Leanne Banks - Underfoot

Her mother sighed because her life wasn’t going as planned, either. Aubrey was determined to hang on to the family home despite the fact that she didn’t have nearly enough money for the upkeep. Her mother had married her father for his nouveau riche money. Her father had married her mother for her name, which provided him, an outsider, a way into Atlanta’s upper class. Unfortunately her father had lost most of the money in court, suing over principle. After years spent in court, he’d lost his fight and died a month later, leaving her mother with bills.

Trina had long encouraged her mother to sell the estate to someone who could afford to refurbish it, but her mother, who had apparently watched Gone with the Wind way too many times, had cast herself in the role of Scarlett, determined to hang on to the family land.

Too much melodrama for Trina. She was happy with her condo, Jacuzzi bathtub, and loved the fact that her community association fees covered all the lawn work.

“You want to feed her, too?” Trina asked gently.

Her mother nodded.

“Fine. I’ll get an apron for you.”

AFTER FIRING STEPHANIE and temporarily commandeering his partner’s longtime admin assistant, putting together a skeleton ad and calling in favors to get a cameraman, producer and some actors, Walker dragged himself into his condo.

He heard a ball game blaring from the television and smelled the combined scents of a Dominican cigar and burger and fries.

Everything his uncle Harry wasn’t supposed to be consuming with the exception of alcohol.

Walker felt a headache pound through his skull. He knew why he’d been chosen to provide a place for Uncle Harry after his uncle had spent a couple weeks in a rehab facility following bypass surgery. Uncle Harry trusted Walker. Plus Walker was financially independent and the Gordon family had a sketchy history with finances, banks, taxes and creditors.

He shrugged out of his jacket as he walked through the wooden foyer toward the den. His balding, hard-of-hearing uncle sat in Walker’s favorite chair, holding a cigar in one hand and a beer in the other. A telltale bag advertising a fast-food burger joint lay crumpled on the TV tray beside Harry.

With a sigh, Walker crept behind his uncle and plucked the cigar and beer out of his hands.

“Hey! What are you—” Harry jerked around with an expression of indignation that quickly changed to a cagey grin. “Walker, my boy, I was wondering when you would get here.”

“Obviously should have been sooner,” Walker muttered. “You know you’re not supposed to be smoking and drinking. And why bother with the bypass surgery if you’re going to clog up your veins the second you get out of the hospital?”

“I haven’t had a burger in months,” Harry complained, pressing the remote to lower the TV volume. “I was due.”

“How’d you get this stuff? I can’t believe that home health aide allowed this.”

“Oh, I sent her home early,” Harry said with a dismissive wave. “And you know I’m supposed to take short walks. I chatted with one of the security guards. Real nice guy. I told him I thought I could get him a good deal on a double-wide for his thirty-year-old stepson that refuses to leave his house. He brought me dinner after he got off his shift.”

“Did he bring the beer and cigar?” Walker asked, feeling like a mother and not liking it.

Uncle Harry lifted his mouth in a craggy grin. “I keep a stash handy. Hey, it’s not like they’re Cuban. Cubans are overrated anyway.”

“And the beer?”

“Was under your bed,” Harry said and wagged his head from side to side. “Pretty lame, boy. I would have expected better from you.”

Walker rested his hands on his hips and bit his tongue to keep from laughing. His uncle Harry had shown up for graduations and contributed money at times when he, his mother, sister and brother had been broke.

Of course, nowadays his mother, brother and sister still had times when they provided the giant sucking sound in Walker’s bank account. Or Harry’s. Depending on which one picked up their cell phone first.

“Gimme back my beer and tell me what you did at work today, boy,” Harry said.

“No,” Walker said and took the beer and cigar to the kitchen. He dumped the beer down the drain, stubbed out the cigar and grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge. Returning to the den, he twisted the top off one and gave it to his uncle.

Harry made a face, but took a long draw.

“I almost lost a big account today.”

Harry nodded, his gaze turning serious. “Almost means you can still keep it.”

“Yeah,” Walker said. “Bellagio Shoes.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Bellagio. That Tarantino girl who dumped you at that altar in front of God and everybody. Wasn’t she related to those Bellagios?”

“Yeah,” Walker said and took a drink of water, wishing it was bourbon, not because he’d lost Brooke, but because he didn’t want to lose the Bellagio account.

“That’s why I never got married,” Harry said.

“Because you were afraid of being dumped at the altar?”

“No. Because of the Gordon curse,” Harry said. “We stink in the marriage and fatherhood department.”

“I thought it was more of a fatherhood issue. Brooke and I had agreed not to have children.”

Harry snorted. “Talk to your mom if you think it’s just fatherhood. How you gonna keep the account?”

“They like me and trust me. They know I deliver. But they probably think I should have been able to keep my woman under control.” Walker took another draw from his bottle of water. “I need to produce a bang-up commercial fast. If I can pull a few key Bellagio people onto my side, I think I can keep the account. Especially since I’m staying in Atlanta.”

Walker thought of Trina and frowned. He wondered why she had been so reticent with him. He’d enjoyed their friendship before he’d left for France. Trina had been fun to be around. He’d felt as if he could let down his guard with her and everything would be okay. Plus she had assured him that their one-night stand hadn’t meant anything to her. Now, he didn’t know what to think.

“By the way, your phone rang a couple of times, but I didn’t pick up,” Harry said. “Caller ID looked like it may have been your brother.”

“BJ usually calls the house first,” Walker said, wondering if his brother’s latest troubles were financial or personal. “I’ll call him. Enjoy the game, but don’t sneak any more cigars or beer tonight.”

Harry made a face. “Okay,” he conceded. “I won’t tonight.”

Walker walked upstairs to his home office and sank into the leather chair behind his desk. He picked up the phone and dialed the latest number his brother had given him at the same time he opened a desk drawer and pulled out his checkbook. Conversations with BJ almost always involved his checkbook. He didn’t resent it. He was just glad he had the ability. Someone had to make up for his father.

One half of a ring later, he heart his brother’s voice. “Walker?”

“BJ, what’s up?” Walker asked, rubbing his face. “Everything okay?”

“Could be better,” BJ said. “I got a woman pregnant.”

Walker’s stomach clenched.

“Are you sure the baby is yours? You use protection, don’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but this girl, she seems pretty sure.”

“Girl,” Walker echoed. “Tell me she’s over eighteen,” he said, praying his brother hadn’t knocked up an underage teenager.

“She’s twenty-two,” BJ said and paused. “I think she wants me to marry her.”

Walker closed his eyes and could barely stifle a groan. His younger brother had tried to pull off a lot of crazy ventures over the years—trying to use chicken manure for fuel, pet time-share sales, propelling a chain letter he was certain would yield him a fortune, real estate agent for a Caribbean island that didn’t exist.