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I’m suddenly worried about Tiffany’s plans for tonight. Is she taking her team out for drinks again?
If so, should I stand by in case she needs me?
On the heels of that, another idea strikes me.
What if she’s going out with someone else?
The thought freezes the very blood in my veins. She can’t go out with anyone but me. I won’t allow it.
That’s when I know I’m well and truly fucked. Because I’m not worried about her getting carried away accidentally by a surprisingly strong drink. I’m not worried about her teammates, or her driving, or any of that.
No, I’m desperate to know what she’s doing and who she’s doing it with. Because I want her to be doing it with me.
I contemplate the stupidity of what I’m considering. I know I shouldn’t. It’s stepping onto a landmine with a big arrow pointed at my head. It’s risking everything I’ve worked so hard for—my reputation, my position at Fox Industries, and my relationship with my daughter.
It will literally be dancing on a tightrope over the Grand Canyon. One misstep, one unlucky gust of wind at the wrong time, and it’s straight down the whole way, mourners please omit flowers in lieu of a donation to a charity of your choice.
It’s utterly reckless on a level I would counsel anyone else to walk away from. After I got burned last time, I learned the truth—soulmates are a lie. I thought I’d found mine, and she walked away without a glance back. It’s just a romantic notion to appeal to the desperate masses.
That’s what I would have said before today.
Though I already know what I’m going to do, I still can’t admit my decision to myself. But something must be visible on my face because when Ricky and Billy come in to say good night, they pause.
“Hey . . .” Billy says, his voice trailing off. He looks to Ricky for help, who looks back, his lips pursing as silent communication passes between them.
“Fuck,” Ricky hisses, rolling his eyes on a heavy sigh.
Billy grimaces as he slaps Ricky’s shoulder for something I don’t understand. “Guess I owe you fifty bucks.”
Ricky holds up a hand, looking crazily to me like that guy in the Internet meme who’s ‘refusing’ something. Ricky was the person who first introduced me to that red-jacketed guy, in fact. “Let’s hear what he has to say first, and if I was right, you can pay up tomorrow.” To me, he says, “Well, Uncle Daniel? Might as well get down to brass fuckin’ tacks.”
Moving as one, they come in, closing the door and helping themselves to the chairs in front of my desk. Both look at me with matching curiosity and shock, but also a lot of love and support.
“I really thought you were shitting me,” Billy tells Ricky, both of them leaning toward each other and carrying on a conversation as if I’m not sitting right here. “Like, there was just no way.”
“Even after the way he reacted to her touching you?” Ricky argues back. “You still thought I was making shit up?”
Billy shrugs, still ignoring me. “I don’t know. Maybe he was worried about HR thinking something was hinky?”
“Hinky?” Ricky echoes. “You been playing Words With Friends again or something?”
“I got brains!” Billy snarls. “I can’t sleep sometimes, man, and infomercials and the game help me relax, turn my fuckin’ brain off until I can crash till sunup. Besides, you’re the one who knows all the storylines in She-Ra and the Princesses of Power.”
“You talk shit about Catadora again and I’ll beat your ass,” Ricky growls. “You know they’re—”
“Guys!” I shout, interrupting whatever the hell this conversation is. “Can we focus here?”
Ricky and Billy turn their attention to me. “Well, get on with it then,” Ricky says, throwing his hands out, totally abandoning the ‘boss-employee’ role and looking at me as a friend, family member, and equal. “Whatcha got?”
Now that I have their undivided attention, I’m unsure again.
Should I go through with this?
Worst-case scenario, I would trust these two men with my life.
But that doesn’t necessarily mean I can trust them to keep their mouths closed. Especially Ricky, who’s got a soft heart and is downright gooey about Miranda. Not a bad thing, but he tells her nearly everything in his life.
I weigh the decision as they look at me expectantly. Ricky breaks first. “Fuck it. If you don’t have the balls to do it, then I’m going home to get mine sucked.”
He stands to leave, and Billy follows, asking, “I thought you said you were taking Miranda and the kids to the movies? You told me that’s why you couldn’t grab a beer with me.”
“Afterward, man. Fuck, don’t you know that—”
“Sit down,” I snap.
They freeze at the heat in my voice. I’m mad as hell, but not at them. I’m pissed at myself for being so indecisive.
