I finished making my editorial notes on the article from one of my new journalists before adding a complimentary note and emailing it back. She was a talented writer and I was looking forward to seeing what she could do.
There was a soft knock on the door. “Come in,” I called, knowing it would be my assistant.
She pushed it open. “Mr. Whittle, Tony is here.”
I nodded and waved a hand, indicating he should come in. “Thanks.”
Tony walked in. The guy was in his thirties and probably about one of the worst employees I had ever had the misfortune to work with. Tony flopped down in the chair across from my desk. I took in his wrinkled shirt and unshaven face. The guy was about a hundred pounds overweight and didn’t even try to clean up.
“What’s up?” he snapped. “What did I do now?”
I offered my best smile. “Tony, it isn’t about what you did, but what you didn’t do. We’ve had several conversations about your work. I have a feeling it all fell on deaf ears. Your work didn’t improve. In fact, it got worse.”
“Excuse me?” he said, an ugly frown on his chubby face.
“At this point, we’ve exhausted all options. Your position with the magazine is officially terminated.”
I kept my voice even and devoid of all emotion. He wasn’t the first man I had fired and wouldn’t be the last. I ran a tight ship. I believed in giving second chances, but Tony was on his thirtieth chance with me. I had felt sorry for him.
“Fuck you,” he seethed. “You don’t know shit about anything.”
I raised an eyebrow. “That’s your opinion.”
“I should have known a little prick like you would get promoted over me. You come in here thinking you’re all that with your Hollywood looks and think you can boss me around.”
I slowly, purposefully looked down at my broad chest that was an appropriate size for my six-four frame. Little prick was not a term I had ever been called. I cleared my throat and straightened the royal-blue tie before offering him a small smile. “Tony, I’m sorry you feel that way. All the same, you’re fired.”
He hopped up from the chair. His stance and demeanor were aggressive. I got to my feet and stared down at him. He was almost a foot shorter than me. I gave him a hard look, warning him not to try anything stupid.
“You stupid motherfucker,” he shouted. “I fucking hate you. You can take your job and shove it up your ass.”
I nodded and walked to the door, pulling it open. My assistant stood on the other side, her face a mixture of fear and shock. “Sir?” she breathed.
“It’s okay,” I told her, jerking my head and telling her to step out of the way. I turned to look at Tony, who was still glaring at me. “Tony, I’ll walk you to the elevator.”
“Fuck you.”
“Let’s go,” I said, my voice low.
He glared at me before stomping by me. I followed him, not trusting him not to damage company property or possibly hurt another employee. Employees sitting at their desks looked up to see what the commotion was.
“Good luck working for this prick,” Tony said loud enough for everyone to hear.
I pushed the button on the elevator. Tony continued to rant, insulting the size of my dick and the color of my hair. His tirade was almost comical. The elevator doors slid open not a second too soon.
“Asshole,” he said, turning to look at me. “You’re a spoiled brat that doesn’t know the first thing about shit. You’ll crash and burn.”
He stepped onto the elevator and stood right next to my grandfather, who looked like he was about ready to knock Tony on his ass.
“Grandpa,” I exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
Tony looked at the old man standing close to him and currently staring him down. He must have realized the threat and stepped back. My grandfather was an intimidating man. His steely-blue eyes could stop a rampaging steer dead in its tracks. I inherited my height and eye color from him.
The standoff between them ended when my grandfather stepped off the elevator. I breathed a sigh of relief. As much as I wanted to knock the shit out of Tony, I couldn’t afford to get hauled off to jail.
“Damion,” my grandfather said in that rich baritone voice that could shake the rafters one minute and read a bedtime story the next.
“Grandpa, when did you get to New York? I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Why do you let a little pissant talk to you like that?” he growled.
I sighed. “Because, Grandpa, this isn’t Montana. We don’t settle our differences with our fists.”
“I don’t think you settled anything,” he stated. “A man like that needs to have his ass beat.”
“I like being able to pee when I want without five other men watching me,” I told him.
He shook his head. “If you keep letting him talk to you like that, he’ll never respect you.”
I smiled, put my hand on his shoulder, and guided him back toward my office. “That’s why I fired him,” I said with a great deal of satisfaction.
“I would have popped him,” he insisted.
I ushered him into my office, closing the door behind us. “I’m glad to see you,” I told him. “Again, what brings you to New York?”
“I wanted to see you. I didn’t think you’d be coming home anytime soon.”
“How long are you in town for?”
I took the seat behind my desk. I watched him sit down. He moved a little slower than I remembered, and he looked thinner. I studied his face, taking in the more pronounced wrinkles around his eyes and the yellowish tint to his skin.
“I’m only here for a bit,” he answered.
“How’ve you been?”
He nodded. “Fine. You?”
I smiled. “Good. Busy.”
“You work too much. You’re pale.”
“Pale?” I repeated, putting my hand up to my face. “I’m not pale.”
“You ever get outside? Let me see your hands.”
I laughed. “Grandpa.”
“You don’t go outside. You don’t work with your hands. What do you do?”
DamionI shrugged. “I work in an office. When I’m not working, I’m taking care of Oliver.”He smiled at the mention of my son’s name. “How old is he now?”“Five, Grandpa. You know that.”“Does he look like the old man?” he asked proudly. “I let him have my name. He better look like me.” I chuckled. “He takes after me.”“And you take after me,” he said.I shrugged. “I suppose. How’s the farm?”He turned his blue eyes on me. “The farm is fine. It could be better. I’m hoping to change that soon.”“What happened?” I asked with concern. “You didn’t tell me you were having a hard time.”“I’m not. Just needed to change a few things. It’s handled.”He had always been a man of few words. Maybe it was why I had become an avid reader throughout my childhood. My mother had died of ovarian cancer when I was five and my father had been killed in a car accident shortly after. That left my widowed granddad to raise a little boy who was shy, lonely, and suffering from insurmountable grief.“Is there
AlexI stared over the green hood of the newer John Deere tractor. I glared at the man with the cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes. It was a prop. He wore it like it was part of a uniform. I wanted to pull the damn thing down over his ears and then choke him with it.“I’m going to say this one more time,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “You cannot just drive the tractor around the field. You need to make circles or do rows if that’s what floats your boat. This meandering about isn’t going to cut it.”“Alexandria—”“Stop. I’ve told you about twenty-eight times to call me Alex.”“But you’re a girl,” he insisted.I grabbed my ample breasts and fluffed them. “Yes, yes I am. I suppose that’s why I’ve got tits. My name is Alex.”He sighed, pushing the hat up. “Alex, I made straight lines.”I rolled my eyes. “No, you didn’t.”The guy was nice enough, but in the words of my granddaddy, I didn’t think his elevator went all the way to the top floor. Oliver had hired the man to act as hi
AlexI laughed. “Your farm is huge, and it has got to be one of the hardest I’ve worked. You have a lot going on.”“It used to be a lot more than what it is. I sold off the north hundred acres or so about ten years ago. I realized I didn’t need so much. A buddy’s grandson was looking to start in the farming business. I figured I’d give him a hand and let him buy that land from me for a real steal. I hear he’s built himself a small house on the land.”“That was nice of you,” I told him. “Most farmers I’ve met hold on to their land until their last dying breath.”He smirked. “I suppose we do, but the two-hundred acres I have is plenty. I’m an old man. I don’t need to make a killing in the wheat business.”“I wish others could be as easygoing as you are. Hell, I wish I could be that easygoing.”He chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s taken me seventy-two years to get to this point. A man realizes somewhere along the way that life is too short to be uptight. We’re all here f
DamionI walked into the school, smiled at the receptionist, and joined the other parents there to pick up kids. I waited until Oliver’s teacher had a free moment and approached her. I liked to check in with her at least once a week if time allowed.“Hello,” I greeted.“Ah, Mr. Whittle,” she said with a smile.“Damion, please,” I insisted. “How’s he doing?” It was the same question I asked every time I saw her.The start to my five-year-old’s school career had been rocky. I was assured kindergarten was hard on a lot of kids. It was a big change, and some struggled a bit more than others. My son wasn’t struggling with the learning but with being in a new environment with kids he didn’t know.“He is a bright young man and a pleasure to have in class,” she answered.“But?” I asked, knowing there was something she wasn’t saying.She smiled. “He’s had a difficult week. The class has been doing group projects, and Oliver is so far advanced, he either does all the work or doesn’t do any of i
DamionI had grown up on a farm. I had a tan that started in spring and carried over until late fall from all my time outside. I had worked hard on the farm, helping feed the horses and chickens. When I had gotten older, I used to ride alongside my grandpa in the front seat of his old beat-up truck to fix fences. The fences always needed fixing, it seemed.“I want to go to the museum,” he answered after carefully thinking it over.“Sounds like a plan. We’ll do the museum, have lunch, and then go to the park for some playtime.”“Okay,” he said, turning to look back out the window.I drove to our apartment, tucked the car into the cramped parking area, and headed inside. We lived in a nice building with a doorman. I felt relatively safe on the eighth floor. Our two-bedroom was modest, but a lot bigger than most.“I’m going to get dinner started. You can watch TV for a bit if you’d like.”“I’m going to play on my iPad,” he answered.I put his backpack next to the door and went into the s
AlexI stared out the window of the hospital room. It was a dreary spring day, which was common, but I suspected the rain was God weeping. Not really. The weather suited the mood. I was trying to keep my emotions in check. I refused to show weakness. I hated showing weakness.“You’re still here?” Oliver’s weak voice came from behind me.I slowly turned and looked at the man lying in bed. He looked tired. I didn’t think he looked like a man on death’s door, but the doctors and nurses assured me that was the case. I was in awe of his strength. I had no idea he was sick. Yesterday when I had shown up to the house, he was still in bed. He politely asked me to drive him the twenty miles to the hospital.Initially, I thought maybe he had the flu. He had just been on an airplane. Airplanes were nasty, germ-laden boxes. When he’d quickly been admitted with almost no questions asked, I realized something was wrong. It was all prearranged. It was like he was checking in at a hotel.“I’m here, O
AlexI walked out of the room. “I’m leaving,” I said to the nurse, not stopping to hear what she was about to say. I couldn’t stay there another minute. I was on the verge of tears. I didn’t want to turn into a blubbery mess with an audience.I got back in my truck and drove. I felt numb. When I got within five minutes of town, I called Sadie, hoping she was off work.“Hey,” I said when she answered. “You free? I could really use a drink.”“Alex, it’s one o’clock in the afternoon. Since when do you day-drink?”“I need a drink. You don’t have to drink.”“I’ll meet you at Bob’s,” she said, naming the one bar in town. Bob’s also served as a diner and all-around hangout for the over twenty-one crowd, but it wasn’t all that surprising to see a toddler in the bar with a mom or dad on occasion.I drove to the bar, parking in the paved lot that had more potholes than solid blacktop. When I walked inside, I immediately spotted sleek black hair. It was easy to find her anywhere. She liked flash
DamionI sat at my desk, reviewing a new piece from one of my seasoned journalists when my assistant buzzed the intercom. “Mr. Whittle?”“Yes?”“There’s someone here to see you. He says he’s a lawyer.”I didn’t think I was being sued, but one never knew in the current climate. We weren’t in the business of celebrity news, which protected us from some suits but not all. I adjusted my tie, wanting to present a professional appearance.“I’ll be right out.”I got to my feet and opened the office door. The lawyer was nothing like the other lawyers I dealt with. The guy was wearing jeans, cowboy boots, a cowboy hat, and a bolo tie. He looked to be in his late sixties. I didn’t have to ask where he was from.“I’m Damion Whittle,” I said, extending my hand.“Good to meet you, Damion. I’m Harvey Larson. I’m your grandfather’s attorney.”I nodded, gesturing for him to go inside. “Hold my calls,” I said, not looking forward to the conversation I knew to be coming.Harvey had taken a seat already