The Proviso

by Moriah Jovan

  “Oh, shit,” Knox murmured with not a little shock. “That’s— Whoa. The Lord didn’t do anything of the sort. You wouldn’t follow your instincts and you fucked up and you compounded that by not kicking that bitch’s ass to the curb as soon as possible. How long did it take you to figure out I was right? A month, maybe?”

  Bryce reacted like he always had when Knox challenged him and he didn’t like it, but Knox saw it and pointed at him when Bryce opened his mouth. “Shut the fuck up,” he barked. “Answer this: Do you like who you are now? Who you’ve become since the fire?”

  He glared at Knox, who glared right back at him until his anger dissipated when he began to understand. “Yeah,” he finally murmured. “Yeah, I do.”

  “You’ve always liked women like Giselle. Fact of life: You’d be lucky to get her to flip you off if you weren’t who you are right now. So think about that when you’re getting all bitter about what the Lord did or didn’t do.”

  “My kids—”

  “You know where they are,” he snapped, “and you know they’re happy and well cared for. They don’t have to stumble through life getting battered and bruised and roughed up and their salvation is assured.”

  Bryce’s jaw ground, because Knox was right—as usual—and he hated that.

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Knox said. “You didn’t stop believing. You just got tired of that list of bullshit rules your dad pounded into you.”

  “I want to know something,” said Sebastian after a tense moment of silence. “Have you two always communicated like you’re about to blow each others’ heads off?”

  “Yes,” Bryce and Knox said at the same time.

  “And you managed to live together for four years without killing each other.”

  “Yes,” they again said in unison.

  Bryce said nothing for a moment, then said, low, “Knox was the only person who’d tell me the truth whether I wanted to hear it or not.”

  Sebastian looked at Knox expectantly, who dropped his head back on the sofa. “And Bryce was the only one who thought I surfed well enough to get endorsements and then kicked my ass until I got a few.”

  Bryce grunted. “You never gave yourself enough credit for being able to succeed at anything doing it the easy way.”

  “And you never gave yourself enough credit for being a good guy without feeling compelled to attain perfection by the end of the week.”

  Sebastian looked between them, then said, “Huh. Well. Kenard, I want to give you Rape of a Virgin for a wedding present.”

  Bryce, shocked, took a deep breath and swallowed. Hard.

  Kindnesses from Giselle’s ruthless family. Knox he’d known for almost twenty years, but never really understood how he ticked until now.

  Now, almost twenty years of hardship behind him, he wasn’t intimidated by Knox’s strength; he wasn’t jealous of Knox’s conviction of who he really was; he wasn’t stymied by Knox’s ability to go to church and study doctrine, ignoring culture and tradition, uncaring what anybody thought of him. Bryce would never pass judgment on the choices Knox had made because Knox had always been courageous in seeking truth and justice, and Bryce had had to be backed into a corner to find his courage.

  Now, almost twenty years of hardship behind him, he was comfortable with himself, with how he’d evolved. This group of people—this woman, these men, their tribe—were his people. Now that he knew who he was, he could relate to them and they could relate to him. These people wouldn’t leave him to deal with his dark soul alone.

  Once my tribe finds out the Bryce Kenard is about to be assimilated, you’ll be welcomed like a conquering hero.

  “Thank you,” Bryce finally said, his chest so tight with gratitude and humility he couldn’t express it.

  Giselle finally came out of her bedroom and went into the kitchen after putting another box on the pile outside her door. Bryce watched her as she stopped to glance at mail, look in the fridge, get something to drink, and do the regular things a million other people do around their homes. And tonight, she’d be doing those things in his home, their home—sifting through the mail, digging in the fridge, pouring a glass of water or that . . . pink stuff.

  He swallowed at her beauty, and for only the second time he realized how small she was. Five feet and five inches of explosive strength and overwhelming spirit and will that he could tuck under his chin. One hundred sixty pounds of solid muscle (and enough padding where it counted) packed into that little body that looked like one-twenty-five dripping wet.

  White shorts that didn’t hide the gash in her thigh. Sunny yellow bikini top that showed her scars. Gun stuck in the waistband at her back, which she finally remembered was there and put on the kitchen counter. Ponytail with a white ribbon. Plain white canvas tennis shoes. Not a speck of makeup; not a hint of jewelry except the ring she’d chosen.

  To match your eyes.

  Soft, patrician face. Fair skin. Barely-there freckles. She finished her tasks and skipped down into the living room. Bryce sat up so she could sit on his lap.

  “Why are you guys so melancholy?”

  Nobody had an answer for that and Sebastian got up to go to his office. Giselle huffed and snuggled into Bryce, wrapped herself around him and pressed her lips to his cheek. He’d never had this; never had a woman simply . . . love on him, snuggle him, touch him just because, without wanting something from him.

  He wrapped his arms around her and looked at her, enjoying her spark, her nearness. She smiled at him for absolutely no reason he could fathom, as if he’d brought down the heavens and gift wrapped them for her, which he would if he could.

  Sebastian came back soon enough and slid a printout and a brand new checkbook in between Bryce’s nose and Giselle’s. “That’s for you, Giz.”

  Giselle took it, read it, then what little color she had dropped. “Sebastian, what—?”

  Sebastian went to his chair and plopped in it. “You paid rent for five years. I figured it was better served in investments. That’s your principal plus interest.”

  “But—”

  “Suck it up, princess. I asked you to pay rent because I wanted you to save. You wouldn’t take any help and you would’ve spent every last dime you earned paying off your bankruptcy. You’d have been out of debt but no better off when you were finished—and you were bankrupted because of the OKH proviso. It’s a miracle you didn’t die in that fire.” Bryce felt his gut tighten and his breath come short. Apparently, no one noticed and for that, he was glad. “Hell, it was a miracle you survived your shooting. I’ve tried to take care of you since your father got sick and now I won’t anymore. So, there’s your dowry, so to speak. You’ve more than earned it.”

  Once he’d caught his breath again, Bryce got a glimpse of the statement and his eyebrow rose. “Maybe I should let you do my investing,” he muttered.

  “He takes a hefty fee,” Knox said. “Ask me how I know.”

  Sebastian slid Knox a look. “Your operation’s so complex I can barely follow it. I earn every penny of that and more, so shut up before I raise it.” He gestured toward Giselle. “I mostly put her into art. She’s owned a lot of nice pieces over the years and she still has quite a collection. Let me know if you want to hang any of it.”

  “Thank you, Sebastian,” she whispered.

  Sebastian smiled, and Bryce could see the love and pride of an older brother in his face, and it warmed his heart on her behalf. How could he ever have mistaken Sebastian for Giselle’s lover?

  Bryce looked up at her and saw tears running down her cheeks. He brushed them away gently with the pads of his thumbs. She gave him a watery but happy smile and curled up into his body.

  He could get used to this. Nothing sexual about it; just warm, loving, good-smelling woman sitting in his lap, lying against his chest. In love. With him.

  After a while, Giselle said, “I need to show you the Den of Iniquity.”

  Knox burst out laughing, but Sebastian lost all softness and growled, �
�Oh, no you don’t.”

  Bryce stared between them all, intrigued. “Den of Iniquity?” he asked slowly.

  “I just want to show him,” Giselle protested.

  “No,” Sebastian snapped. “Not happening. He takes one look at that and your DNA will end up all over my bed.”

  “Oh, please. Six forensics labs couldn’t sort out how much DNA is in that bed. They only wouldn’t find yours.”

  Knox was laughing so hard he began to cough.

  “So help me, Goldilocks, if I find out you’ve been fucking in my bed—”

  “Knox has.”

  Knox choked. “Giselle!”

  Sebastian’s jaw ground as he slowly turned his gaze on Knox. “Is that true?”

  “I don’t remember,” Knox said blithely, unsuccessfully trying to keep a straight face, and Bryce laughed.

  “Sebastian’s going to Italy next week,” Giselle whispered in Bryce’s ear while Sebastian glared between them. “I’ll show you then.”

  “And if you think I’m not going to change the door codes when I go to Italy next week, you’ve got another think coming.”

  “He won’t change them,” she whispered. “He’ll forget.”

  Sebastian began to rant at Knox, who smirked and let him do so, flinging back barbs that hit their targets a little too often. Under all that, Giselle murmured, “I don’t have much and it’s in the hallway. Can you help me—?”

  He would do anything for her; everything for her. And once he got her boxes and bags loaded in the SUV, he felt suddenly light, as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders that he hadn’t ever known he carried.

  * * * * *

  41: FIRST, DUST

  Sebastian sat at the massive table in Eilis’s huge conference room directly across from Eilis’s private office. The officers and tier two executives, the contract employees, were gathered around the table as Eilis gave a brief summation of Sebastian Taight’s presence, though everyone already knew. They were nervous but confident that even if they were on the block, they had their golden parachutes.

  He had to admit that after all his silent bitching, her Jackie O. persona was a particularly effective weapon and he wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it.

  She spoke at the same volume all the time—loudly enough that people toward the front heard well and softly enough that it forced people in the back to be very quiet and pay attention. She had her inflections down to a science. Not monotone enough to bore; not dramatic enough to be a caricature.

  Her costume, as badly fitting and unattractive as it was, and in such a bad color as usual, allowed her to blend in with the background. Only her luscious fuck-me voice (was he the only one who noticed this?) and her very well-prepared presentations carried her business deals. She always anticipated every question so that she didn’t have to answer any. She left nothing to chance. She made sure no one could think of any questions or raise any objections she hadn’t already thought of and prepared for. She had an answer, an option, an alternative, or a work around solution to every conceivable nasty situation.

  She was about six steps ahead of the game, especially if it was her game.

  Of course she didn’t understand ADD. She was an analyst, a preparer. She did not improvise. She didn’t fly by the seat of her pants and she wouldn’t put herself in any situation where it might be required of her. She looked at things from every angle, she planned everything down to the most minute of details of each of those angles, and internalized her plan so deeply that it became part of her soul.

  Friday, he’d shared with her Knox’s reasoning for her ability to rescue her employees’ pensions, and that her marriage to David was necessary: It was fate, inspiration, karma, divine intervention, whatever she wanted to call it. Serendipity had saved her company; what would surely have been an otherwise very foolhardy decision made in the face of a national trauma had turned out to be the deliverance of two hundred and fifty people’s savings.

  Eilis could never have saved all those 401(k) accounts if she hadn’t lived with Webster, found his stray doodlings, watched him, caught his little slips, stayed with him long enough to find and fix what he had done to her employees.

  But she didn’t buy his explanation; it didn’t fit into her paradigm. On the other hand, no one else believed him, either. He could talk until he was blue in the face about the good things, things he could work with, but people only saw the bad. He supposed that was a human condition and Eilis was no more or less human than any other business owner who was in trouble they couldn’t climb out of alone.

  Sebastian started when his Blackberry began to vibrate: SEC APPV 6% BUY DONE

  “Thank you, Jack,” he muttered under his breath, then almost smiled when the numbers flashed at him. Fen was going to shit a gold-plated brick when he got the SEC’s paperwork granting one Bryce D. Kenard approval to purchase six percent of OKH stock.

  Sebastian didn’t know who had hated whom first, but Sebastian’s instincts about Fen had borne fruit over the years. He would’ve moved in on OKH Enterprises long ago just to crush Fen if he’d known how Knox had dreaded taking it over all these years, and Sebastian had to admire Knox for knowing his limitations. He was no kind of manager, that was for sure. He didn’t manage his prosecutors; his executive AP did that. He didn’t manage the inn he half owned; his business partner did that.

  Given that the SEC had spanked Sebastian and sent him to his room, he’d had to recruit another partner in crime to keep the OKH stock plunging. Fortunately, Kenard had been all too willing to play a little tag-team chess. Sebastian couldn’t be happier that the man had fallen in with their war and would be thoroughly assimilated into the tribe by the time he became a Dunham on Friday.

  “Sebastian will now present the first step in our reorganization.”

  Eilis thought he wasn’t paying attention, which was true, but he’d sat in too many of these types of meetings not to know his own drill. He stood and looked over the table filled with people who looked arrogant and smug in their own indispensability. They thought they knew his reputation, but they also believed that whether they stayed or went, they’d be just fine.

  Heh.

  He stood silent, looking at each individual, examining them, assessing them one by one until they’d lost that smug edge and began to squirm. He did this every single time, with every single company he salvaged. It shifted the power a little more his way at a time he needed every ounce of his reputation for ruthlessness. He cocked his eyebrow, which he knew made him look positively satanic.

  It was time to clean house and Eilis was present and accounted for. He had to give her a lot of credit for that, especially since she did care about her people.

  Sebastian looked at one man in particular. “Jason Hearst.” That man shifted in his seat nervously, suspecting what was about to hit him yet confident in his severance package.

  “You’re vice president in charge of product development, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me something. When you’re in charge of developing products, how do you go about actually developing those products?”

  Sebastian waited patiently until Jason’s miserable speech filled with corporate doublespeak bullshit jargon was over, then he said, “Okay. What products have you developed in the last five years?”

  “The screening tests.”

  “Wrong. That pre-dates you. Try again.”

  He flushed a bit, his confidence taken down a notch. “The check printing module of the HRP Full Management System software.”

  “And how much direction did that, ah, project require from you?”

  His face flooded completely then. Sebastian could feel Eilis getting squeamish and he didn’t care. She’d always needed someone who could clean her house for her because, for whatever reason, she hadn’t been able to.

  I like to do things in their proper order.

  Yes, that explained everything. Nothing else could get done in this company unless and u
ntil this happened, and was exactly the reason she hadn’t done anything else. Well. She’d chosen the route guaranteed to cause the least amount of damage, given her inability to fire anyone—which was exactly what he would have expected her to do.

  “Under the terms of your contract, you were to produce five new products per year for three years to qualify for your golden parachute clause. You didn’t do that; hence, you’ve broken this contract.” For effect, Sebastian held up the contract and tore it in half slowly, deliberately. “No golden parachute for you. As we speak, Security has packed your belongings and is waiting at the front door to escort you out. Don’t bother trying to get unemployment. I’ll fight you for it and win. Hand over your security badge and get out.”

  Truth be told, Sebastian loved this part. Not that he liked firing people, per se. What he liked was streamlining operations, throwing out the clutter, getting rid of the moochers. He did not like clutter, but he despised moochers.

  Jason Hearst exited without a speck of dignity to his name. Heaven forbid someone should expect that they do what they said they could.

  “Who wants to be next?” he asked blithely, looking around at the collection of now terrified upper management. Of course, today he was enjoying himself all that much more because these people had mooched off Eilis for years. That was as much her fault as theirs, but he couldn’t very well fire her for not firing people.

  “In the interest of saving my time because I have a lot to do today, I’m just going to tell you who gets to stay.”

  Michael Pritchard, the CIO, that funny MIT kid who tripped over his shoelaces and refused to use screening tests and knew exactly what he was looking for in programmers. He knew computers and software and somehow managed to herd the cats that programmers were.

  Karen Cheng. Naturally.

  Sheila Navarre, the accounts manager, who was responsible for getting money in the door and did it very well. She had a deft hand with clients. She knew how to massage pissed-off people and coax money out of lagging payers.

  Conrad Fessy, the head of the accounting department, who also had an eye for good staff and desperately wanted some input on the accounting portion of HRP’s proprietary software package. He had ideas coming out his ears and he used the screening test religiously—it was perfect for him.