The Parent Trap

by Jasinda Wilder

  He smirks at me. “So what you’re saying is, we make a good team?”

  I look away, faking perturbation. “I suppose I can’t deny that today went well, and that you did in fact contribute, in some small way, at least.”

  “It’s okay to acknowledge my greatness,” he says, sounding arch and wry.

  “Yeah, okay. All hail the great and mighty Thai Bristow.”

  He flips his hand in front of himself and bows over it. “I humbly accept that which is my due.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “Yes, humbly indeed.”

  I keep expecting him to resume our conversation from before, but he doesn’t. He demonstrates a skill I in fact lack entirely: chitchat. He can keep us talking about not much at all, and does so effortlessly. We talk about music and movies and old school friends, he tells a hysterical story about a prank his fraternity played his senior year at Yale, which involved a six-hundred-pound sow, a bucket of glitter, and Saran Wrap.

  I tell him about the time a subcontractor had mistaken me for an errand girl and someone he could hit on—I’d locked him in the porta-potty, and then taken over the big excavator, suspending him fifty feet in the air. I’d refused to let him down until he begged me, in actual tears.

  “He was crying?” Thai says, laughing.

  “Like a baby. Apparently he was afraid of heights and was claustrophobic. Now, I didn’t know that at the time, and I actually felt a little guilty when I found out. But when I say he hit on me, I mean he slapped my ass and told me—told me—to meet him at his truck after work. Like, it was an order.”

  “But…how could he mistake you for an errand girl?”

  I shrugged. “I was dressed down. Bill, the on-site foreman back during phase one of Oak Glen, was sick, and I was filling in…so I was in jeans, a McKenna shirt, and a hardhat.”

  “Oh.” He shakes his head. “But…even if you were just an errand girl—” and here Thai uses air quotes around the emphasized word, “—I don’t get where he figured it was okay to slap your ass and order to you sleep with him.”

  “Right? I did some digging after that and found out he was notorious for it. The company he worked for was a big one, with a sizable HR department, the head of whom I happen to be personal friends with. I explained to her what I’d experienced, but she was like, I can’t just take you on your word. So I set up a sting.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Yeah, big uh-oh. Now, this HR department was big enough that this one worker would never have met her personally. So, she did what I did—dressed down in jeans and a T-shirt and showed up acting like she was the cleanup crew or something. And sure enough, good ol’ Tony the ass-slapper cornered the head of his own HR department, gave her the ass slap and the see-me-at-my-truck order.”

  He cackled. “I’m guessing that didn’t go well for him.”

  I shake my head. “Last I heard, he was changing oil for eight bucks an hour in BFE, Arkansas. She fired him and had him blacklisted at every reputable and not-so-reputable contractor in three states.”

  “Ohhh, shit. She wasn’t playing, was she?”

  “Nope. Ember doesn’t play around.” I snicker. “I haven’t even told you the best part. When he cornered her, he didn’t figure in that Ember carries a taser on her person and doesn’t appreciate being cornered by big smelly men.”

  “She tased him?”

  “So hard he shit himself.”

  “Guess he earned it, though.”

  “He definitely did.”

  “I just can’t help but wonder if that tactic ever worked for him? Like, just from a purely objective standpoint, I cannot imagine that cornering a woman at the workplace, slapping her on the ass, and ordering her to meet you at your truck would ever work. Like ever. Maybe if he was the big boss, maybe.” He glances at me. “I’m not condoning it, just wondering if it ever worked.”

  I laugh. “Somehow, I doubt it. The real question is how he got away with it as long he did. There were several complaints registered against him, but he tended to move from company to company, staying just ahead of the complaints.”

  “Being a piece of shit human always catches up to you, one way or another.”

  “Well, it did for him.”

  We’re back at the office in what feels like no time, but Thai doesn’t go into the parking garage. Instead, he idles near the entrance, looking like he’s thinking hard about something.

  “Thai? The garage is right there.” I point, in case he missed it.

  He looks at me. “We just landed a huge deal. You said it yourself—biggest of your career.”

  “Yeah.” I eye him. “What are you getting at?”

  “Let’s play hooky. Go do something fun.”

  I roll my eyes. “Thai. We’re the bosses. We can’t take the rest of the day off. It’s barely past noon.”

  “If you’re the boss, I’d think that would buy you at least a little leeway, right?”

  “Wrong. The opposite. I have to be there before and after everyone and I have to work harder than everyone. I don’t play hooky.”

  He frowns. “Maybe playing hooky is the wrong way to put it.” He holds up a finger, dials a number on his phone. It rings, and then Cal answers. “Cal, how’s it going?”

  “Is that a general question, or a specific one?”

  “Specific. Is there anything that needs Delia’s or my personal attention today?”

  “No sir, there is not. Everything is copacetic, boss.”

  “Thanks, Cal. I think we’re both going to take the day.”

  “Delia McKenna is going to…take the day.” He snorts. “Hold on, sorry, just looking outside for flying pigs.”

  “Um, sorry,” I say, stifling a laugh. “I maybe should have mentioned that you’re on speaker, with her.”

  He coughs. “Oh. Uh, hiya, boss.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “What he means is, he’s trying to convince me to play hooky. So far, he’s not winning.”

  Cal laughs. “Boss, I’ve worked for you for ten years. In that time, you have never even been late, much less taken even half a day off. Even when—uh…” he hums as he changes tracks. “Even when you had a damn good reason to take a day off, you didn’t.”

  He means when Dad died. I took no time off. None. Not even five minutes. Because as much as work reminded me of Dad, it was also a way to mourn him, and to get away from missing him, because I could throw myself into work. I’m still coping that way, honestly.

  Thinking of Dad still takes my breath away, makes my heart squeeze painfully.

  I clear my throat. “It’s just not my way, Cal.”

  “Wasn’t his, either. But I think it’d be okay if you took half a day. Not my place to tell you what to do, certainly, but…you should. Be good for you. Things are good.” He pauses. “Wait, didn’t you have that meeting with Haimovitz today?”

  “I did—we did. And we landed the account. It’s a go. Oak Glen is in the finishing stages—as soon as the last few units are dug and poured and framed, we break ground on the new project.”

  “Hot damn, boss, that’s great news.” A shout is audible on his side of the line, muffled and distant. “I gotta go, but I think you should listen to Thai. Just my two cents. Call if you need anything.”

  “I’ll think about it. Later, Cal.”

  He hangs up…and immediately dials again. This time Constance answers. “Connie, how ya doing, doll?”

  Doll?

  She huffs, amused and annoyed in equal proportion. “Hello, Thai. What do you need?”

  “Actually, I was calling to ask you that exact question.”

  “What do I need? A month in the Bahamas and a foot massage.”

  “Professionally, I mean.”

  “Oh, well. It’s quiet around here, actually. You and Delia are out of the office, the phones are quiet, and I’m trying to make some kind of sense of Nick’s godawful paperwork for the Karsten account.”

  “Who taught that guy to file, anyway?”

 
“A muppet, possibly. He could sell water to a fish but getting him to document anything is like pulling teeth.”

  Thai laughs. “So there’s no particular reason that Delia and I would have to come back to the office today?”

  “No, I’d say not.”

  “That’s a great answer, Connie. We’ll still be reachable, but we’re taking the day.”

  “You, as in you plural?”

  He chuckles. “Yeah. See, I have a pet project. I’m trying to teach our fearless leader this new concept I’ve been working on—it’s called fun.” He glances at me, grinning. “Before you respond, you’re on speaker, and she’s in the car with me.”

  “I know how to have fun, Thai,” I say, deadpan.

  “Oh yeah? What’s the last fun thing you did?” he asks.

  Constance cuts in. “Ms. McKenna, take the day off. We can call you if something comes up. We can manage half a day without you—and that’s a positive commentary on your success as our CEO.”

  “Thanks, Constance.”

  “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go back to attempting to read Nick’s chicken scratch handwriting.”

  “Good luck with that.” I laugh.

  “No kidding. I’d have an easier time with hieroglyphics.”

  The call ended, Thai tosses the phone onto the console and eyes me, grinning. “There you have it. We are officially off work.”

  I frown. “So…now what?”

  He laughs. “Anything we want.”

  I blink, and then snort. “My mind is a blank.”

  “Exactly.” He brightens, an idea clearly hitting him. “Do you still own that little helicopter?”

  I roll my eyes. “Yes, we do. I haven’t used it in a while, though. I was against the purchase to begin with. I thought it was frivolous and unnecessary.”

  “But fun!”

  “It’s scary. I don’t like it.”

  He grins, gleeful and wild. “I’ve been wanting a ride in that thing since Dell first told me your dad bought it.”

  “I’m honestly surprised you don’t have one of your own.”

  He laughs. “I almost did buy one, a couple years ago. But then I remembered my experience with the yacht, and passed on it. My life has been too transient for it to make any sense that I maintain a crew or a pilot or anything.”

  “Well, you’re not transient anymore,” I say. “If you like it that much, you might be able to get me to sell it to you. Friends and family discount, so I’d give it to you for half of what Dad paid.”

  “Make the call, then,” he says. “Get it ready. We’re going on an adventure.”

  I sigh. “Fine. Just don’t get me killed or arrested.”

  He waves a hand. “Nah. Danger and trouble aren’t my jam.”

  I laugh as I hunt through my contacts. “No?”

  “I tried skydiving, and I hated it. Bungee jumping is a hard no. The most dangerous thing I actually enjoy is driving my McClaren at the track, and that’s not all that dangerous, since I’ve taken lessons from professionals on how to safely drive at high speeds.”

  “But you are trouble.”

  “Sure. With a capital T. I just don’t love getting arrested—it’s only fun if you don’t get caught.”

  I snicker. “So you have been arrested.”

  “Oh, for sure. Twice. Once for public intoxication and public nudity, and the other was a nuisance complaint that, um, spiraled.”

  I find the number I’m looking for and make the call. “It’ll be ready in twenty minutes,” I tell Thai. “Now, I need the story.”

  “Which one?” he asks, as he heads for the airfield.

  “Both?”

  A sigh. “Fine. So, the first one was my sophomore year at Yale. Me and a handful of guys from my fraternity went to Daytona Beach for spring break. It was…god, wild isn’t even the right word. We were out of control. Drunk from the time we woke up to when we passed out. Chasing girls, acting like privileged white douchebags. But…it was a hell of a lot of fun, and it was all mostly harmless drunk shenanigans. The story in question begins at a beachside bar.”

  “Where else?”

  “Obviously. So, we’ve been wasted since, like, ten in the morning. It’s been a very full day of beach volleyball, doing shots off the bellies of nubile young women, and general ill-advised carousing. It’s well past midnight. We should be in the hospital for alcohol poisoning, but yet there we are, eight young men who haven’t worn a shirt or been sober in over a week, and, um…someone in our group, not going to name names, decided there should be a wet T-shirt contest.”

  “It was you,” I guess.

  He snorts. “It was me.” He waves a hand. “I mean, you’d have to have been there. But it was a fantastic idea. There was this whole huge group of hot girls from another college sorority, all wearing bikinis and white T-shirts. Like, literally you could not ask for a better opportunity. And, they were just drunk enough to not just agree, but to think it was a freaking amazing idea. Basically, I’m the man. I get the whole thing going. The band is in on it, the manager is comping shots because the whole crazy hullaballoo is bringing the crowd. Shit is wild. But then. Ohhhh, but then. My buddy Spike decides it would be even better if we took the whole party down to the beach. By this point, the whole thing is out of control. The manager is like no, no, no you can’t—but who listens to managers, right? It’s a stampede, like a literal riot. People are grabbing bottles from the bar, someone shows up with a freaking keg, the band cranks their amps up to fuckin’ eleven, and suddenly there’s this impromptu bash on the beach, with naked women and booze everywhere.”

  “And there’s only you to blame.”

  “I mean, sure. You could say that, since it was my idea. But shit, that kind of thing happens all the time in spring break towns. They let it slide, for the most part, as long as it’s not too rowdy. Well…this shit got rowdy.” He laughs, rubs the back of his neck. “So, there I am, feeling like the king of the beach. I’m literally wearing a crown—one of my buddies gave me a crown from Burger King. There’s at least half a dozen topless girls around me, like my court of debauchery. I have a bottle of Patrón in my hand, and life couldn’t get any better.”

  “Until the cops show up?”

  “On their four-wheelers and beach pickups. As the king of the beach, I obviously get arrested first, which is clearly my duty to my people.” He shakes his head. “Of course, my incarceration, and the charges, are conveniently dropped when the captain gets a call from a local congressman recommending that I be let go.”

  “Ah, the privileges of extreme wealth.”

  He shrugs. “Too true.”

  “So, the nuisance call?”

  He sighs. “That one’s…kind of embarrassing.”

  “Do tell.”

  “I’d just graduated from Yale. I was bored, between girlfriends, and I’d just spent weeks cramming for my finals. So I figured a little shindig was in order. Just me and a few friends, nothing too crazy.”

  “Famous last words—nothing too crazy.”

  “It wasn’t my fault. Honestly, it wasn’t. I invited a handful of friends to hang out and drink scotch. I’d envisioned it as this snobby, sophisticated soirée. Scotch and cigars and the highbrow conversation of Yale graduates.” He laughs, a self-deprecating sound.

  “Let me guess, your friends brought friends.”

  “Got it in one. In fact, the troublemakers were friends of friends of friends, or something. These brainless yahoos show up, slam my fifty-year Balvenie like it’s fuckin’ Jack Daniels and start breaking things.”

  “Barbarians.”

  “Right? Like, have you no manners, you uncouth Philistines? Clearly not. They’re out of control. I try in vain to rein them in, but once the booze has taken control, there’s no reining it in.”

  “Never. The genie doesn’t go back in the bottle.”

  “So a neighbor calls in a nuisance complaint. I figure, I’ll talk them down, kick the offending savages out of my place, ever
ything will be fine.”

  “It’s not fine?”

  “I open the door with my winningest smile on my face. Ready to smarm and charm the pants off those poor, unsuspecting officers.”

  “They won’t know what hit ’em, is the idea?”

  He winks at me and clicks his tongue, shoots me a finger gun. “You know me too well, my dear.”

  “They won’t be smarmed?”

  He snorts. “So, it turns out that the responding officer is a woman.”

  “Oh boy.”

  “That’s not the issue. The issue is that I, um, knew her.”

  “Meaning, you knew her biblically.”

  “Correct.”

  “So this is where it spirals? Was she a lover spurned? Someone who didn’t appreciate being humped and dumped?”

  He frowns. “I made it clear from the outset that it was a temporary thing. Purely physical. She agreed that’s all she was looking for, herself. We were agreed, and the activities commenced. We met a few more times after that, and I guess she started to get the wrong idea. I went about trying to set the record straight as clearly but kindly as I could. Because contrary to what you may think, I’m not the type to kick a girl out as soon as I get what I want. I’m really, really not, I promise. I just wasn’t looking for anything serious, and I made that clear. But apparently, to Officer Lucas, I didn’t actually mean what I said, and clearly secretly wanted her to make me fall in love with her.”

  I wince. “Oh dear. That never goes well.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” He sighs. “She got upset. Her feelings were hurt, I got ticked off, and words were exchanged.” A shake of his head. “Not twenty-four hours later, she gets a call during an unscheduled midnight shift to answer a nuisance complaint.”

  “And there you are.”

  “There I am. A moment of shock, and then she starts arresting me for drunk and disorderly and some other trumped-up shit. The moment the doorbell rang, the troublemakers had run off out the back door, leaving me to deal with the consequences of their behavior. And my own, I suppose. I tried to talk her out of the arrest, but…she was pissed off.”