Carmen Green - This Time for Good

Alex shook her head. “That’s not good. Well, Daddy, there are two other ways. But you and Mervyn have to make a commitment. Why don’t you sit down.”

Her father practically growled. “What is it, Alexandria?”

“Well, we haven’t been paid on twelve jobs, for a grand total of six million, five hundred fifteen thousand dollars and sixty-five cents. But if you could get those accounts paid up today, the accountants might be able to put Mervyn on a repayment plan and work something out.”

Alex held her position, hoping they took her seriously, because she didn’t know what else to do.

Her father nearly choked. “What?” He sifted through the papers again. “These people are my friends. I can’t go asking them for money.”

“That’s what the report says. The accountant said that’s the only way to go.”

Mervyn Jr. avoided looking at the papers their father set in front of him.

Willa came back to the door. “I’m sorry, but there’s an urgent call for Alex on one. And, Alex, there’s a man in the lobby for you named Hunter Smith. He said it’s important.”

A chill skated down Alex’s back and she stood, noting that Willa had her Louis Vuitton doggie bag on her shoulder. Where was she taking her Chihuahua, Little Sweetie?

“You’re fired.” Mervyn Sr. yelled at Willa, rising from his chair. “Get your things and get out of here. I haven’t ever met a receptionist that can’t follow simple instructions.”

Willa nodded, tears rolling like a waterfall down her cheeks. “Alex. Please come here.”

Outside the glass-enclosed conference room, Willa handed her a wireless handset for her to take the call in private.

“Is she deaf?” her father asked Mervyn so loud Alex could hear everything.

“Mervyn—” Alexandria opened the door and stuck her head in “—if you say anything ugly, I promise you’re not going to like it. You don’t have to be like Daddy.”

Mervyn Jr. stood between Alex and their father. “Alex, you don’t own me. She’s not deaf. She’s probably just as dumb as you are.”

Alex took the doggie bag from Willa’s arm. The poor girl was sobbing and Little Sweetie was trying to get out of the bag and lick at her tears.

“I hope you’re happy,” Alex told her brother, “because you’re fired. And you’re going to be under arrest.”

“Oh, no, Alex,” Willa objected, backing into the wall behind her. “I’ll leave.”

“No, you won’t. It’s time I stopped being intimidated by them.”

“Fired?” Mervyn Jr. shouted. He stepped into a chair, trying to come across the conference-room table. “You need a man to show you your place.”

Alex got the impression that her brother, who was five years older than her, wasn’t planning to have a reasonable discussion.

She grabbed her keys off the table and locked her father and brother inside the conference room. They could easily unlock the door, but that would slow him down.

“Go up front and call security,” she said, eyeing Mervyn. She had never seen him so angry.

Well, he’d just lost his real job and his side income. He was facing arrest, and there was a current Mrs. Wright and two ex-wives with babies he needed to provide for. Mervyn would be uncomfortable for a long time.

Willa looked like a gazelle running to the lobby. She threw the door open and screamed, “Call security!”

Alexandria rolled her eyes. She could have done that.

Mervyn was still shouting from inside the glass walls of the conference room, but Alexandria blocked him out. Had she not left her purse inside, she’d have been on her way. Security was on their way up. Once she got her bag, she’d leave. Being the boss was hard work.

The handset Willa had given her beeped and she answered. “Hello?”

“This is Chris Foster. Marc’s brother.”

“Marc? My Marc?” Alex balanced on one heel while leaning forward to get away from the noise.

“Yes, your husband. My brother. Marc Jacob Foster.”

“My husband doesn’t have a brother. Excuse me a minute, please, Chris.”

Her father and brother continued their loud argument as a man walked through the door with Willa.

He was tall and strong, muscles bulging from beneath the jacket of a well-made suit. He didn’t look uncomfortable, just that he didn’t want to be there. She agreed with him.

His dark eyes missed nothing. Not her brother behind the glass wall gesturing toward her. Not her father telling her how disappointed he was in her behavior and how she wasn’t going to get away with anything. Not Willa, who sobbed as if she’d been shot, and Little Sweetie who was barking his head off.

Her entire family was an embarrassment.

This man had been in her life for forty-five seconds and she didn’t like him. He’d seen her at her absolute worst and anybody that saw that was somebody she didn’t want to know.

Instantly, her defenses went up. She didn’t trust him. He didn’t look as though he’d hurt her, but he looked as if he could if he wanted to.

“Who are you?” she asked him with a fake-patient smile in her voice.

“I’m Hunter. Are you ready to go?”

“And just where would I be going with you?”

“Have you talked to Chris Foster?”

“He’s on the phone now.”

“I’ll be standing by when you’re done.”

He stepped back to give her privacy. Without understanding why, she appreciated that about him. The men in her life were without consideration and she always felt inferior, but not anymore.

“Okay.” Alex heard her southern twang and took a few deep breaths. It was always more pronounced when she was stressed or after a long day. “Can you make yourself useful and hold this?”

She handed Hunter Smith her shoulder Vuitton doggie bag, turned and gestured inside. “My purse is inside. Can you get that without letting my daddy and brother out? Security is on the way to arrest my brother. It’s a long story. He wants to hit me, so it’s important that doesn’t happen.” She smiled and nodded her head. “Thank you.”

Plugging her ears, she turned her back on the whole mess.

“I’m sorry, Chris. You caught me at a bad time. My husband didn’t have any family. He was an orphan. You have the wrong number, and as I’m sure you can hear I’m kind of busy right now.”

“Mrs. Foster, my brother wasn’t truthful with you. I’m very much alive, and very much his brother.”

“When was he born?” she asked him.

“May 5.”

“That’s right. What city?” she said quickly.

“Costa Woods, California.”

“That’s not true. He was born in Macon, Georgia.”

“No, he wasn’t. Marc Jacob Foster was born in Costa Woods, California.”

“He has a birthmark—” she began.

“It’s shaped like a boot of Texas on the inside of his right knee,” Chris finished. “He has a scar on his shoulder from falling out of a tree when he was six years old trying to reach a cat that had climbed up and wouldn’t come down. Seven stitches,” they said together.

“That’s right,” she said slowly as the reality of his words hit home.

“Why would Marc say he didn’t have a brother?”

“I can’t answer that right now, Mrs. Foster. I’ve made all the funeral arrangements.”

There was a loud crashing noise and Alexandria didn’t even want to know what was going on behind her. This day had turned out to be a day she shouldn’t have gotten out of the bed. But she knew that not looking at the mess didn’t mean it wasn’t going to be there. So she turned around.

Her brother had tried to pile chairs against the conference-room door to keep the police out, but they weren’t amused.

He was on the floor being handcuffed while their father stood by dialing his phone. No doubt calling his attorney.