Page 97 of More Than My Hometown

26

EWAN

The small, decorative clock that sits on Gus’s desk ticks, audibly counting out each passing second and getting louder with each one. Fuck, that’s annoying.

And taunting. Leaving me feeling like Captain Hook, listening to the tick-tock, tick-tock fill the silence, driving me straight to the point of being willing to launch myself into the crocodile’s mouth. If Gus doesn’t get here soon, that is going to sound like a better option.

I lean back in the leather guest chair across from his stupidly pretentious dark wood desk, stacked neatly with piles of folders and papers, his computer monitors off to one side, the whole thing looking like a stock photo used for a website somewhere. Not someone’s actual desk where work is done. I can pretend as much as I want that it’s his office that is making me this anxious or his taking his sweet time even though he insisted I be here at eleven sharp, but that would be a lie.

Because I wasn’t sitting in this office last night when I couldn’t sleep. Or this morning in the shower when my chest was so tight that I had to lean against the wall to hold myself up and catch my breath.

Still, it’s the right move. One I’ve been resisting for years. Said I’d never do. I also said I would never drink flavored coffee creamer or have sex in my place of business during work hours, so my word in that department means nothing. Either that or pigs are flying somewhere out there. Either way, we’re here now.

Flying pork or not, this is about Maisey. About making her happy and showing her that I support her following her dream no matter what that is or where it takes us. About doing what I should have done the first time she told me she had a job offer.

The universe not only gave me a second chance with her, but another go at making this right. At making the right choice here. So that’s what I’m going to do. No matter how tough it is.

“Sorry,” Gus says, rushing into his office. “The morning took a weird turn, and things took longer in legal than I thought.”

He crashes down into his chair, the papers on top of the neatly stacked piles waving a little from the breeze he caused. The normally stoic look on his face is firmly in place, mixed in with some extra concern. Like he’s still not sure about all this.

Oh, how the tables have turned…

“There a problem?”

He shakes his head, flipping open a folder. “No, not a problem. Just a…”

A what?!

I sit up, leaning in, waiting for him to finish that sentence. To give me some kind of clue as to what the fuck is going on.

“…a situation.”

“A situation?”

What, had he been hiding out in the hallway, looking up synonyms for the word “problem” in the thesaurus, trying to church it up? Or was that the term legal gave him to use so that I didn’t freak out? Maybe someone down in Public Relations got ahold of this and is trying to put a spin on things. Whatever it is, that has corporate speak all over it.

“Nothing to worry about. It’s not bad,” he tries to explain. Only I can tell he isn’t so sure. That something isn’t right. “I have all the paperwork to bring The Booby Trap under the umbrella of Hayes Industries and make it part of the network of companies. But…”

For fuck’s sake. I’ve wanted to lunge across a table to strangle my oldest brother more times than I can count over our lifetimes, over who knows how many different things, big and small, but this might take that cake. It’s like he’s doing this on purpose. Dragging this out, just to be a jackass.

“But what, Gus,” I snap, the gnawing inside taking over. I want to threaten that if he doesn’t just say it, I’m going to take that but and shove it up his…however that would be juvenile and not get us anywhere.

“There’s someone else interested.”

Errrr…what?!

There’s someone else interested. Interested in what? That statement doesn’t even make sense.

“In the store?” I clarify, because I’m still not sure I follow.

Gus nods, as stoic and solemn as always.

“How does anyone else even know about this? I asked you to keep it to yourself. You even said you’d ask Margeaux to be the one to do the paperwork so that it was kept in the family. How the fuck does it get out to someone who would be interested in outright buying it between Friday and now?”

What the actual fuck. This isn’t happening. How…

“This is Hickory Hills; things have a way. You know,” Gus starts, his voice fading, my own train of thought plowing straight through his attempted explanation.