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“He said you’ve been a big help on this trip with the business side. He likes having you here.”
I picked at the label on the water bottle. “I like being here. Being with him. I mean… working with him. Learning from him has been… an honor.”
“Uh-huh.” McGee slouched into his seat. “So why’d you come back early? I figured you’d stay and drink with all those guys.”
“Pfft. They were drinking me under the table hours ago. If I’d stayed any longer, I would have…” I snapped my teeth closed and made a grunting sound of annoyance at myself for almost saying too much to Thatcher’s… whatever it was McGee was to the man.
McGee studied me. “You know, you’re not who I thought you were.”
“Gorgeous, witty, and charming? Of course I am,” I said loftily. “And my skincare recommendations have done wonders for you.”
He grinned. “I thought you were a spoiled smart-ass.”
“Oh, well.” I waved a hand in agreement. “That too. For sure, that too.”
McGee laughed. “Maybe. But you’re also good at what you do. You’re respectful and kind. You learn from your mistakes. You don’t treat me like shit, even though I’m the bus driver.”
“Please.” I rolled my eyes. “You’re not just the bus driver. You’re like… Thatcher’s second son. If Thatcher were younger—and larger, and tatted, and pierced… you know, looked like you—you’d be exactly alike.” I paused and stared at him blearily. “That made more sense in my head.”
“Holy shit.” His smile grew comically large. “If I didn’t like you before, I would now. You need to drink at altitude more often, son.”
I snorted.
“You know how me and Thatcher met?” he asked.
I shook my head and tried not to look too curious, even though I was desperate to hear it.
He pulled up a foot on the edge of his chair and tucked it under his other leg, settling in. His tattoos shifted in and out of the shadows coming from the dim kitchenette lights nearby.
“When I was a teenager, my mom used to work nights cleaning offices, including Thatcher’s. His big-ass office at Pennington Industries HQ. You ever been there?”
I shook my head.
“Well, lemme tell you, it’s huge. Way fancier than the apartment my mom and I had at the time. Used to make me angry that she had to clean for a bunch of rich pricks. But then, everything made me angry back then.” He rolled his eyes. “I didn’t like where I was. Had no plan for the future. I was two hundred pounds of attitude in a hundred-forty-pound sack. So I used to get in fights.” His pierced eyebrow quirked. “A lot.”
“You shock me. You’re literally shocking me right now, McGee.”
“Shush.” He kicked my leg with one booted foot. “I’m talking now. Where was I? Oh, right. So one time, I got suspended from school for fighting in the cafeteria. My poor mom.” He shook his head with genuine regret. “She felt guilty because she was a single mom, like my shit was her fault. She thought maybe a dad in the picture would have made a difference?—”
I scoffed at the idea that a dad was calming magic on a boy’s upbringing.
McGee snorted his agreement. “Right? Anyway, Thatcher found her crying in the hall outside his office one night, and he… he offered to help. Brought me to his big, fancy office. And I was shitting myself, I promise you, but all cocky, too, you know?”
“Yeahhhhh. Been there,” I admitted.
“So I told him, right off, he had no idea what it was like to be me. I had to fight. And I wasn’t gonna stop because some rich asshole told me to.”
“Ooooooh,” I said, faking a shiver. “So badass.”
McGee laughed again and pointed one tattooed finger at me. “Like you’ve never pretended to be bigger and badder than you are?”
“Perhaps once or twice.” Or every damn day. “Go on.”
“Well, it turned out Thatcher didn’t want me to stop fighting.” McGee chuckled at my skeptical look. “Seriously. He offered me martial arts classes instead. Which, like, looking back, is the lamest, cheesiest thing. Probably got the idea from Dealing With Asshole Children for Dummies or something. But… I did it. And I hated it at first, but I was just guilty enough about my mom that I agreed to do it for a couple weeks, and honestly, part of me just wanted to screw him out of his money.” He let out a soft laugh. “Rich asshole wants to come in and save me? Pfft. Fine. Let him waste his coin. I didn’t realize at the time it was pocket change to him. And I didn’t realize it wouldn’t be a waste.” He rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Turned out I was good at it. So good I started competing. Won competitions. Moved up. Tried different styles. Even became a teacher, part-time, for a little while, before I started working for Thatcher full-time.” He met my eyes. “Thatcher Pennington saved my life. Not even being dramatic.”
I nodded, enthralled.
“If he hadn’t intervened, I’d have been on a fast track to nowhere. I’d already done some petty shit I never got caught for, but the kid I was then, the crew I hung with who were even angrier and more directionless than I was? Shit, I would have gone all in with that stuff. I know it as sure as I’m sitting here.” He rapped the table with his big hand. “Might even have started with the hard drugs, ended up in a cell or on a slab like a couple of those guys did.” McGee’s jaw tightened. “Instead, I had Thatcher giving me jobs so I could earn money, then standing with my mom at my high school graduation. He’s the best guy I know.”
