by Olivia Dade
Now both of Edward’s brows rose toward his hairline. “Was it, um . . . illegal?”
Grant rolled his eyes. “Nothing like that. Angie is a branch manager at the library. At the big staff meeting where I introduced myself, I found out she was my subordinate.”
Patricia scrunched up her face in sympathy. “You must have been so disappointed.”
“I was.” God, he still remembered how nausea had swept over him the moment he’d realized he was her supervisor. “And then . . .”
“What?” His mother leaned forward. “What happened?”
“I realized I couldn’t let her go. And we started an . . .” He swallowed. “. . . an affair.”
Another gasp from his mom. And at this rate, his father’s brows would end up on the ceiling if they kept rising any higher.
He stumbled toward the end of the story, his face burning in humiliation. “We got caught in the library yesterday by the assistant director.”
“You got . . .” His mother’s voice was faint. “You got caught? In the library?”
“In”—he cleared his throat—“er, flagrante delicto.”
His mother’s mouth dropped open, and her face turned red. Probably the same shade as his. Grant couldn’t even look at his dad, afraid of the censure and disapproval he’d find on Edward’s face. The disappointment when his father realized just how badly Grant had failed his parents. How badly he’d failed everyone.
A choking sound came from the recliner. Jumping up from the couch, Grant started toward his father, prepared to offer assistance. Only to see his father bent forward at the waist, wracked by helpless laughter.
“You—” Edward thrust a hand in his son’s direction and snorted. “You—oh, God. You, of all people, got caught with your pants around your a-ankles at work? Mr. Spreadsheet? Oh, Jesus.” And then he doubled over again in uncontrollable mirth, laughing so hard he started to wheeze.
His mother glanced at her husband and shook her head. Then she turned her attention back to her son. “What your father is undoubtedly trying to say is that, um . . .” She paused. “Having relations with a subordinate at work is out of character for you. Which implies you must have strong feelings for this young woman. Is that correct?”
“Yes. I love her. But that’s not my point.” Grant couldn’t believe he needed to spell this out for his parents, but he would. “When I get fired, I’ll need to find a new job. Which will be difficult, since I was fired from my last job. The likelihood that I’ll be able to find something nearby is slim. Probably nonexistent, to tell you the truth.”
His head hung down low, the shame of it overtaking him. “So I won’t be able to help you like I wanted to. Like you need. I’m so sorry, Mom and Dad. I made some stupid decisions, and you’re going to pay for them.”
Edward’s guffaws had faded into silence by the end of Grant’s speech. He held up a hand, stopping his son from speaking anymore. “Hold on a second. Is the reason you look so upset because you’re afraid of disappointing us? Because you won’t be able to somehow pay us back for your childhood?”
His father’s blue eyes bored into him, demanding the truth. At that moment, Edward didn’t look confused at all. He looked like the man Grant had seen growing up. The man Grant had worshipped his entire life.
“Yes. That and . . .” He closed his eyes, the pain of it all overwhelming him for a moment. “I think I lost Angie. I said and did some stupid things today. Hurtful things. I don’t think she’ll want anything to do with me anymore.”
“Is she in trouble with the assistant director too?” his mother asked.
He nodded, opening his eyes again to look at her. “Because of what happened today, but also because of other things she’s done. Angie is a bit reckless at times. Bright and funny and warm and hard-working, but reckless. She’s probably getting fired tomorrow too.”
His father’s voice didn’t contain an iota of weakness. “So do something about it.”
“What?”
“Fix it. Try to save her job and get her back.” Edward leaned back in his recliner, clearly considering the matter solved.
“But . . .” Grant spread helpless hands. “I don’t know how. I don’t think it’s even possible.”
His father heaved an impatient sigh. “Okay, let me be clearer. You’re upset about two things: the idea that you’ve disappointed us, and your girlfriend. The first concern is bullshit, son.”
“Now, Eddie.” His wife glared at him. “There’s no need for such lan—”
He waved off his wife’s chastisement. “It is bullshit. You know it too, Tricia, even if you’d state it differently.”
When she didn’t raise any further objections, Edward continued. “You’re a grown man, Grant. The choices you make at work are your own. We’re proud of you, even if you did get caught”—he snickered again—“with your fly down during work hours. You’re also a good man. One stupid decision doesn’t erase that, and it doesn’t erase an exemplary work history either. You’ll find a good job again. Maybe not here in Nice County, but somewhere else.”
“Your father is right.” Mom patted him on the knee. “The job situation will work out, one way or the other.”
“But I wanted to stay here to help you both,” Grant reminded them. “Nathan lives too far away to be here as often as you need someone.”
“The doctors say your father will keep improving. By the time you move, maybe we won’t need as much help.” His mother smiled at him. “And even if we do, we’re not your responsibility, sweetie.”
“Exactly.” Edward sent an approving look her way.
“But you are my responsibility,” Grant argued. “You’re my parents. I should be taking care of you, especially since it’s my fault you don’t have the extra money to hire a nurse to help with Dad.”
“You don’t somehow owe us for loving you.” Patricia shook her head, her curls bouncing on her shoulders. “And keep in mind that we’re both still in our right minds, even if your father’s body is still recovering from the virus. We can take care of ourselves.”
Edward pointed a finger at his son. “When we took care of you, you were a child. But your mother and I are both adults. The time may come when you need to take responsibility for us, but that time’s not now. We can handle this illness, just like we’ve handled everything else over the past forty years.”
The adoration in his gaze as he stared at Patricia made a lump rise in Grant’s throat. “We’ll handle it the same way we always have. Together.”
His wife beamed back at him, her eyes bright with tears.
Then Edward’s intent stare pinned his son to the couch once more. “Which brings us to your second concern. Angie. That’s the one you should be focusing on, son. Especially if you love her and think she might lose her job.”
“I do.” He slumped forward, bracing his elbows on his legs and scrubbing his face with his hands. “But I don’t think I can fix what I broke.”
“Bullshit,” his father repeated, casting a quelling glance at his exasperated wife. “What did we teach you to do when you found yourself in a tough situation and weren’t sure how to move forward?”
He knew, of course. “Make a weighted decision chart.”
The memory of how Angie had teased him about his charts flashed through his thoughts, making his breath catch. God, what would he do without her in his life? Was there really a way to fix this? Or at least save her job?
“Exactly.” His father nodded. “Think about the issues at hand, come up with various options, and evaluate each of them according to the criteria you set. You know what to do. You just need to get off your ass, stop feeling sorry for yourself and us, and do it.”
He raised his right hand and pointed toward the front door. The fact that his arm shook slightly didn’t lessen the impact of the gesture. “Your car’s that way, son. Get to it.”
“Yes, sir.” He hugged his dad and gave his mom a kiss on the cheek before heading for the door and the long, dark n
ight to come.
His father was right. It was time to stop grieving and start planning. And there was no better way to plan than with a weighted decision chart. By morning, he’d know what to do, and he’d put his strategy into action.
Because no matter whether she still loved him, he still loved her. If he could spare her a moment’s pain, he’d do it. Even if it meant kissing his own job good-bye.
26
“Dad buttoned his own shirt this morning? That’s great,” Grant said, holding the phone to his ear as he contemplated the contents of his closet.
“It took him a while, but he did it. He’s a stubborn son of a gun,” his mom said.
Grant smiled. “He’s not the only one. You’re the only one I know who can convince him to change course once he’s made up his mind.”
“Speaking of making up one’s mind . . . ,” Patricia said. “Did you come to any decisions last night? About Angie?”
“Yeah. I don’t think I can fix things between us, no matter what I do. But I may be able to save her job. So that’s what I’m going to focus on today. Wish me luck, Mom.”
“Good luck, sweetie,” she said. “I wouldn’t lose hope about your relationship with her, though. Couples go through rough patches sometimes. But if they truly love one another, they can almost always make it through that patch and emerge on the other side, stronger than ever.”
She huffed out a little laugh. “Sorry for sounding like a greeting card just now. But I really do believe it, Grant. Things may still work out for you two.”
He rubbed his tired eyes with his free hand, attempting not to look at the neatly wrapped jewelry box he’d placed on the closet’s top shelf. “I don’t think that’s going to happen here. Much as I wish it would.”
He’d spent hours trying to come up with ways to win Angie back, brainstorming strategy after strategy that might return her to his arms. None of them had scored highly on the decision chart he’d made. It was time to face the facts: He’d ruined their relationship. Now he just needed to see if he could salvage her career.
If only that box on the shelf weren’t taunting him, reminding him of everything he’d lost.
“Don’t lose hope,” his mother insisted. “I have a good feeling about this.”
She waited a minute for a response, but he had no idea what to say. He didn’t want to contradict his mother, but he didn’t want to lie to her either.
With a sigh, she let the topic drop. “I know you need to get to work now, so I’ll talk to you more tonight. Love you.”
“Love you too. Bye, Mom.”
He disconnected the call, wondering if she was right. Maybe everything would turn out just fine. Maybe Angie would look up at him with that wide grin of hers and say all was forgiven. Maybe they could both keep their jobs and still somehow pursue a relationship together. Maybe he wouldn’t need to move after all.
And maybe he was hallucinating because of extreme fatigue. He gave a little snort. Everything turning out fine would take a miracle, and he’d already wasted one of those in the past twenty-four hours.
Grant stepped further into the closet and scratched his head. Figuring out what he should wear to his own firing was proving more difficult than he’d anticipated. Certainly a button-down shirt and dress slacks. Probably a tie too. But did he need a jacket? If he got cold, could he put on a sweater? The wardrobe requirements for getting pink-slipped were very unclear.
Then again, maybe his brain wasn’t functioning well after so little sleep. Even after making his charts and preparing for the meeting today, he hadn’t been able to rest. He’d tried reading and surfing the Internet, but nothing had quieted his mind or driven Angie from his thoughts.
To be specific, nothing had allowed him to forget that final look on her face. That blank, broken expression. When they’d first met, he’d thought that the volume on her personality went up to eleven. Yesterday, by the time Tina had dismissed them, she’d been on mute. Because of him.
Now that he’d had time to process their conversation, he understood better why she’d lied to him. In her mind, she’d been protecting them both. He wished she’d chosen a different tack, but he got it. He only wished he’d gotten it before he’d driven her away.
She fully revealed herself to so few people, but she’d done it for him. He’d known it, even as he’d taken that open heart and stomped on it during their argument and the sex that had followed.
She wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. He didn’t blame her.
During his long, restless night, he’d tried convincing himself their estrangement was for the best. Eventually, she’d have realized he wasn’t enough for her. Maybe he’d only accelerated the inevitable end of their relationship, doing her a twisted sort of favor in the process. No need to waste her time until she finally realized she needed a dashing, bold man, not an awkward and cautious one. She could start looking for love again without delay, without needing to worry about the feelings of a man who’d trampled on hers.
Instead of dash and boldness, he’d thought he could win her over with gentleness and understanding. Yesterday, he’d proven he couldn’t reliably offer her those traits either. So good riddance to him, he figured. He deserved her disdain.
Without allowing himself another glance at that damn jewelry box, he grabbed a shirt, tie, and slacks from their hangers. Wearing a jacket wouldn’t save him from unemployment, after all. Given what Tina had seen yesterday, not to mention his plans for today, only divine intervention could do that.
An hour later, he exited his car and walked toward Downtown’s employee entrance. His steps stayed steady, his shoulders straight. He knew his strategy for this meeting inside and out. He’d formulated it during the endless night he’d spent awake and hurting, hunched over his decision charts and his desktop.
Angie would defend him and take all the blame for everything. He knew it. She’d already tried at the meeting with Tina yesterday, and she’d try again at her disciplinary hearing today. Not because she still loved him, but because she protected others. Angie took the fall. Always. Whether she deserved the blame—which she often did, he had to admit—or not.
Tina had called late last night to tell him the time and location of their meeting. To his surprise, she’d chosen a tiny meeting room as the setting for his reprimand and termination. Clearly, Tina hadn’t felt the need to involve the board, for which she had his gratitude. He didn’t want a dozen people witnessing his disgrace or hearing potentially damaging things about Angie. If he planned to save her, he needed to keep this goddamn mess as quiet as possible.
Mentally reviewing his strategy and the handout he’d created around three in the morning, he walked through the library. Most people, unaware of his imminent firing, waved or called out cheerful greetings to him. When he passed by the reference desk, though, the redhead—Helen?—stared at him with narrowed eyes. Not necessarily in an angry way. More . . . assessing.
He shrugged. At the moment, he didn’t have enough mental energy to worry about a soon-to-be ex-colleague.
When he opened the cracked door to the meeting room, he saw that three of the four chairs around the lone round table sat empty. Tina occupied the fourth, and she looked up from her sheaf of papers when he came inside.
“Are we waiting on the others?” he asked.
“There are no others,” Tina said in her usual calm, measured voice. “Please close the door behind you.”
He obeyed, frowning in confusion. He’d expected to see the head of Human Resources at the meeting. Maybe even the library director. He didn’t have the slightest idea whether their absence meant good or bad things for him and Angie.
Tina had placed a notepad and bottle of water on the table in front of her, which also threw him. He’d figured the meeting was a formality—a brief, official notice of termination that he’d hijack for the sake of Angie’s job. Obviously, though, Tina had planned for a lengthier hearing.
After he sat down, she immediately took control of
the meeting. “I’ll be blunt. Grant, I’m trying to figure out whether I have to fire you. You’re in your probationary period, so I don’t need much of a reason. Between the contest and the affair, however, you’ve provided me with two good ones.”
He couldn’t argue with that. More importantly, though, he wouldn’t argue with that. Saving his own ass didn’t have a place on his agenda today.
“I’d asked you to keep a close eye on the Battlefield Library and its manager, Angela Burrowes.” She paused. “Which you definitely did, though not in the way I’d hoped. But I’m getting ahead of myself.”
She took a sip of water and pushed her glasses up to the bridge of her nose before continuing. “During your brief time as director of branch services, you allowed Angie to hold a Valentine’s Day contest in which patrons submitted sex scenes. A woman named Brenda Williamson won the contest with a story entitled”—she glanced at her notes and sighed—“Fan/Domme. It’s about a rock star who likes to be spanked. Mrs. Williamson received a gift certificate for a couples massage as her prize.”
She held up a poster Grant had never seen before, featuring a muscle-bound, slicked-up Cupid. “Moreover, Angie apparently advertised the contest with this sign. She told us where to find the file on her computer, and I printed out another copy.”
Stiffened arrows? Quivering quivers? Holy shitballs. Well, that poster certainly explained the pile of shredded paper he’d seen during his first visit to Battlefield. Jesus. He cleared his throat, torn between horror and laughter. The sign was . . .
God. That sign was so very Angie.
He launched into the first part of his plan. “Tina, I started working with Angie the day after you warned her that you’d fire her for one more misstep. I can tell you with absolute certainty that Angie never initiated another objectionable activity from that point on. She also tried her best to minimize any and all publicity about the preexisting contest. By the time I arrived last Tuesday afternoon, she’d shredded the posters. The only time she addressed the contest was in response to specific questions from patrons.”