by Mac Flynn
"Then mind if this not drunk comes inside? The hall is a little drafty." He moved to step inside, but I stepped in front of him.
"Uh-huh. If you have something to say to me you can say it out in the hall."
"What? Why not?"
"It's for your own good. If you can follow the scent of love then the stench from the full garbage will probably kill you," I told him.
He cringed, but steeled his nerves. I had to give him some credit, he was stubbornly cute. "What I have to say concerns Mr. Smith, too. He should hear it."
"Nice try, but no. Besides, I told you no lovey stuff until the store was fixed. Is it fixed?"
Alex gave another hiccup. "Do you think I'd be drinking if it was?" he pointed out.
"Good point, but you're still not getting in. No dating until after the saving."
"It's not you I came to see," he protested.
"So you're here to see what? The garbage?"
"No, Mr. Smith. I missed him." At that moment the traitorous pile of fur let out a yowl of such pitiful tremble that I almost wavered. Almost. "Here that? He's calling me," Alex insisted.
"He thinks he's starving because his bowl is half empty," I argued. "Now how about you let me close the door so I can get him some food?"
His voice took on a tremor of indignation, anger and pain. "All right. Fine. See if I care," he slurred. He pushed off the doorway, spun around on his heels, and took a step down the hall. That was all he took before he toppled face-first to the floor.
"Alex!" I yelled. I jumped out into the hall and knelt down by his side.
"Hmh hmm," came his muffled reply as he ate the musty old carpet that lay on the hall floor.
I flipped him over and held him in my arms. "What did you say?" I asked him.
"I said I'm fine," he protested. He flailed his arms to free himself of me, but it was like a weak, disoriented child trying to free himself from his mother. Guess who I got to play in this little charade.
"You're as fine as a kid playing out in traffic, now let me drag you into my apartment," I argued.
His face lit up with a goofy smile. "So I get to go inside?"
"And straight to the couch. It might not be as comfy as the one at your apartment, but it won't suck you down into the cushions. At least, I hope not. I never have found that half-finished pizza." I looped my arms under his and helped him to his feet. He swayed to and fro until I leaned him against me. I half-hauled and half-dragged his drunken carcass into my apartment and over to the couch where I quickly deposited my hefty load onto the dusty cushions. I took only a short break to hide the letter before I returned to him.
Mr. Smith jumped onto the couch arm and looked down at my patient. He glanced at me and yowled.
"Yeah, I know, he doesn't look so good." My dear manager looked green around the gills, but was conscious. "How many cocktails did you have to get like this?" I asked him.
He shrugged. "Enough."
"The very best answer a drunk man could give me," I muttered.
"I'm not drunk," he protested. "I'm-hiccup-inebriated."
"That I can believe," I quipped. "What I don't know is how you got so drunk and why you decided to bother me about it at ten at night."
"My sister's in town and-hiccup-she invited me to dinner," he began.
I raised an eyebrow. There went my theory about the Bahamas. Pity, the weather was nice down there that time of year. "Is she so scary that having dinner with her causes you to drink yourself under the table and pop up in the hall of my apartment building?" I asked him.
"Yes, but don't tell her I told you that," he pleaded.
"Believe me, I'm trying to forget this night already," I swore.
"Good because she doesn't want me hanging around you," Alex told me.
I raised an eyebrow, sat down on the edge of the couch, and frowned at him. "Your sister doesn't want you hanging around me?" I wondered. That sounded like the letter.
"Yep. Says you're a bad influence. That you put this stupid idea into my head to save everyone's job and cost the family business millions of dollars."
I ground my teeth together and sparks flew out of my mouth. "She did, did she? And what did you say?"
"That she was wrong. Then she really got mad. Said I would shame the family with my stupidity, and stormed out of the restaurant a while ago. The worst part about it is she's right." He let his head fall back onto the pillow and lolled his head from side to side. "I can't do this. I can't run a company out of the red. I can't even run the back room."
"You just need some time and experience," I encouraged. He looked at me with a disbelieving stare. "All right, a lot of time and experience, but I'm sure you'll get it right."
"Time and experience. I don't have much of one, and none of the other." He ran his hand down his face and groaned. "George, how did I ever let you talk me into this?"
I frowned. "Oh hell no, you are not blaming any of this on me. I didn't ask you take the store and give yourself the-"
"But you're so pretty. Why did you have to look so pretty in those coveralls?" he moaned as he lay one of his arms over his eyes.
My mouth fell open and I pulled the arm down. "You're the one who fell in love with me, remember? I tried to warn you I wasn't the best girl for the job."
"But you're perfect! You're-hiccup-smart, you're funny, you're-"
"-a little fat, and wondering if I should toss you out into the streets or call a taxi," I finished. I stood, but he clung to my shirt.
"You wouldn't leave a poor man to weep over his troubles alone, would you?" he teased.
I snorted. "You're hardly a poor man."
"Well, a rich-hiccup-man with poor troubles."
I sighed and sat back down. "If your troubles are that bad then I'll give you some advice. First, stay away from the liquor. It's not good for you. Makes you all clingy." He waved away my suggestion with his hand, but I gave him the evil eye and cowed him to submission. "Second, take my advice with the back room and finish your apprenticeship with me. Ask everyone in the back room what they know so you know what you should know. Learn from them."
"How many pieces of-hiccup-advice do you have?" he mused.
"Three. The last one is to stay away from your sister. She's the bad influence."
"That might be kind of hard. She said she was going to go there soon and see the money pit," he told me.
"Any idea when?" He shook his head. I sighed. "Well, we'll just have to go through speed training to get you competent."
"Hey! I'm-hiccup-competent!"
"That's right, Mr. Bee-man, you're competent," I quipped. He sank deeper into the cushions, and I pulled him out before he was swallowed. "But you're not completely hopeless. You've got some nice handwriting on the order forms, and if you learn the back of the store like you know the front then there's some hope for you."
He grabbed one of my hands in both of his and smiled at me. "So you haven't given-hiccup-up on me?"
I cringed away from him. "No, but breathe on me again and I might reconsider."
Alex smiled and wrapped me in a bone-crushing hug that pulled me atop him. It was a nice feeling being pressed up against his warm, strong chest. I could have fallen asleep listening to the soft beat of his heart, but now was not the time for lovemaking, mostly because my hip still hurt like I'd been slammed by a seal. I freed myself from his arms, sat up and straddled either side of his hips. He smiled up at me with those beautiful eyes and that handsome face.
"I'm a really lucky guy to have found you," he told me.
"I know," I modestly replied.
"Will you marry me?"
"No."
His face fell. "Why not?"
"Because you're proposing to me while you're drunk. As me when you're sober."
His face lit up. "And then you'll say yes?"
"No."
His face fell again. I was giving his muscles a workout. "Don't you love me?"
I sighed and slipped off him to stand beside the couch.
"You're a good guy, but there's a lot going on right now. Like I said before, we need to get this mess over with and then we'll talk about our relationship."
He lay his head down, closed his eyes, and set his arm over them again. "Always with the business," he murmured.
I snorted. "You should be used to that, what with your family and all," I pointed out. I expected some sort of reply, but all I got was a soft sigh from him. His chest moved up and down with an even breathing that aroused my suspicions. I leaned over, raised his arm, and looked at his serene face. I rolled my eyes, dropped his arm, and threw up my own. "Perfect. He's fallen asleep on my couch," I muttered.
I sighed, got out a blanket from my bedroom closet, and flung it over him. Then I went to catch a few winks myself.
Chapter 7
I had a decent time subconsciously avoiding my injured hip. There was only one instance where I woke up screaming, but that was a doozy. It was about three in the morning when my hip gave me a wake-up call, and I yelped and sat up. There was a loud racket from the living room, and I, in my infinite wisdom but limited memory, thought it was a burglar. I grabbed the lamp beside my bed and readied it for launch. Someone stumbled toward the bedroom and in a moment they stood in the doorway staring at me. I did what any reasonable woman would do and flung the lamp at them hoping to crack open their skull.
"Oh shit!" the person yelped, and ducked before the lamp could rearrange their face. They straightened and flicked on the light to reveal them as Alex Brenton, current roommate.
I felt the color drain from my face as the memories of his inebriated arrival came back to me. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" I exclaimed.
Alex smiled and shrugged. "Not as sorry as I almost was," he countered. He winced and clutched at his head.
"Did I hit you?" I gasped.
He shook his head. "No, the martinis did. I've got a terrible hangover," he replied.
I sighed, flung off the covers, and rolled my eyes when his eyes glanced eagerly over me. Thankfully I wore my shorts and a shirt. I walked over to him, turned him around, and guided him to the kitchen. "I know just the drink to get rid of that nasty hangover," I told him.
He frowned and glanced over his shoulder at me. "What kind of drink?"
"Oh, just some lemon juice, cayenne pepper, tomato juice, and a bunch of other stuff you probably don't want to know."
Each ingredient was punctuated by a wince from Alex. "I think the cure is worse than the illness," he commented.
"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," I quipped.
"Really comforting. . ." he muttered.
I plopped him at the kitchen table, gathered together the ingredients, and created my masterpiece. It was a mesh of red and green juice with a scent that could stun an organic farmer and a flavor so strong it could wipe out an entire colony of vegans. I set that down in front of him and an air bubble escaped the top. He looked at the cup and glanced up at me. "Bottoms up," I invited him.
He cringed. "Are you sure this is legal?" he wondered.
"As fuel, yes, as a drink, maybe not. Except in Texas. Everything's legal there," I replied.
Alex sighed, grasped the cup, and plugged his nose. "Here goes nothing," he nasally commented. He tipped back his head, tipped the cup and swallowed half the concoction. He hit maximum capacity when his eyes bulged out of his head and he slammed the cup on the table. A coughing fit immobilized him for a minute, and he looked to me with a face as red as the drink. "You forgot the cyanide," he gasped.
I shrugged and smiled. "Oops."
"Water! Water!" he pleaded. I grabbed a new glass and delivered the much-needed clear drink. He gulped that down faster than my specialty and breathed a sigh of relief. "I think I can die in peace now," he murmured.
I grinned and sat down opposite him. "How's the hangover?"
"I think your drink made my body forget it existed," he replied.
"Nothing like breaking a finger to make you forget about a broken leg," I quipped.
"Maybe I should go before you finish me off," he mused. He stood and looked at me. "Are you going to come to work tomorrow?"
"Today. It's three-thirty," I pointed out.
"Are you?"
I rubbed my hip and winced. "I guess, but I might get the nickname of Limpy for a few weeks."
He smiled, walked around the table to me, and planted a soft kiss on my forehead. My cheeks burned with appreciation even if I waved him off. "If it's any consolation I won't call you Limpy," he told me.
I snorted. "A little, but you'd better get out of here and get some sleep. I plan on putting you through a rigorous day of stocking and memorization."
"I look forward to the challenge," he accepted. He left the apartment, but there lingered a whiff of his cologne and his alcoholic breath. I sighed, rubbed the warm spot where his lips had touched my forehead, and went to bed. It was going to be a long day for both of us.
Later that morning I got up and carefully drove myself to work. The warning letter lay in my pocket, but it wasn't there to show Alex. My target was Jamie. I wanted her advice about how to proceed with it. I walked through the back room searching for my victim, but I became the hunted when I heard someone yelling my name.
"George! George!" I turned to see Alex running through the maze toward me. I stuck my hand in my pocket to make sure the envelope was safely hidden. Alex caught up to me and gasped for air. "You're really fast for a girl your size."
I frowned. "Did you just break one of the forbidden rules with talking to women?" I growled.
He wrapped his arms around my not-small waist and pulled me against his strong, hard chest. "Does that mean you have to punish me with a spanking?" he teased.
I rolled my eyes and pushed him away. "No, it means you're an ass, now what do you want?"
"You to marry me. What do you say?"
"I say no, and if that's all you want we have some work to do." Right after I found Jamie.
Alex sighed, but lifted the clipboard in his hand to show me the paperwork on it. "Well, there is something I seriously want you to help me with. Could you look at this order? I think it might have been written in another language."
The edges of my mouth twitched as I took the clipboard. "Greek to you?" I teased.
He smirked. "If it were that I'd be able to read it, but it's a shorthand I'm not familiar with."
I looked down at the pages and groaned. "This isn't shorthand, this is Alan's handwriting. He's terrible at ordering because nobody can understand what it says."
"Can you decipher it?"
I squinted my eyes and tilted the page. "I think it says something about five hundred pairs of swim suits."
"In the fall?" he countered.
I lowered the clipboard and frowned. "Maybe we should go ask Alan about this-"
"Might I have a word with you, Mr. Brenton?" a voice interrupted me.
Alex and I turned our heads to see a young woman walking toward us. It was the same fashionable woman I'd seen the night before outside the restaurant. She clacked towards us in scarlet-colored high heels and a short red skirt with a white blouse for a top. I noticed Alex's face turned the same red shade and his eyebrows crashed down so hard they hit the bottom floor at his nose. "What are you doing here, Caroline?" he questioned the woman.
She came up to us and shrugged her elegant, pointy shoulder pads. "Just what I promised last night; to see how things are going. Father said he hasn't received a report from you for the last week, so he sent me down to check things out."
"It's checked out, so you can go," he insisted.
Caroline coyly laughed and turned to me. "But you haven't introduced me to your friend."
"I think we met last night," I commented.
Her eyebrows raised. I swore they were manicured. "Have we? And where was this?"
"Uptown a couple of blocks from here," I replied.
Caroline wrinkled her nose. "Uptown? Why would I go there?" she asked me.
I shrugged. "I don't know,
but we bumped into each other. Literally."
"You must have me confused with someone else. I didn't go uptown last night, or any other night," she insisted.
I knew who, or rather what, I saw last night, but I could see she would deny it with her last breath. "Then I guess I met your doppelganger last night. She was a piece of work. Rude, ugly, and her purse did not go with her dress," I quipped. The woman's lips twitched down and my bitch-fight senses picked up trouble.
Alex must have been part woman because he also sensed trouble. He stepped between us and gestured to me. "Caroline, this is Georgina Trammel. George, this is my sister, Caroline." I had met the enemy, and it wore a matching ensemble.
She sweetly smiled and held out her hand for a shake. "A pleasure to finally meet you. I've heard so much about you."
"The pleasure's all yours," I returned. I took her hand and gave her the best forklift operator handshake I could muster. She winced and quickly removed her bent fingers from my grip.
"All right, you've been introduced. Now would you go, Caroline?" Alex pleaded.
"But I've hardly had a chance to talk with Miss Trammel, and she's the talk of the family," she cooed.
I raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" I wondered.
"I heard you were the hefty vixen who convinced my big brother to buy stock in the company rather than the merger the family planned," she told me. Her eyes swept over my not-lean body and the corners of her mouth twitched. "It seems not all of the reports were exaggerated."
I smiled and shrugged. "I made a bet with Alex that he couldn't be as heartless as the rest of his family. I won," I replied.
Her smile faltered, but she rallied herself. "Then I suppose I can't convince you to help me talk Alex out of this silly business-running venture? He doesn't know the first thing about stocking, just stock."
"A week or two and he'll have the job learned," I countered.
Alex grasped my shoulders and hugged me to himself. "Thanks to George, here, of course. Without her I'd be lost," he added.
Caroline raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Would you? How very sad." She strolled past us and glanced up at the countless shelves of merchandise. "I think I'll have a look around. This is part of the family business now, and I am part of the family." If I hadn't been convinced of my doubt in marrying him, the knowledge that she was a prospective in-law was enough to turn me off. Caroline looked over her shoulder at us. "You don't mind, do you?"