough, it’d loosen her up.”

  A laugh at that. “Yeah, but who’d volunteer? When I first started, I thought she was hot, but, damn. I mean, a woman in authority, sure. You know, thinking about getting the upper hand. But you’d have to have balls of steel to take that on.”

  “Stick it in her mouth, she’d probably bite it off.”

  “Avoid the teeth, yeah.” They were both laughing hard now. “That’d be Helpful Hint Number One for the poor bastard.”

  “Pretty fun to think about how you’d do it, though,” the first voice said, and Alec had recognized Simon. Of course. “A couple nights to wear her down, I’d be doing her any way I wanted.”

  Alec was at the door now, and Rae had risen to join him. He glanced down at her, saw her face draining of color as the conversation went on.

  “Oh, yeah,” the other man scoffed, and that was Simon’s pal Michael. Following along, as usual. “You’d be so screwed.”

  “Naw, man, she would be. There’s only one way guaranteed to loosen up a tightass like that. The hard way. That’d be sweet.”

  “Dude, you’re sick.” Michael, laughing. “Braver than me, that’s for damn sure. I get a chill just thinking about it.”

  “The tougher they are, the harder they fall,” Simon assured him.

  And then Alec was around the corner and inside the break room. Michael was facing the door and saw him first, began making frantic gestures to his friend that Simon was apparently laughing too hard to notice.

  “Or should I say,” Simon went on over another gurgle of laughter, “the sweeter it is when you get them bent over the back of the couch, begging you to do it harder.”

  Michael finally got Simon’s attention. The young man turned in his chair, black eyes widening with shock behind the stylish glasses.

  “Oh, hey, Alec,” he said, tried a casual smile that came out on the sickly side.

  Alec sensed Rae entering the room behind him, saw Simon turn an even nastier shade, reach a hand up to comb through the black hair flopping over his forehead.

  “Well, back to work,” he said to Michael. Got up and dumped the plastic container that had held his lunch into the trash container under the sink.

  “No.” The anger turned Alec’s voice to ice. “Clean out your desk. You’re fired.” He looked at Rae. “Get building security up here right now.”

  She looked back at him for a moment, then nodded and obeyed, turned away to speak rapidly into her phone.

  “What?” Simon asked, actually rocking a little. “What for?”

  “You know what for. Creating a hostile work environment.”

  “What the fu—? Because I joked around a little on my lunch break? You telling me you can’t even tell a joke anymore? Hostile for who?”

  “For me.” The rage was, if anything, getting worse, and Alec wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep his hands off the son of a bitch. “Because I find any environment with you in it hostile as hell. You make me sick, and you’re out of here.”

  “You can’t do this,” Michael argued.

  “The hell I can’t. You’re all employed at will, and I just exercised my will. You want to make it two for two?” That shut Michael up fast, just as Alec had known it would. Punk.

  “I’ll fight this. This isn’t the end,” Simon warned.

  “Oh, yeah. It is. Unless I meet you in an alley somewhere.” Alec never lost his temper, but he was losing it now, and badly.

  “Yeah, right.” Simon was still trying to bluster. “You and what army?”

  Alec could barely get the words out. “No army. Just me.”

  “Are you sure?” Rae asked when they were back in her office again. One of the security guys had made it up there fast, had stood over Simon as he emptied his desk into a carton Rae had supplied, had walked him out the door. “Simon’s got great credentials, and I thought he was doing well. You could get him back, give him a warning. Kind of hard to have this happen right now when you’re trying to get more staff, not lose any.”

  “I’m sure.” She’d have the guy back after that?

  “Well, you’ll need to write it up,” she said. “I only heard part of it, but I’ll put down what I got too. Although we should do it as a layoff, not termination for cause. Still good to have the backup anyway, just in case.”

  “You mean I don’t even get the satisfaction of firing his ass?” Alec was still stirred up, even if she wasn’t. He took a few paces around the office, stood over her desk.

  “Not unless you want to spend your time in a phone interview with the Department of Employment,” she said. “Or, worse, in a hearing. Not worth it. He’s gone, and you’ve sent your message. And you’ve defended my honor again, thank you very much. It’s all done. Let it go. And quit looming over me, because I hate it, and it’s not helping. Sit down.”

  “And that’s it? That’s as upset as you’re going to get?” he demanded. But he sat.

  She looked at him levelly, but he could see the color that hadn’t yet subsided from her cheeks, hear that pen clicking under the desk. Over and over, the faint sound like the beat of the pulse he somehow knew was hammering as hard as his own.

  “I can’t afford to get upset,” she said. “I work in tech. That’s the way it is. When things come up, I handle them. If I’m going to run to the ladies’ room and cry every time, I’m not going to be very effective.”

  “Did you ever do that?”

  “Many times, in the early years. But I’ve had to grow a much thicker skin. No choice.”

  “Why do you do it, then?” he pressed. “Why not move to some other industry that’s more female-friendly? Why put yourself through it?”

  “You trying to fire me now too?” She was smiling a bit, her posture not quite so rigid.

  He laughed in surprise, felt a little better himself. “No. Please don’t quit on me. Just wondering.”

  “This is where the money is.” She was serious now. “This is where the opportunities are. I
can’t afford not to take my opportunities. If they come at a price, well, doesn’t everything?”

  “All right.” He looked at his watch. “After one. Have you eaten?”

  “What? No. Not yet.” She looked confused at the change of subject.

  “Then let’s go out,” he urged. “Grab some lunch. That was nasty, and we both deserve a break.”

  “Alec . . .”

  He held up a hand. “Nothing personal, just business. I’m exercising my authority again, since I’m on a roll here, and saying that I require an offsite meeting. And if we happen to be eating while we have it, well, I’ll never tell.”

  She smiled a little at that. “An offsite meeting. OK. Give me five minutes.”

  He nodded with satisfaction. “Come get me when you’re ready.”

  “I guess you’ve had to get used to guys hitting on you at work,” he speculated.

  “If you could even dignify it by calling it that.” They were in the little Mexican restaurant tucked into the alley, and Alec had been right, this had been a good idea. Vibrant framed fabric art hanging against yellow plastered walls, red chairs, tables inlaid with bright, colorful tile, it was all cheering her up. And the food was just as rich and colorful, satisfaction to body and soul. She spooned up another chunky bite of the soup he’d suggested. Cubes of avocado, generous clumps of shredded chicken, and strips of fried tortillas in a deep red, spicy broth, a wedge of lime squeezed into the bowl at the last minute. Lots of calories, but then, she didn’t usually have to worry about that. One advantage of forgetting to eat so often.

  “And having them say things like that about you because you’re so obviously unavailable, too,” he said. “Kind of damned if you do, damned if you don’t.”

  “That would be it. You can either be a slut or a bitch.” She saw him wince at the words, but went on. He’d asked, and she’d tell him. “That’s the way it is. That’s the choice. I prefer to be a bitch.”

  She thought about it a moment longer, took another spoonful of soup, savored it. “And I want to make it clear that I do appreciate the way you’ve stood up for me. But I have to be able to handle it. I can’t wring my hands and wait to be rescued, and I’m not willing to let it drive me out of the industry. So I handle it.”

  “You do. But you shouldn’t have to.”

  She shrugged. “That’s the way it is,” she repeated. “Have you ever asked yourself why I go by ‘Rae’ these days?”

  “Because Desiree sounds too sexy? Sorry.” He held up a hasty hand. “I know, I said the word. But you asked, and that would be my guess.”

  “That, or . . . not. ‘Undesirable Desiree’ ring any bells?”

  He made a little business of taking a spoonful of soup himself, lifted his napkin to his lips. “I’d forgotten that.”

  “No, you hadn’t. You never forget anything.”

  “All right,” he admitted, “I hadn’t. But you’re not undesirable now. So that can’t still hurt.”

  “You think? But you’re right, I changed some. And no, you can’t be too sexy, but you want to be attractive. Who you’re really trying to be is that cheerleader who’d never go out with those guys in high school. Well, they went out with you, obviously,” she amended. “But all the rest of those guys, no.”

  “I’ve dated a few cheerleaders in my time,” he admitted. “But I don’t really get it.”

  “Desirable, but unattainable,” she explained. “Totally confident, and too good for them. It intimidates them.”

  “Intimidates the hell out of me, I’ll tell you that,” he agreed with a smile. “When did you figure that out? When did you . . . change?”

  “Business school.” She smiled a little herself, remembering. “I got there that first day, and I was kind of a mess. They assigned me an apartment with someone I didn’t know, because I didn’t know anybody. She took one look at me, and . . . Makeover City.”

  The temperature had been hovering close to a hundred, she remembered, when she’d got off the train that late August day. She’d dragged the two big old hard-sided suitcases off the platform and through the station, getting more and more flustered as they fell over again and again, their tiny wheels causing them to overbalance on the uneven surfaces and forcing her to shove them upright every time. They weren’t exactly the latest thing, another Salvation Army purchase. But that didn’t matter, because she was here.

  “Help you, miss?” a porter had asked, but she’d declined. She didn’t know how much you were supposed to tip, and just the thought made her nervous.

  She reached the curb at last. She was sweating, her hair coming loose from her ponytail, tendrils flying around her face, sticking to her cheeks. She saw the cabs lined up and left her suitcases on the sidewalk, walked around the back to reach the driver’s window of the closest one.

  “Excuse me,” she asked, leaning down to speak to him. “Can you take me to UC Davis?”

  He stared at her. “Front of the line.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” So she’d dragged her burdens to the front with her glasses sliding down her slippery nose in the heat, convinced by now that everyone was staring at the girl with the suitcases who didn’t even know the rules for taxis.

  This driver, to her relief, nodded at her request. He opened the trunk and heaved her bags inside without too much of a grimace, and she sank into the sticky plastic of the back seat with relief.

  She pulled out her map, directed the driver to the front entrance of the block of furnished apartments. He heaved her bags out again, and they fell over again, and she wrestled them upright again. Paid the driver the amount she had anxiously watched mounting on the meter, and remembered to add the tip. And that had been her first taxi ride.

  By the time she’d made it over the sidewalk, up the elevator, down the bumpy concrete walkway with her bags to the red door of Apartment 3C, she was even more nervous. And even sweatier. She knocked on the door. She’d never met her roommate, but she knew that she’d arrived already.

  The door swung open to reveal a gazelle-slim young woman even taller than herself, her skin the color of cinnamon, her hair pulled back from her face with a band and springing around her head in perfectly organized chaos.

  “Cassandra?” Desiree wiped a sweaty hand on her tan shorts, then stuck it out. “Hi. I’m Desiree.”

  Cassandra stared at her in disbelief. “Oh, hell no.”

  Which had not been a great start. But it had been followed by Cassie’s help dragging in Desiree’s suitcases. And her refusal to let Desiree unpack them.

  “You are not wearing any of these ugly-ass clothes,” Cassie declared when Desiree had heaved the first green plastic case onto the bed and opened it. “Because I’d have to look at them.”

  “That’s what I have, though,” Desiree said, shoving her glasses up her nose yet again.

  “You ever hear of contacts?” Cassie demanded. “Hair products? A damn salon?”

  “I can’t afford all that.”

  “You can’t afford not to do it. Why are you doing this, business school I mean?”

  “What? Uh . . . to get someplace.”

  “Uh-huh. An investment in your future.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, this is the exact same thing. An investment that’s going to pay off. Nobody’s going to take you seriously like that. They’re going to take one look, and then they’re going to look away, look at somebody else. And there’s no reason for it to be that way. You’ve got good skin. Good hair, if you’d do something with it. And a good figure, just like me, tall and slim, good for clothes. You carry yourself well too. Again, just like me. We get you fixed up, you’re going to go a lot further. In school, internships, jobs. It’s an investment. You got some money saved?”

  “Yes,” Desiree faltered. “For living expenses. And I’ll be getting a job. Which I’ll need.”

  “Uh-huh. What kind of job?”

  “Waitress. That’s what I know how to do.”

  “We get you fixed, your tips a
re going to double,” Cassie said. “This is where it starts, your new life. Right here and now.”

  “By the time I started class three days later,” Desiree told Alec now, “I had a new wardrobe—well, a few new outfits, anyway—that didn’t cost nearly as much as I’d thought, because Cassie taught me about the beauty of the consignment store. I had new hair, and contacts, and makeup. And everything she didn’t teach me in those three days, I learned from her over the next two years. She was right about everything. She was my guru.”

  “Well, she did a great job. She still helping you pick out your wardrobe?”

  “No, unfortunately. She’s working in the U.K. now, brand manager for one of the big packaged goods companies. She’s a star. But my neighbor shops with me sometimes, when I need an opinion. The one who thinks you’re hot.”

  “My fan club,” Alec agreed. “And she wasn’t the only future star in that apartment. Where did the two of you graduate?”

  “Davis,” she said in confusion. “Like I said.”

  “No. In your class. Let’s have it. The dirty number.”

  “She was number three.”

  “And?” He made a beckoning motion. “Come on, Desiree. Give it to me.”

  She laughed and surrendered. “Number one.”

  Football, Beer, and Reality TV

  “Gee, Dad, I’ve hardly been able to sleep all week, I’ve been so excited for today,” Brandon needled, walking into the foyer on Sunday afternoon and handing Alec a six-pack. “My very favorite thing, watching football with women. Hope you bought some chick snacks.”

  “And what would those be?” Alec asked calmly, leading the way into the kitchen and shoving the beer into the huge stainless steel Sub-Zero fridge that didn’t have all that much in it besides, well, beer. He handed Brandon one of the bottles he’d already chilled, pulled out another for himself.

  Brandon went over to sprawl beside Joe on one of the oversized white leather couches. Joe nodded at him without speaking, finished putting away his laptop. He and Alec had taken a couple hours to go through a few things together, multitasking as usual.