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“Ask my father.”
“Don’t you think I did? He buttoned up his lip like a preacher in a whorehouse. Said you no longer wanted to work here and to send a note to Accounting so you could collect your last check. Sister, what’s going on?”
“Nothing you need to worry about, Billie. This is between my father and me.”
“It has to do with that good-looking guy Frank hired, doesn’t it? I knew something was going on when your dad got all secretive, wanting me to show him how to use the fax machine and getting all those calls from Texas.”
Tess pulled herself from where she slumped. “Yeah, you’re about to be working for that good-looking guy.” The words hung in her throat. She didn’t want to think about Graham Naquin. She’d spent far too much time thinking about the son of a bitch already. She’d just stopped longing for him. Or mostly stopped moping around waiting for his call.
“Huh?”
“Dad’s retiring. Might as well be the first to tell you.”
“Retiring? No. He hasn’t even made a peep about—”
“Well, he is. Soon.”
“I had no idea.” Billie’s face crinkled as she soaked in the ramifications. “So Frank basically hired this guy over you?
His own daughter?”
“You’re a sharp cookie.” Tess gave Billie a half smile that hurt like hell to deliver.
“Smart cookie. Not sharp,” Billie muttered, sadness etched on her face. “I can’t believe this, Tess. I’m sure he has a good reason. Something’s wrong. I’ve had this weird feeling. He’s been saying strange things, and I wondered what was up. But this?”
“Not a good enough reason. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m not about to stick around and watch him give Frank Ullo to some asshole.”
“He seemed okay to me. Together, polite, nice ass.”
“Yeah, well, he’s an ass all right. Good luck,” Tess said, giving Billie a quick squeeze. Billie had been with her father for forty years so Tess couldn’t fathom the woman not knowing about Graham Naquin, the interview and Frank’s plans. That her father had kept them from his most trusted assistant boggled the mind. “I’ll see you around, ’kay?”
“How? You won’t be here. What am I going to do without my Tess? Who’s going to make chocolate-oatmeal cookies and post pics of delicious man candy in the ladies’ room? How are we going to function without you?” Billie wouldn’t let go.
“Just like you did before I worked here.”
“Don’t do it, honey. It’s your pride standing in the way. Pride’s a tricky thing.” Billie pulled back and looked at her with eyes the color of chocolate chips. She had always reminded Tess of the teapot in Beauty and the Beast—if it had a wry sense of humor, a dirty mouth and a way with advice. Billie always seemed to know what to do—but not this time.
This time Tess wouldn’t be cajoled into accepting her father’s decision. She was many things, but she wasn’t a blinking jackass. Her father had gotten his point across with bloody accuracy. He had no faith in Tess, therefore Tess had her back against the wall. It was either give in and hate herself, or quit, get a new job… and gather together the remains of who she was.
“I have to do this, Billie. I’m good. I have to prove that. Not only to Dad, but to myself. I don’t need Frank Ullo. Frank Ullo needs me.”
“Of course we need you. You know that. Don’t go, Tess. Work through this. Change is always hard, but when you come through on the other side, you see it’s for the best.”
“Hiring someone else is not for the best, Billie. Change or no change. Dad chose a stranger over me, and I got the message loud and clear.”
Billie shook her head. “Oh, honey.”
Tess jogged down the stairs, heading toward her desk which sat with several others in a sectioned-off area of the warehouse. Tess liked to be near the action—the place where the ideas on paper became full-fledged art ready to roll down the parade route carrying the krewes and the thousands of throws revelers begged for. She’d loved the nook she’d carved out, and though the warehouse often grew noisy, she enjoyed feeling like a cog in the machinery that created magic for millions of people during the four week Mardi Gras season. She focused better in an area she could move around, a place where she could see her visions carried out.
“Hey, Tess,” Dave Wegmann said, spinning in his chair, scratching his balding head. “Reeves Benson called about the Hera bid and wants you to call him back. Thought I’d sneak down here and take a peek at what Petra did with the globe.”
“He left a message with you?” Tess asked, trying like hell to pretend today was any other day. No way would she break down in front of Dave. He’d been here for as long as she remembered, first as a sculptor, then he’d moved to painting. After two back surgeries, he’d taken design courses and started working as the art director. Tess had learned all she knew about float building at Dave’s knee, and when she’d come to the company, they’d split the load of design, meeting regularly to schedule work and solidify the vision for each krewe’s contracted floats.
“Your phone kept ringing and it was driving me crazy. I’m also looking for the specs on the Cleopatra sea creature. Upstart’s trying to schmooze Cary Presley with some crazy hydra with motorized heads, so this float’s gotta be stellar.”
Any other time and Tess would agree, but she could hardly speak, much less bolster Dave on the Cleopatra bid. She sank into the squeaky chair beside the one Dave sat in and looked at the files and sketches scattering the surface of her desk.
Where to even start?
