by R. R. Banks
As I head for the doors, my gaze falls on the customer who started this whole mess. Brady. I try to look away, but he's sitting by the door, watching me with a smug look on his face. I look around and roll my eyes – I have to walk past him to leave.
“You're right,” he says, catching me by surprise.
“What?” I ask, stopping in my steps. “What did you say?”
“I said you were right,” he says. “About the coffee across the street being garbage, that is. I used to think coffee was coffee, it got the job done, ya know? But this right here – this is actually really good.”
“Yeah, whatever. Good for you,” I mutter.
I turn to leave before my anger gets the best of me and I do something I'll really regret. This prick just got me fired and the last thing I want to do is stand there and chit chat with him. Screw this redneck jerk. As I move away, he puts his hand on my arm. I jerk it away and look at him with pure murder in my eyes.
Reading my reaction correctly, he puts his hands up. “Listen, I'm sorry about all this,” he says, motioning to the store around me. “At least let me buy you a drink? Let me make it up to you.”
“Seriously?” I say, unable to keep the heat out of my voice. “You really think buying me a goddamn drink is somehow going to make up for me losing my job? Really? You obviously don't understand how badly I needed this job – as shitty as it was.”
“You're right. It's not enough,” he says with a smug grin. “So maybe I can buy you dinner too?”
I laugh, mostly out of pure shock over what was happening here. This man directly contributed to me losing my job, and now he has the nerve to ask me out on a date? Only minutes before, he was treating me like trash and talking down to me – and now he wants to date me?
What an arrogant prick. An absolutely arrogant prick.
“You're a piece of work, you know that?” I'm so pissed, I'm almost shouting by this point.
“You wouldn't be the first woman to say that,” he says, giving me what he probably thinks is smile that will stop my heart from beating. “Probably won't be the last.”
“Have a good day, Brady,” I say, rolling my eyes and hoping he picked up on the sarcasm dripping from my tongue. “And I hope the coffee was worth it.”
I push open the door and walk out into the summer heat, the weight of everything that happened hitting me hard. Again. I don't want to cry, not publicly. Again. I already made a fool out of myself for basically getting canned in front of everyone. The last thing I need is a public breakdown too. It would be the cherry on one screwed up sundae.
I hear the bell ring as someone comes out of the coffee shop behind me, but I don't pay any attention. I don't want to see or talk to anybody anymore today. I've had it. I'm done. I just want to go home, curl up in a ball and cry myself to sleep – and then sleep for the next ten years. Maybe when I wake up, my life won't be the shitshow it currently is.
Seriously, can it get any worse than it is right now?
“Amanda, right?” I hear him say.
Apparently, it can get worse. Since I no longer have to worry about my job, I simply hold out my hand and flip him off without turning around.
“Okay, I deserve that,” he says.
Gee, you think? With my other hand, I hail a cab, giving a silent word of thanks as I see it pulling to the curb a moment later. I can't really afford to take a cab right now – I obviously need to save every penny – but I need to get away from him as quickly as possible before I punch him. The last thing I need today is to get arrested for assault on top of everything else.
“Amanda wait,” he says, in that slow Texas drawl he probably thinks is charming enough to make me forget that I hate him. “I feel terrible. Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Can't you take a hint?” I ask. I step to the curb and hail a cab. “You just screwed me over and ruined my life. Screw off.”
“That's not what I –”
I turn and glare at him as I climb into the cab. I give him the finger once more for good measure before slamming the door and telling the driver to go and go quickly. As we pull away from the curb, leaving Brady and his stupid black hat standing there, I settle back in my seat.
The nerve of that guy, I think to myself as we drive off. The nerve of that arrogant, smug, condescending son of a bitch.
I need to blow off some steam and although I'd have loved nothing more than to punch Brady's lights out, some other poor schmuck at the gym will have to do. I just need to go home and get my stuff.
After that, since I can't beat the shit out of rich boy Brady, I'm going to destroy somebody else.
Chapter Nine
Brady
“Thomas,” I say. “Good to see you.”
Thomas comes around his desk – a nice, but normal sized desk, unlike Kendrick's – and gives me a firm handshake.
“Nice to see you too, son,” he says.
Thomas is one of the most brilliant men I've ever known. He came from nothing, made it into MIT and started in the R&D department here at KT – it seems like a lifetime ago. And now, he's sitting in the CEO's seat – keeping it warm for me, he's fond of saying. But like Miss Delia, I think Thomas gives me more credit than I deserve. His are yet another set of shoes I could never possibly fill.
But, he is an inspiration. A real-life success story. He's responsible for some of Keating Technologies' biggest innovations. It probably wouldn't be unfair to say that without Thomas Newhouse, there might not be a Keating Technologies – at least, not as it's known today. Without Thomas, I don't know that KT would be the empire its become.
Thomas, Kendrick, and my father were the best of friends. The Three Musketeers. They did almost everything together – fishing trips, camping excursions. I remember getting together with them for family barbecues and whatnot. I grew up around Thomas and thought as highly of him as I did Kendrick. They're both great men. Aside from my father, the best I've ever known.
Thomas is tall, but not nearly as wide as Kendrick. Whereas Kendrick is built like a linebacker, Thomas is built more like a cornerback – a little more slender and agile. Despite being well into his fifties, Thomas' ebony skin is smooth and unlined. The only thing giving his age away is the liberal sprinkling of white through his still-full head of hair and neatly trimmed goatee.
He's as un-Texas as Kendrick is Texas – which makes sense, given the fact that Thomas was born in Philadelphia. No snakeskin boots or Stetsons for him. No, Thomas wears a very nice, but conservative three-piece suit. He's a frugal man, not given to lavish spending sprees – in fact, he drives a ten-year old car and has had the same modest, two-story home as long as I can remember.
My father always told me that I could – and should – learn a lot from both Thomas and Kendrick.
I take a seat in the chair before his desk, setting my hat on the seat next to me. Thomas walks around, dropping down into the chair behind it. He looks at me and pats the arm of the chair, giving me a wide, warm smile.
“It's nice and warm for you, son,” he says.
I give him a smile. “You look better in it than I ever could, Thomas.”
He laughs out loud and shakes his head. “Well, you can always update it to a more fashionable, stylish chair when you take over.”
“If I take over.”
He nods. “Oh, you will,” he says. “I have every faith that you will. Can I get you some coffee or anything?”
I shake my head. “No, I'm fine,” I say. “Thank you.”
I don't want to debate the point with him right then and there. Needless to say, I'm having more than my fair share of doubts. Two years may seem like a long time, but as I've pondered it since meeting with Kendrick, I'm starting to see that it's not all that long at all in reality. Two years to find a wife and learn the intricacies of all of KT's different divisions? Yeah, when I really sit down and think about it, I'm not feeling all that great about my odds.
“How are Marie and the kids?” I ask.
He sm
iles and I can see the light of pride in his eyes. I'm not proud of it – in fact, I'm pretty ashamed of it – but deep within me, I feel a small spark of jealousy when I see that look. It's a look of pride I never saw in my own father's eyes – and would never have the chance to see. Thomas is proud of his kids – and he should be. They're both remarkable. But I would have given the world to see that same light of pride in my parent's eyes – if only just once.
“Marie is good,” he says. “She's keeping busy with the gallery. Anna is graduating from Temple next year. She's going to be a lawyer.”
“Better keep her away from Kendrick,” I laugh.
“I plan on trying,” he says with a grin. “But he's already been pouring honey into her ear.”
“And Jonas?”
“Jonas is heading out to California,” he says. “He's going to start his PhD work in San Diego.”
“Marine Biology, wasn't it?”
Thomas nods. “Indeed. The boy loves the ocean,” he replies. “And all the critters in it.”
“Yeah, I've seen Jaws too many times to feel comfortable getting into the water like that.”
“You and me both, son,” Thomas' laughter is booming. “You and me both.”
As the laughter dies out, we sit back in our seats and stare at each other for a moment. It's as if Thomas is waiting for me to say something – though, I have no idea what it could be.
“Kendrick said I should come see you,” I finally say.
He nods. “He wanted me to talk to you,” he says. “About your future. And the future of Keating Technologies.”
I nod my head and grin. So, Kendrick's plan is employ a two-pronged attack. He squeezes me from one side and has Thomas squeeze me from the other. Clever. Very clever.
“If you're going to give me the same pep-talk Kendrick gave –”
“I'm not, actually,” he says with a smile. “I like to think I'm a little more original than that.”
“Okay,” I say and sigh. “Let's hear your sales pitch, hoss.”
He chuckles. “It's not really a sales pitch,” he says. “I actually want to show you something.”
“Oh? And what's that?”
Thomas stands up and motions toward the door. “Come with me and see.”
I give him a grin and stand up, following him toward the door. Over the next two hours, Thomas walked me through all of the different departments housed in the Keating Tech building. He showed me everything from the R&D department to accounting. He introduced me to countless people – most every single one of them passionate about their job. And he also showed me some of KT's current projects – some really amazing innovations he hopes to bring to the marketplace soon.
When the tour was over, we grabbed some lunch in the cafeteria and I heard more stories from more people about how much they love working at KT and how good the company is to them. Nobody knew me from a hole in the ground and I like to think that I've got a pretty good bullshit detector and I can sniff out a brown-nosing, ass-kisser a mile off. But that detector didn't go off once all day. It was really – something.
Eventually, we make it back to Thomas' office and it's getting late in the afternoon. He has his personal assistant bring in a couple bottles of cold beer for us, giving him a warm smile as she sets them down on the desk.
“Can I get you anything else, Mr. Newhouse?”
He shakes his head. “No, Lisa, thank you,” he says. “You can knock off for the day if you'd like.”
“Are you sure?”
He nods. “Of course. Go spend time with your boy.”
“Thank you, Mr. Newhouse.”
She gives him a grateful smile and nods to me as she departs, leaving us alone with our beers. I pick up the bottle and laugh.
“Still drinking the fancy imports, huh?” I ask.
“It's the one indulgence I allow myself,” he laughs. “Kendrick may be okay drinking the domestic swill, but I never will be.”
“He calls you a little hoity-toity because of this, you know,” I say, holding the bottle up.
He shrugs. “What else would an unrefined, uncultured cretin say?”
We share a laugh and take a long sip of our beer. It's a brand I haven't had before and I have to admit, it's pretty tasty. I'm not usually prone to drinking beer – I'm more of a bourbon man, myself – but when I do, I usually drink the domestic swill, as Thomas calls it. But after tasting this, I might have to re-think that.
“Good, isn't it?” Thomas asks.
I nod. “Maybe the Europeans do know a little something about brewing beer.”
“I've been trying to tell you,” he says. “Kendrick is a lost cause, but I've got hope for you still, son.”
“You may have made me a convert,” I say. “Just don't tell Kendrick.”
He laughs and takes another drink of his beer before looking at me. “Do you know why I had you tour the building with me today?”
I give him a grin. “You thought I needed the exercise?”
He chuckles. “Hardly. I think you do well enough on that count on your own,” he says. “No, I wanted you to see, firsthand, the impact this company has in the lives of its people. I can tell you from my own experience that working for this company – for your father – changed my life. Bettered my life. And you heard a lot of other similar stories today.”
I nod. I did hear a lot of similar stories. I didn't realize just how many others shared Thomas' story. Or something very much like it.
“I wanted you to see that,” he says. “Because I think you need to understand just how important this company is to people. What a difference it's making in their lives – and in the world.”
I nod again, understanding the point he's driving at – or at least, thinking I do. “How many people does KT employ?”
“Here? There are a little more than eight thousand employees in this building alone,” he says. “But we have so many more. There are research facilities, subsidiary companies – even warehouses and general office spaces. In San Antonio alone, we employ many thousand more. And all told, KT employs more than fifty thousand people nationwide.”
I sit back in my seat and whistle low. “I didn't know that.”
He nods. “If you let your sister –”
“Half-sister.”
“Half-sister, then,” he says. “If you let her gain control of this company, she's going to break it up, sell it off, and all of those people will then be out of work. Basically, half of San Antonio is going to be unemployed.”
Thomas' presentation hits me in the gut in a way that Kendrick's hadn't. Apparently, his two-pronged attack is having the effect he wanted it to have. Looking into the faces of the people KT employs, speaking with them, hearing their stories – it made that connection to this company real for me. It made it tangible.
Which is exactly what these two were hoping to achieve – Kendrick lays out the bare facts and Thomas makes it real for me.
“You know, you and Kendrick are like a couple of scheming old women,” I say, chuckling wryly.
He shrugs. “We can be,” he says. “We just wanted to underscore what is on the line if you don't meet the obligations of your parent's estate. We thought it was important you see what's at stake.”
“Well, now that I understand it,” I say. “It still doesn't change the underlying problem.”
“And what is that underlying problem?”
“For one thing, understanding everything KT does,” I say. “I'm not a genius like you, Thomas. I'm not an engineer. Hell, I can barely do math.”
He chuckles. “I'm hardly a genius, son,” he says. “I'm just somebody who works hard and doesn't give up.”
“That's crap and we both know it, Thomas,” I say.
He leans back in his seat and takes another drink of his beer. “You do realize that your parents never expected you to master every nuance of what we do here, right?” he asks. “Nobody can. There are projects going on in this building that I don't understand. Not the first thing
about them.”
“Then why would one of their conditions be that I understand the workings of KT when I assume control?”
Thomas looks at me for a long moment. “One of the biggest frustrations your father had with you was that you always took everything on yourself,” he says. “You're a stubborn kid, Brady. You have a real hard time asking for help.”
My laugh is wry. “I suppose the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree in that regard.”
Thomas smiles. “Indeed,” he says. “But I will give your father all the credit in the world. He learned to ask for help. If he didn't understand something, he learned to be comfortable asking somebody to help him understand it.”
“My father?” I ask. “Actually asked for – help?”
“He did,” he replies. “Believe me, it's a hard lesson to learn – how to humble yourself enough to admit that you don't know everything. It's not easy admitting that you aren't the smartest guy in the room and that you need help understanding something.”
I give him a grin. “I freely admit that I'm never the smartest guy in the room,” I say. “There's more I don't understand than I do. Except when it comes to football.”
Thomas nods. “One of the best lessons your father ever learned – and tried to teach you – was to know your strengths,” he said. “To know what you are good at and what you might need help with. It was an amazing transformation I saw in him over the years. But because of it, he became a lot more well rounded. Your father was a genius in his own right, Brady. He designed things that still blow me away. But eventually, he learned that he didn't know everything and learned to lean on others. And that's a lesson you'll learn. That's why that condition is spelled out the way it is in his estate.”