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The man appears utterly confused, like someone lost his cat. “Clients of Henry?”
“We’re the owners of Bearded Goat Brewery, and have been working alongside Henry on an upcoming project that needs funding,” I explain.
“Let’s take this outside,” Henry pleads, grabbing my arm and trying to lead us away.
The older man shakes his head. “But, Henry isn’t an executive. He works in the mailroom.”
This old man must be off his rocker for sure. “No, he’s right here. In a suit.” Mail guys don’t wear suits, do they? No, not that I’ve ever seen.
The man laughs. “He’s always wearing suits. It’s part of his charm.” The man sticks out his hand. “I’m Mr. Wright. I’m one of the owners here.”
I shake his hand, because if I don’t I’ll use this hand to punch Henry instead. “Nice to meet you, sir.” And then Urban shakes his hand, introducing us both.
I can’t stop staring at Henry, trying my best to figure out what exactly is going on. Mailroom?
“I’m sorry for the confusion gentlemen, but make an appointment with Charlene. I’d love to discuss your brewery with you.”
I shake his hand again, thanking him.
Urban steps up to Charlene’s desk as I walk outside with Henry.
“Let me explain.” He holds his hands up in a mock surrender pose. “I planned on backing you guys. I did. I thought if maybe I brought your ideas to my boss it would help us all out. You’d get your money, I’d get my promotion.”
I shake my head. “Henry, this isn’t a game. We trusted you, and you let us down.”
“Did Kiki tell you? Is that why you’re here?”
“Tell me what?” Kiki knew this man was a lying sack of shit?
“About our deal.”
“What deal?” I step closer to Henry and he backs up.
Urban walks out of the building and stands beside me. “What’s he saying?”
“Says Kiki and he had some sort of deal going on.” I’m ready to knock the shit out of this guy, but I’m not an idiot. I’m also not a teenager and can control my anger. I know you punch someone and you are costing yourself a lifetime of regret. Possible jail time. Being sued, and Henry looks the type to sue someone for that kind of thing. So, I resist, even though it’d feel so fucking good.
“Start talking,” Urban says, folding his arms across his chest.
“Well, as I was telling her I like to win,” Urban and I exchange a look, “and well, I figured if we’d be working together it would be in her best interest not to be involved with you.”
I see flames.
“And in contretemps, I’d rather not be working with someone who is dating my ex. So, it all works out now.”
Is this guy on drugs?
“But we’re not working together,” Urban says. “You work in the mailroom.”
“Semantics.” He shrugs a cocky shoulder.
I take a deep breath in, to control the anger coursing through my veins at a very rapid pace. “You told Kiki to break up with me?”
“Not in so many words.”
I step closer and Henry backs away like a frightened little pig. “Look I don’t care about Kiki. Just put in a good word with my boss, please.” And now he’s reduced to begging.
“You’re a sack of shit.”
Urban and I walk away, wanting nothing to do with Henry or his firm.
“We could still meet with the investors,” Urban says, driving back to the brewery.
I shrug. “There’s really no point.” And maybe I’ll feel better in a few days, but right now my mind is only on one thing. Kiki.
And Kiki alone.
“I have something to handle when I get back. What are you going to do?” I ask Urban.
“Dad wanted to see us both. Do you want to see him first?”
Of course, I don’t. But, of course I will. “Sure.”
And afterward, I’m running to Kiki’s.
On foot if I have to.
To straighten out this whole mess.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Kiki
Never trust your friends…
It’s been three whole days since I last saw Ellis, and I’m sure by now he’s back in Atlanta living his best single life. I’ve been in a cocoon that consists of work, ice cream, and binge-watching Outlander on Netflix. To say I’ve rarely seen the outside is an understatement.
But, today, Lola has somehow once again been able to draw me from my very own fortress of solitude and cast me out into the world on another fitness escapade. I do it because I love her.
I actually do it because she threatened if I didn’t she would be sure to post the video of my karaoke singing on her blog that gets over one-million views.
I don’t need that level of humiliation right now.
She says I’m not the best singer, but to me...I’m Adele.
No, I’m Celine Dion. Well, I’m whoever is singing the song I’m listening to and I sound just like them. Trust me, I sing right on key. (which key that is, I have no idea.)
