by Megan Derr
"Telling him not to worry is like telling you not to gossip," Malcolm replied dryly.
The woman dissolved into gales of laughter. Janice sighed. "I guess this means you are no longer the most eligible bachelor in the city. What a shame."
"Yes," Malcolm said, rolling his eyes. "What a terrible, terrible shame. Get out of my office and get back to work, before he busts us."
"Okay, okay," the women conceded. "But you'd better treat our boy right, boss, or there'll be another office meeting about it."
Malcolm smiled. "Then I guess I'd better behave."
After they departed, he settled in to get some work done. He hadn't told anyone he was quitting, not wanting it to hang over the picnic. It would be announced then, and hopefully they wouldn't kill him too badly.
He studiously did not check the clock every five minutes—god, had it really on been five minutes? The waiting was going to kill him, it really was.
The phone rang, making him jump. "This Malcolm. Oh, hey. Really? Excellent. I'll meet you there, then. What about—oh, even better." Hanging up, Malcolm fetched his cell phone and texted Cassidy to meet him in the parking garage. Then he sent out an email saying he'd be away from the office the rest of the day.
He ignored the Looks that followed him from the office, and took the executive elevator down to the parking garage. Cassidy was already waiting for him, looking like a scared rabbit, but he smiled when Malcolm appeared. "Hey."
"Hey, yourself," Malcolm replied, and cupped the back of Cassidy's head to tug him forward for a kiss.
There was a half-hearted protest, as Cassidy rested his hands on Malcolm's chest, but he kissed back with enthusiasm, face flushed when they finally broke apart. "Where are you sneaking off to?"
"I need to meet with my lawyer, finalize some stuff I've been working on. I think he gets unreasonably excited whenever I do anything with my money and all." He stole another kiss and sorely wished there was time for a quickie. "I'll see you tonight, and if I don't beat you home, I shouldn't be far behind." He'd always liked his penthouse, but he hadn't loved it until Cass started to be a regular part of it.
"Uh—actually—" Cassidy dropped his gaze, then dragged it back up. "I—my siblings too—wondered if you'd like to come over for dinner. It's not as fancy—"
Malcolm kissed him, cutting off all the silly things Cassidy was trying to say, comparing their different homes and lifestyles. Cassidy was inviting him over to have dinner with his family. "I can't wait," he said when he finally allowed Cassidy to breathe. "Should I bring anything?"
"Uh—wine or something, if you'd like, but you definitely don't have to. We should have it all covered."
Malcolm nibbled at Cassidy's jaw, making the fingers pressed against his chest dig into his shirt. Then he stole a last kiss, before finally making himself step away. "What time?"
"Eight for dinner, but come over whenever you like."
"I'll be there," Malcolm replied, and with a wink, finally slid into his car. Driving off, he fought downtown traffic, then cruised along the highway, taking an exit that led a pretty little suburb well outside the city proper. He pulled up to a handsome blue house, just two blocks from their mother's house.
He was about to get out and go ring the bell when the door opened, and Carlos waved at him. Then his wife joined him, and waved as well, and Malcolm grinned as she kissed Carlos goodbye.
"Hey," Malcolm greeted, as Carlos slid into the car.
"Hey," Carlos replied. "I am still annoyed you are putting me in charge of another restaurant, man. I have my hands full with one."
"Because you try to be a manager and an owner, which is all well and good, except you have to hand over the reins to a manager sometime. You're really damn close to owning the Mexican place, and with Bluebird in your pocket now…two restaurants will be a worthy challenge for you, my brother."
"Yeah, yeah," Carlos replied. "So you haven't told me much about it."
"Don't know much about it, really," Malcolm said, and drove the twenty minutes to the diner. "I haven’t even seen it yet." They rolled into the parking lot of a dive that definitely had seen better days, but it was well over half full, so it couldn't be a total wash. "This is it, I guess. Yeah, there's Joey's car." He pointed to the sleek Aston Martin parked well of harms' way in an empty corner of the parking lot. "Must be inside already."
Carlos nodded, and climbed out of the car, and they walked together into the restaurant. Joey waved to them from where he sat at the counter, demolishing what looked to be breakfast of all things. Not that he needed to flag them down; he was dressed in a tailored three-piece suit and had hair so bright a red most people thought it dyed. "Whatever else you guys do to this place, keep the pancakes," he said by way of greeting.
In reply, Carlos stole Joey's fork and a bite of pancake. "Yeah, you're right. The pancakes stay." He flagged down a waitress and put in his own order.
"Just the house club for me, please," Malcolm told her, "and we need to see the manager."
"Sure," the waitress replied, and went off.
A few minutes later, a short, corpulent woman in frumpy, ill-fitting khakis and polo cam through the swinging doors to the kitchen. Malcolm could see from the hardened expression on her face as she saw them, that she knew exactly who they were and why they were here.
He left the talking to Joey for the time being.
"Ms. Winston," Joey said pleasantly. Joey was always at his best when he got to flash his shark teeth. "I believe we spoke on the phone."
"Yes," she said flatly. "Mr. Brighton and I parted ways last night. Damned foolish of him to be selling this place, and after I said I'd take it off his hands the end of this year." She did not bother to hide her anger and resentment, and Malcolm might almost feel bad for her, except for Cassidy. She looked them all over, eyes lingering on Carlos. She started to say something, obviously about Carlos, but at the last only said, "Well, I can show you around after hours, but I'm too busy now—"
She either didn't hear, or chose to ignore, the snort of contempt from a waiter at the opposite end of the counter. All around them, other workers and customers made similar noises and expressions over this statement.
"That won't be necessary," Carlos said. "After today, we will be closing the diner down for remodeling. This place definitely needs a makeover."
At that, nearly every worker in the place sidled closer, obviously trying to eavesdrop to learn of their fates with the diner closing for an unknown length of time. Carlos pitched his voice accordingly, but never took his eyes off Ms. Winston. "Those employees we choose to retain will be compensated for the time they are not able to work."
"You can't do that, this place has always run just fine exactly the way it is—"
"It might surprise you, what we know about this place," Joey said, and quietly pushed several sheets of paper across the counter.
Winston stared at them in silence.
Malcolm gave her several minutes, then tried not to sound smug or cheerful as he said, "I suppose now is as good a time as any to inform you that you're fired. If we ever again find you on the premises without my express permission, we'll contact the authorities."
Her face went white, then red. "You can't do this! I've been here twenty years."
"Eighteen, and every one of them was spent being lazy, giving bribes, taking bribes, bullying, harassing, and otherwise making miserable the lives of your employees."
"You can't prove it!"
"Maybe, maybe not," Joey said coolly, though they all knew he could prove plenty without even trying. "We have more than what is presented here, though that is certainly incriminating enough. The testimony of your employees would also go a long way, I promise, especially that of Mr. Monarch, given his good standing and connections."
"Cass?" A waitress asked eagerly. "He's doing well, then?"
"Very well," Malcolm replied, smiling at her. Then he turned back to the Ogre, and his smile vanished. "I told you to get out. I meant now."
"Note all damages," Carlos told a nearby waiter, "so that they can be properly deducted from her last paycheck. Someone bring me more coffee, and the books for this place."
"Yes, uh—sir," a waiter said hastily, and bolted off to obey.
"I am in charge now," Carlos announced, standing up to present himself to the room. "My name is Carlos Osborne. You may call me Carlos." He pointed a thumb at Malcolm. "This is the new owner, Malcolm Osborne, my brother. You may call him obnoxious."
Malcolm sniggered, and pulled his sunglasses from where he'd perched them on top of his head, sliding them onto his face. "Carlos, we'll leave the rest to you. Call if you need a ride home. Joey, let's go meet our three thirty."
Outside, Malcolm laughed and laughed. "That was fun. Give Carlos whatever funds he needs to remodel the place. I'm sure he'll have a blast, even if he is grumbling."
"Of course. I'll meet you back at the office." Joey glanced at his watch. "The three thirty should be there already, unless he decides to show up late. Hopefully he is smarter than that, though if he were, he would not be meeting us, I suppose."
"How did he sound on the phone?"
Joey snorted, and tucked a strand of bright red hair back into its place in his perfect, professional haircut. "Definitely interested. I admit your scheme seemed crazier than usual, when you laid it out, but as we stand now I think it will actually work. Somewhat pathetic, really, given his position."
"Just goes to show he's not the right fit."
"Do you have the right fit in mind, then?"
"Come to the company picnic and find out," Malcolm said with a grin. He jingled his car keys at Joey. "See you at your office."
Joey nodded, and strode back to his own car, glaring at some gawkers before sliding behind the wheel.
Malcolm followed him back into downtown, passing his own office building and continuing on straight to heart of downtown—Government Plaza, it was called, for the courthouses and federal buildings that occupied its four main corners. Joey's firm took up seven floors of the thirty story building that was the second tallest in the plaza.
In the parking garage, he slid his car into a spot right next to Joey's.
"I'm amazed," Joey said as they walked toward the elevators, "that you haven't destroyed your car yet. Given the way you're drawn to trouble—"
"Like a shark to a lawsuit? I mean blood," Malcolm interrupted. "At least I've never sued ex-lovers just for the hell of it."
Joey shrugged indifferently. "It's not my fault it proved to be the most interesting part of those relationships. Come on, then." He punched the button for the thirty-first floor, then led the way to his office.
When they reached it, Joey's office smelled of fresh-brewed coffee and his secretary's lilac perfume. She smiled at them before departing, murmuring quietly about phone messages, meetings, and that their three thirty was waiting in conference room D.
"Thanks, Sherry," Joey said with a smile.
Malcolm helped himself to the coffee. "You and Antoine and your fancy offices. My house isn't as fancy as you boys live it in your executive offices."
"Which house would that be? The penthouse. The beach house? The cabin? The French chalet? Or—"
"Alright, alright," Malcolm said, lifting one hand in defeat, the other still holding his coffee. "None of them have an office like this, though."
Jason ignored him, minus a dryly amused looked, and retrieved a file stuffed with paper from his desk. "Shall we?"
Malcolm handed him a cup of coffee—black, just like Joey liked it, and always had, except in college where he'd had to drink nasty stuff he'd disguised with cream and sugar. Leaving the office, they went down the hall to the conference room where their appointment waited.
At the far end of the long, wide table which occupied most of the room, sat a man with spiky, multi-colored hair. He wore tight jeans and a tighter shirt, a look that wasn't all that flattering on him. Not like it was on Cassidy. He had more tattooed skin than bare skin, and at least a dozen piercing scattered across his face and ears. Malcolm supposed he was moderately attractive, but there was something decidedly lacking about him.
"You are Ronald Jameson," Joey said, more a statement than a question, then added mostly as an afterthought, "Thank you for coming."
Ronald eyed them. "You offered money. Lots of it."
"Yes," Joey said, and Malcolm suspected he was one of the few who could read that Joey was completely disgusted by this opening statement. "Quite a lot of it, but our terms are very strict. I believe we already spoke of them, on the phone, but we will go over them again now. Here is the contract for you to read over, and sign if you choose."
He took a sip of his coffee, letting the prolonged silence do some of the talking, not relenting until Ronald was shifting restless and anxious in his seat. Then Joey continued with, "Our terms are thus. We would like you to leave The Missing Butterfly. However, we do not want you simply quitting today. Next Saturday, you are not to show at the concert at which you agreed to play. On that day, you will cease to have any contact whatsoever with your former band mates or anyone otherwise related to it. You will not discuss this arrangement or its terms with anyone. Should you violate a single term, you forfeit all the money given to you. The full details are laid out in the contract. Shall we give you a few minutes to read it over and form any questions you might have?"
Ronald shook his head, and only pointed to the paragraph that outline the sum which he would be paid. "This is for real?"
"It will be wired minutes after you sign," Joey assured.
"Sure, man. Group sucks anyway."
Joey frowned. "I urge you to read the contract carefully, and understand fully what it is you are getting into."
"You want me to vanish. I dig it. No coming back no bothering them, no mentioning you're paying me to beat it, no asking for more money."
"Yes," Malcolm said. "That is essentially it. If you ever decide to try and return, too bad, so sad."
"Yeah, yeah. They're too fucking picky and whiney anyway. I'd rather have all this in my bank account, and maybe take up solo work." He took the pen Joey handed him, and signed his name with a flourish.
Taking it, Malcolm signed his own name, then handed the contract to Joey and pulled out his cell phone. A few minutes later, he closed it, all arrangements with his bank made.
"That concludes our business," Joey said, and rose. "Thank you, Mr. Jameson, for being so agreeable."
"S'cool, man," Ronald replied. "Thanks for the money. See ya." Joey called Sherry, who escorted Ronald out, while Joey and Malcolm returned to Joey's office.
Malcolm poured more coffee and settled himself on the fancy sofa facing an impressive view of the city. Joey joined him a few minutes later, absent now of his jacket, vest, and tie, the perfect business hair disheveled. When Joey was on the clock, he was on, and when he was off, he was off. "If I were your boyfriend, I'd be kinda really pissed at your presumption and control-taking."
"That's because you like being the heavy-handed one," Malcolm replied.
"Are you going to let this new boyfriend in on all you've done? Speaking of, he must be very bad and very pretty, for you to drop so much money on him, and in such ridiculous ways."
"The money will recover with disgusting ease," Malcolm said dismissively. "Carlos' efforts alone will pull in good money eventually, never mind all the other stuff I've got going. I'll tell Cassidy eventually. I'd rather wait 'til after next Saturday, at least."
Way, way after next Saturday. Like, a hundred years from Saturday. Cassidy would probably take his buying Bluebird well enough, eventually, but not so much the manipulating of his band just to give Cassidy a chance to get back in it. But damn it, he wanted to see Cassidy get what he so obviously still wanted, and definitely deserved even if that meant being a scheming, heavy
handed millionaire with a great white shark lawyer.
"So what are you doing the rest of the day?" Joey asked.
"I've been invited to dinner," Malcolm said, grinning. "Cassidy invited me over to his house, to eat with his family."
Joey just looked at him, and shook his head. "Your brothers weren't kidding. You do have it bad. Another one domesticated, sheesh. Who's next, Antoine?"
"Hah," Malcolm said, then narrowed his eyes. "When and why were you talking to my brothers?"
"I do tend to speak with all my clients on at least a weekly basis," Joey said.
"So talk business and stop gossiping about me."