Rachel Caine: Two Weeks' Notice

Bryn just liked being reassured that she wasn’t the only one facing this weird, uncertain future.

Bryn moved Mr. French off her (he grunted, snuffled, and rolled over without waking up) and turned the lights on. Getting ready was mechanical routine, and she didn’t do a lot of thinking while that was going on…brain on idle until the checklist was done. Makeup slowed her down a little, because she was still relearning the tricks she’d ignored as a teen and never mastered in the military, but she was ready for breakfast in a record thirty-five minutes, even so.

Downstairs, Liam was laying out the chafing dishes in the small dining room. He had all her favorites ready—bacon, low-cholesterol eggs, bagels with cream cheese, orange juice, and, best of all, free-flowing coffee. She didn’t know what Liam made his coffee with, but it had to be magical sparkles and crack beans, because it was the most delicious stuff she’d ever tasted. She was on her third cup when he sat down with his own breakfast.

“Nice to see you this morning,” he said, and took a sip. He liked his coffee black, and she’d never seen him eat anything at breakfast except the occasional soft-boiled egg. Although he never wore what she would have described as butler clothes, he was definitely well dressed at all times. Even now, he was rocking a petting-soft sweater vest that matched his steel blue eyes and graying hair. “Is there anything else you need this morning?”

“No, and if I do, I’ll get it,” she replied, and flashed him a smile. “I know where the kitchen is.”

“Horrors,” he said drily. “Next you’ll be wanting to do your own laundry.”

“I already do my own laundry.”

“Appalling.”

“Good.”

Liam tapped delicately at the shell of his egg and removed the pieces. “May I ask what your schedule is today?”

“Only if I can ask yours.”

“Then let me phrase it another way: do you expect to be home for dinner at seven?”

“As far as I know,” she said. “I’ll call if I have to change plans.”

“That would be helpful. You are being careful, are you not?” Liam knew everything about her current not-dead status; Patrick had seen to that, on the excuse that Liam knew everything anyway that went on under this roof. She still wasn’t entirely comfortable with that, but the horses were well out of the barn on that one.

“I’m taking my medicine on time,” she said. “Thanks, Mom. And I promise not to pet stray dogs or talk to strangers with candy, too.”

Liam sent her a quelling look for that particular snarkiness. “I mean it sincerely,” he said. “I sometimes worry you don’t take enough care of yourself.”

“I do nothing but take care of myself.” She sighed. “And if I ever forget, I’m sure you’ll call to remind me, Mother Hen.”

“Eat your breakfast,” he said, and smiled. “I’m only looking after the McCallister Trust’s investments.”

The McCallister Trust had bought the old Fairview Mortuary and repaired it after the fire, and in effect, she worked for him, as he was the trust’s administrator…which was a head-spinning turnabout, when she took the time to analyze it. The trust also paid for Manny’s research on Returné that kept her shots coming without relying on the government supplies, so in pretty much every sense, Liam held her life in his hands.

And made her breakfast. It was all very emotionally confusing.

“Liam,” she said, and licked a bit of jam off her fingers, “why do you do all…this? I mean, you’re the trust administrator. You’re not actually the butler here. If anything, Patrick works for you .”

“I enjoy routines,” he said. “My father worked in this house, and I’ve been on staff since I was fifteen years old. The fact that the late Mr. McCallister decided to entrust me with the family’s assets instead of his son does not require me to stop doing a job at which I’m actually quite expert.” He was quiet for a moment, then met her eyes squarely. “This is Patrick’s birthright. His father was cruel to him. It doesn’t mean that I need to continue that cycle.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” he said. “I do it because I wish to do it. And that’s all there is to say.”

It might have led to an awkward silence, but Liam, after a brief pause, asked Bryn what she thought about replanting the gardens, and she was grateful for a change of subject—so grateful, she even got enthusiastic about bromeliads. After her meal, Bryn walked Mr. French, then headed for work.

On the drive, she called ahead to the office. “Lucy? Hey, girl. I don’t have any appointments, do I?”

“Clear schedule this morning,” Lucy said. “You’ve got that afternoon thing at Pharmadene.”

“Then I’ll be in the office after lunch.”

“ Please tell me you are off to some romantic rendezvous with hot Mr. Pat.”

“It’s not a romantic rendezvous,” Bryn said.

“Then tell me you’re not picking up a dead person, because it is way too early for that.”

Bryn laughed. “See you soon, Luce.”

“You know Joe’s gonna ask me where you are this morning.”

“Yes,” she said. “I know. Good luck with that.”

“Boss! Don’t you hang me out to dry!”

“Tell them I had to meet with a vendor off-site and I’ll be in after lunch.”

There was a short silence, and then Lucy said, all traces of humor gone, “And will I be lying to him?”

“You know, I think I’m having a bad influence on you,” Bryn said, and cut the connection. Lucy didn’t try to call back, thankfully, and Bryn felt only a little guilty. What Lucy didn’t know would ensure that Joe didn’t decide to helpfully drop in on her meeting this morning with Carl, who was probably nervous enough to bolt if he imagined he saw anyone watching him.

Coffee Jack’s was doing—as usual—brisk business. Doorman Dave saw her parking and got up from his table to swing the door open and hold it for her. “Top of the morning!” he told her with absolutely insane cheer, and gave her a sunny smile. Doorman Dave didn’t work for the shop; he was an elderly African-American man who was just here every morning with a giant cup of coffee and nothing to do. This was his hobby—meeting people, chatting, and…opening doors. He’d been doing it for years.

“Morning, Dave,” she said, and gave him as optimistic a smile as she could. “So, anybody new this morning?”

“Ah, you know, couple of dozen walk-in-and-outs.” He gave her a surprisingly sharp look. “Are you here to meet the nervous fella?”

“Dave. You know I come here all the time. I’m a regular.”

“Yeah, but you never asked if there’s anybody new.” He nodded inside. “Back table, in the corner. He’s drinking unleaded. That’s probably wise, since he’s jumpy as a cat in a dog factory.”

Bryn glanced at the coffee in Dave’s big hand. “You need a refill?”

“Could do with one,” he said, and his smile, if possible, got even brighter. “You spoil me, Bryn.” Dave greeted hundreds of people every day, but he remembered every single name. It was amazing, really.

“I’ll order you one up,” she said. “Thanks, Dave.”

He winked at her and let the door fall shut behind her. She ordered herself a cappuccino and Dave’s regular poison, and chatted for a second with the counter staff (necessary at Coffee Jack’s, which was the most chatty place she’d ever visited) before looking around for Carl.

Just as Dave had said, there was a pale, nervous man in a suit sitting at the back table in the corner, next to the notice board. He was watching her, and took a quick swig from his cup and stood as she came over. “Carl?” she asked. He nodded, and she slid into the seat opposite his. “Good to meet you.”