by Gaelen Foley
“He knows about Silver Oaks, Harry,” Bea warned, staying safely a few feet behind him.
Harry paused, while Curt stood belligerent before him, his ruddy cheeks flushed with anger and bourbon. “That’s right. So, listen up, you little two-faced sack o’ shit,” the cowboy ordered, glowering at him. “You have really dropped the ball on this one, Riley. I’ll let it slide this time, because, hell…” He sent Bea a lecherous glance. “That little prime piece o’ tail could lead any man off the straight ’n’ narrow.”
Bea let out a shocked sound of indignation, and Harry moved toward him threateningly.
“Curtis!” huffed Tammy from the doorway. “What is wrong with you? I’m right outside the door, and this girl’s half your age!”
Culpeper ignored her, fixed on bringing Harry back under subjugation. He whipped off his glasses to glare at him. “Let me remind you, boy, you haven’t taken over this place yet. So you’ll cool your heels and do what I tell you to do. I know damn well you’re champin’ at the bit to throw me out of my own damn company. But let me remind you of the golden rule around here, since you seem to have forgotten. Curtis Culpeper is in charge…”
Harry let out a disgusted laugh, his blood stewing, his hands curled into fists. How in the world had he put up with this narcissist’s bullshit for so long?
“Curtis Culpeper calls the shots…”
Every muscle tensed, Harry could feel himself going to some hardscrabble, city-boy place inside himself that Curt had rarely seen, barely knew existed, as he ranted on. “And Curtis Culpeper says what’s what,” he declared. “Don’t you forget it, son.”
Son.
That was the word that finally did it, along with the insult to Bea. He was past caring, flooded with recklessness. He just wanted to be free.
“I’m not your son.” Before he knew it, Harry’s right arm cocked back and his balled-up fist throttled forward, connecting in a practiced jab, boom, straight into his boss’s gin-blossom nose.
Behind him, Bea gasped. Tammy, watching from the doorway, cried out in shock. Dana said, “Holy shit,” as the king fell backward, landing across his desk with a curse.
Harry stood motionless, chest heaving. A grim smile slowly spread across his face. He shouldn’t have done it. He knew that at once.
But damn, that had felt good.
The cowboy recovered quickly. He was a Texan, after all.
“Riley, you sum-bitch!” Curt yelled, sitting upright, cupping his nose. A trickle of blood dripped from it onto his white shirt, landing on his potbelly. “Have you lost your damn mind?”
Harry wasn’t sure. “You know you had it coming, sir. You’re not treating her like that.”
“Dana!” Curt barked. “Call security. Tell ’em to escort this mother-effer outta my building.” Then he leaned toward Harry, glaring and breathing bourbon fumes in his face as he bellowed: “Harrison Riley: you’re fired!”
Time stopped.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Bea said, but her voice seemed to float toward him through a thick fog. “Come on, Harry, let’s get out of here and give him a chance to sober up. I’m sure when Mr. Culpeper comes to his senses—”
“Aw, shut your trap, girly. Screw you and your farm. I’m retracting my offer, and you both can go to hell.”
“Don’t you talk to her that way,” Harry barked.
“Or what?” Curt opened a drawer in his desk with a warning look for Harry, pulling out his Colt revolver. “Am I gonna need this to get you out of here?”
“Ho, calm down! Everybody, take it easy!” Bea hollered. “Come on, Harry. We’re going.”
He sent his now ex-boss a dark look, withdrawing from the office before security arrived.
Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion.
“Curtis, are you insane?” Tammy demanded. “Bea, honey, are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Thank you.”
“Oh, Harry,” Dana said, her face ashen as he passed her outside the doorway. “I-I’ll send you your stuff from your office…”
He mumbled his thanks in a state of tunnel vision, then heard her hurry in to help see to Curt. “Should I call you an ambulance, sir?”
Culpeper fairly howled with rage at the suggestion that he would need a visit to the hospital after a mere punch in the nose.
Harry didn’t know if the nose was broken. But it was about then that the uptight duo of ex-military guys in suits arrived to escort him out.
He glowered at one who dared to touch his elbow.
“Give him some space, guys, okay?” Bea muttered to the two large men, following him out. “We’re leaving. Can you please just chill?”
Somehow Harry managed to walk himself down the hallway, and out of Diamond Enterprises altogether, sneering in disgust at his own oversized portrait as he passed it. Then all four of them stepped into the elevator: Bea, Harry, and the two security goons, watching him like he was a terrorist or something.
With a sense of unreality, Harry watched his fingertip press the ground-floor button inside the elevator. The soft bell dinged, and he felt his stomach drop as the car descended. He stared in deepening shock at his own skewed reflection in the brushed metal surface of the door before him, wondering what the hell just happened. Bea looked at him, pale and bewildered, but they rode down in silence, given the presence of the two large strangers.
Harry was already queasy before the elevator bobbed at the bottom, whisking them down quickly to the gleaming marble lobby.
Ray, the front desk guy, watched, wide-eyed, as the expected future head of the company was unceremoniously marched out.
“Bye, Ray,” he said in a hollow voice.
“Goodnight, Mr. Riley,” Ray answered with an uncertain wave.
Harry went through the glass carousel door and stepped outside into the muggy evening, feeling like he could throw up.
He heard Bea’s quick footsteps approaching from behind, but the anxious tapping of her high heels was lost in the noise of passing traffic as he faltered on the sidewalk, just as dazed as he’d been leaving Curt’s office. He would’ve stopped right there and bent forward to either hyperventilate or puke, except that everyone could still see him through the huge glass wall, windows, and doors.
Somehow he kept his head high, his shoulders squared, as he stalked down the sidewalk in disgrace.
Bea was having trouble keeping up, but Harry barely noticed. He did not know what to think. All he knew was that he had just thrown away his goddamn career for a woman he had known for less than a week.
Oh, God. What have I done? This had to be a bad dream.
Stanwix Street was quiet, shadowed in the twilight, practically vacant. All the business execs and their innumerable underlings, the faceless cubicle jockeys, were long gone, returning to the suburbs, the wife and kids. The lawn to mow. The barbecue grill. Plain, solid guys.
With jobs.
Not a Porsche among them, probably. And to think, he used to look down on such ordinary men. So vain, he berated himself, shaking his head, dazed, while the city spun. Bea had been right about him, he saw now. Stuff she’d said early on. His ego must’ve been out of control. Especially in this situation. Thinking he could be the hero. Save the day. That he could be her knight in shining armor.
Well, he’d just fallen the hell off his horse and crashed back to reality. Because in this moment, he was nothing and nobody. Staring down the muzzle of going broke.
Abruptly, from the corner of his eye, he noticed a homeless guy huddled in the recess of the empty office building that he was striding past. He could smell him from here, turned, and saw him holding up a little cardboard sign.
Nobody loves a loser, kid. His father’s voice echoed insidiously in his head.
Numb, Harry paused to drop the change in his pocket into the beggar’s plastic Slurpee cup, mumbling, “You’re welcome,” in answer to his unimpressed thanks.
His pause gave Bea a chance to catch up, but he still didn’t know what to say to her
.
She’s gonna dump you now, you realize that, right?
“Harry, wait.”
Women want a winner.
She stopped, anxiously searching his eyes. “Are you okay?”
“Really?” he snapped before he could curb his tongue. “Look—I’m sorry. Can we not talk right now, please? I’m a little freaked out, and I don’t want to say something I’ll regret.”
What does that mean? her look of alarm asked, but she nodded. “Okay. I understand.”
“Thank you.” He clamped his jaw shut and they walked on.
Admittedly, her presence by his side helped to steady him somewhat. But it wasn’t like he could rely on that. Not now that he had failed her.
He wondered if her dear John letter would come by email or text, or if she’d do it face to face.
He could feel his well-honed defenses hardening, hunkering down within him, unwilling to accept a romantic stab in the heart along with the job loss.
As they reached the bustling Cultural District, a crowd was gathering outside the Benedum Center. A long queue had formed, coiling its way around the side of the theater and stretching down two blocks.
Rather than politely sidestep the bedazzled theatergoers, Harry skipped off the sidewalk into traffic and crossed the street. A horn honked. Harry gave the guy the finger while Bea yelped a belated warning, something about a car nearly taking his leg off.
For her part, she waited safely at the corner for the light, then hurried through the crosswalk to where he waited for her in angry, restless pacing.
“You need to slow down. You’re gonna get yourself killed,” she scolded him, catching up to him on a crowded sidewalk outside of an open-air wine bar.
Hearing her, a tableful of big-hat-wearing middle-aged ladies abruptly stopped crunching on their breadsticks to watch the two of them make a scene.
“What are you lookin’ at?” Harry barked at them.
“Sorry,” Bea immediately said on his behalf while Harry stalked off again in disgust. “Harrison Riley, get back here!”
While the indignant women huffed and went back to sipping their Merlots and Sauv’ Blancs, Bea scrambled after him once more.
“Would you knock it off with the hundred-yard dash, please?” she demanded as he rounded the corner of Liberty Avenue. “Give me a break, Harry, these heels are killing me. Geez, what’s the hurry?”
“Good question.” He started laughing; it sounded ominous in his own ears. Maybe even a little unhinged. “I’ve got all the time in the world now, don’t I? It’s not like I gotta be at work in the morning or anything.” On the contrary, he had no idea what he was supposed to do tomorrow. He felt like his whole identity had been wiped out in an instant.
Deleted like a spam email.
How could this have happened? He just couldn’t seem to grasp that he, Harrison Riley, heir to the Culpeper throne, had just sucker-punched his boss and gotten himself fired, all in a matter of a few seconds.
Next up, losing the girl.
Wait for it…! he thought, like the sports announcers intoned in big moments during a game.
“Harry. Listen to me.” Bea took hold of his arms. Apparently she thought she could reason with the crazy man.
He tilted his head and let her have her say.
“I appreciate you defending my honor back there—but you didn’t have to punch him. What were you thinking?” she cried, throwing up her hands.
He narrowed his eyes at her with a warning look. “Don’t start with me, Beatrice. Not now. Obviously, I did it for you.”
# # #
Bea snapped her mouth shut, taken aback by his cold tone. She was astonished only for a heartbeat, then it sank in that he blamed her.
Well, of course he does. It is all my fault.
She took a startled step backward, wide-eyed, while the hot, grimy wind of passing traffic stirred her hair like Culpeper’s repulsive panting on her neck.
The conclusion appeared: Oh my God. I really am a curse.
Hurricane Beatrice had just struck again. Even Harry, winner that he was down to his fingertips, with his flashy cars and million-dollar smile, was not immune to the contagion of her bad juju.
Because, by all appearances, she had just managed to ruin his life. Instantly, she was overcome with sickening guilt and a newfound understanding of why he’d been practically running away from her through the city. Who wouldn’t?
She dropped her gaze so he would not see the color draining from her face. No wonder he wanted to flee. All in a blinding flash, she realized that if she truly cared about Harry, the best thing she could do was stay away from him.
Far, far away.
The breath deflated from her lungs. She clung to the handle of her purse with both hands, dizzy as she stared down at the filthy pavement with its tobacco stains, its mummified bubblegum globs, its dirty confetti of blowing garbage.
Her heart begged her not to do what was eminently clear.
Harry was gazing at her in the shadow of the shop awning above them, his wide shoulders slumped in dismay. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that,” he said. “This is not your fault at all—”
“No, it’s true,” she interrupted, nodding stiffly. “You did do it for me, and it cost you everything.” Ashamed as she was of this fact, she somehow lifted her gaze to his, warding off the prickle of tears threatening behind her eyes.
She knew what she had to do. She owed him that much, at least.
Leaving him alone at a time like this felt so wrong, but she was clearly the last person on earth he wanted to be around right now.
Not that she could blame him. His valiant efforts to save her just cost him a great income and a job he loved. No wonder the look in his eyes back there seemed to say, Get away from me.
Winners like him didn’t belong with losers, anyway.
She swallowed hard, determined to exit gracefully, then glanced down the street, her knees knocking underneath her. “I should go…”
He let out a swift exhalation—she wasn’t sure if it was a cynical scoff or a sigh of relief.
“You seem like you need your space right now, and that’s totally understandable.”
“You don’t have to leave. Where will you even go?”
She couldn’t bear to look at him as she stepped toward the street, holding up an arm to hail a cab. “I’ll just have a taxi take me to a rental car place and drive myself back to the farm.”
“Don’t be ridiculous—”
“It’s fine.” She floundered as someone drove by with a rap beat pounding out of their speakers. “Maybe I’ll stop by my parents’,” she offered, trying to make him feel better.
In reality, though, the prospect of facing her parents in her current state of abject failure made her want to puke. Man, she could just imagine the tsunami of I told you so’s. Crops ruined. Business out of money. Found the guy of her dreams, then shot his life to hell within a week.
She had to let him go. For Harry’s sake.
She shook her head. “Point is, I’ve already wreaked enough havoc here.”
“Bea,” he said wearily. “I admit, I’m probably not going to be much fun tonight. But that doesn’t mean you need to leave.”
“Yeah, Harry, I do.” She forced herself to turn and look him in the eyes. Her stomach was churning, but she took a deep breath and said, “I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”
Bea didn’t know what sort of reaction she’d expected, exactly, but it wasn’t the cynical, deadpan stare she got.
“Shocker,” he finally drawled, his voice soft but razor sharp.
She jerked her head up in surprise, then recalled the awful lesson from his father: women only wanted cash. “That’s not why.”
“Right.”
“Harry,” she said as a cab swerved over.
He had retreated into himself, hands in pockets, his eyes midnight blue with anger.
She stood there at a loss, not knowing what to do—get in the cab or
stay and try to convince him. But how could she change his mind about something he’d believed all his life?
“I care about you,” she told him in a shaky voice, “but I’m obviously a walking disaster, Harry. Stephanie was right. I ruin everything I touch.”
“That’s stupid,” he said with steely disdain.
She flinched, but with the cab waiting, she tried to find some glimmer of a silver lining. “Maybe once Culpeper cools off, you could get your job back.”
“He can go to hell.”
“I could call him tomorrow and tell him I’m the one who put you up to it—”
“No. Please. Stay out of it,” he grumbled. “Don’t worry about me.” His tone eased up just a little. “I’ll figure something out. I probably have a few headhunters on my contact list. You left a bag back at my place,” he reminded her.
“I’ll pick it up some other time.” She just wanted out of here before she lost her nerve. “Harry—I’m so sorry for all of this. I never should’ve let you risk yourself like that—”
The cab driver beeped his horn impatiently.
“I’m coming.” Bea ducked down and gestured to him to wait one second, then turned back to Harry, at a loss. “Goodbye.”
He didn’t answer, just stared at her, looking torn between rage and betrayal. He nodded but made no move to stop her as she got into the cab and pulled the door shut.
It was all she could do to steady her voice in order to tell the driver to take her to the nearest rental car place.
Of course, with her heart crumbling into pieces, she was probably not in the best shape to drive. But at least now she was no longer Harry’s problem.
This was for the best, she told herself as the cab merged back into traffic. He might assume the worst about why she was doing this, based on his dad’s terrible philosophy, but so be it. He was better off without her. If she stayed, something even worse might happen to him.
Because it was not just Stephanie and the accident that she had as proof. Pap hadn’t gotten diagnosed with cancer till she went to live at the farm.
The city blurred around her as her eyes flooded with burning tears. She felt like she was spiraling down into a black hole of despair, but she refused to take Harry down with her. His big heart toward her had already cost him enough.