Page 2 of Red Flag Bull

Like, a one-and-only, stay with me and I’ll take care of you thing?

I had that once, and it left me wary for nearly twenty fucking years.

Is that when the statute of limitations runs out, in regards to broken hearts? Because I swore off giving a fuck about commitment after that experience, and it’s served me well over the years. Since when do I want a fucking girlfriend, let alone a life partner or wife?

Never. The voice in my head is adamant.

Once bit, twice shy.

My fingers gravitate to my chest, stroking the uneven skin of the scars below my shirt, before I press my hand to my agitated heart.

Focus on your work. That’s what you’re good at.

Work, work, work. Like those people in the street. Keep busy. Stay distracted from all the shit that’s too hard to deal with.

There’s a knock on my door, and Stuart enters with hot coffee, cold water, and a stack of messages I don’t have time to catch up on — which is why he reads them aloud.

He’s only halfway through the first, when I start zoning out. I can barely hear him over the blood thumping in my ears.

I stare out the window, trying to catch my breath, but the rushing river of people down on the sidewalk never stops churning, and the thunder in my ears intensifies. I rub at the warning ache in my chest. My lifestyle is catching up with me, and the feeling of wrongness has been building for a while, but I don’t have time for a fucking heart attack today.

“…told her she’ll need to make an appointment that fits your schedule, because the Tokyo market won’t even be open for another twenty minutes, and you’re far from being done.” Stuart nods with a sense of completion, before he puts the pile of read Post-it notes on my desk. “Was there anything else you needed, sir?” He knows I prefer to work alone, and he’s already backing out of my office.

I call him back.

“Sir?”

“I’ll be leaving in the morning to take some time at Mountain Lake Falls, Stu. Call ahead. Make sure everything is set up and ready for a week-long stay, and reschedule my month to accommodate the disruption. You can redistribute my urgent load to Paterson. Asshole’s been hoping for an opportunity to prove himself, so let’s give him a chance to sink or swim.”

Stuart looks me over and worry lines are etched into his brow. He knows better than to question me about my motives, though, so with another nod, he leaves to do as I’ve asked.

As soon as the door closes, I take a huge gasp, stagger to my chair, and collapse into it.

It takes a full minute of deep-breathing exercises to regain control of myself, and then I glance at the stack of messages. I can’t remember a single thing Stu said. Did Melders Q call about their trade offers? I’ve been waiting for their decision all week, and if they haven’t come up with a bonus they can trade to their Japanese investors tonight, the multi-million-dollar window I found open for them to sneak through is going to close.

I reach for the Post-it notes and squint at Stu’s tidy handwriting. The words come into focus as I move the note further away. “Fucking eyes failing me now?”

It was easy to read his notes last month, but lately, it’s been an effort. Apparently, I need to get fucking glasses now. Forty-three. Isn’t that too young for this bullshit? Damned computer screens. That must be the reason. Some eye strain is to be expected over the years, but I wasn’t expecting it yet. When people tell you about getting older, they don’t tell you it happens all of a sudden. Too busy bitching about their aching bodies, I suppose. I keep mine in prime condition, but it’s been aching since I was a teenager, so there’ll be no surprises there, at least.

The first of Stu’s messages is the daily update from my mother’s rest home. She’s fine. Blah, blah, blah.

She hasn’t been fine since Candice was killed by the same drunk driver who fucked my chances of a football career, but whatever. Good to know she’s being fed and cared for, while she stares vacantly out the window and ages. I’m only glad Dad’s not around to watch it, anymore.

I make a note in my calendar to swing by and extend the garden in her view when I’m back from Mountain Lake. Flowers are the only thing that seems to put any light in her eyes anymore, and I’ve almost got the plantings right to have something in bloom at all times.

I throw that message in the trash and reach for another.

My breath hitches.

The intense red of rage fills my vision, and I blink it away so I can read the note again.

Amanda Warren requested your time.

Entry denied.

Had no appointment.

Declined to make one.

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