Page 33 of Tangling Hearts

Chapter Twenty-Two

Brendan

Friday: Location Times Three

As soon as I get off the elevator and walk into the enormous main room, I’m accosted by welcoming voices. “Hey B-man! Welcome back!” “Making surgery look good, my friend.” “Did you really take a shot to the lung?” “Did you get my flowers? My wife sent them. Don’t look at me.” “Margaret wants to see you. You’re looking good, man!”

I nod, thank them, answer when needed, and head to Margaret’s office to the back right wall. She spots me through the glass and waves, looking to her computer screen quickly, a Skype call underway. I stroll in to hear, “Yes, well, when we go public, you’ll hear it from me, not the grapevine, so stop jumping to conclusions.” She motions for me to have a seat, but I opt to stand while she finishes the call. I feel too good to confine myself to a chair just yet. She smiles, looking me over. “I’ve got a hero in my office. I have to go.” Without further ado, she hits the close-chat button and leans back in her very expensive, white, massage, desk chair.

“You’re looking good, Mags.”

She waves at my chest area. “Can I see it?”

My eyebrows go up in mock-surprise. “Now that’s sexual harassment.”

The pen in her hands flies at me and I catch it and spin it around a few times, slipping it in and out of my fingers and thumb as she exclaims, “Not that! I want to see the gunshot wound, you sicko!”

A knock on the open doorframe pulls our attention and Tommy’s standing there, his eyes on me. “Hey, B. How’re you feeling?”

I slide my hands in my pockets. The pen, too. “Good. You?”

He nods, flicks his glance Margaret’s way. “Better. How are you, Margaret? You look stunning today.”

Eyes alight with fun, she looks at him from behind a subdued smile. I watch and wonder if they have any idea how obvious they are. If she weren’t above me on the ladder, I’d razz her about their affair. I’ve curbed that urge for a long time now.

“Thank you, Tommy. I see you’re all better, too?” She sensually spins back and forth in her chair, eyeing him.

With curiosity, I look over to Tommy as his eyes quickly land on me. “I was out sick. Same time as you.”

I nod, intrigued. “What did they ever do without us? Margaret, how’d you get by without the brains of the business here? Did you guys have to shut the doors? And here I thought Tommy would have everything under hand. Lord knows he could.”

Tommy’s surprise takes a minute to get hidden. Margaret glances to the window, looking languidly at the city beyond. “The fog was thicker without the two of you here. Now get out of my office.” She points at my pants. “And don’t steal my pen.”

I pull it out and take a short step to lay it on her desk. “But it’s such a nice pen.”

“Stealing is wrong, Brendan,” Tommy says on a chuckle, picking up on the vibe of the room and looking more comfortable now. “But if you’re gonna do it, you need to be more sly than that. Even I saw you tuck it away.”

Touching my chest with a faux-wounded ego, I shake my head and pick up the pen again, turning it for a good inspection. “Damn. Why doesn’t someone teach lessons in thievery?”

Tommy leans on the doorframe, gives a shrug. “Don’t look at me. I’m honest as the day is long.”

Margaret grins. “Alright, you two. Go and make magic happen, would ya? We need some ideas flowing or I’ll have no money to count.”

I give her a wave on my way out, and Tommy turns to leave with me.

“Brendan! I heard from Rebecca that she’s gone back to Arizona for a time.”

Tommy stops walking, same as me. He looks to the floor, waiting. I run a hand through my hair, considering what I want to say to that. “Probably going to be a long time, Mags. Sorry. It didn’t work out.”

“Pity. I like her.”

“Yeah. She’s a good one.” I tap the door, a habit I’ve picked up from Annie. Tommy waits to walk with me, our offices right next to each other. The energy between us is different today, a lot better than it has been in years. Maybe even since before my ex pointed out his failings way back in our sophomore year at State, which makes me think it’s been my fault we’ve been so at odds for so long. If my good mood can make things feel different, maybe I’ve been the one with the problem. “So, what were you sick with?”

“Something I ate,” he says, looking ahead. Our feet match in time, shoes making a familiar sound against the cement.

“Shrimp?”

“How’d you know?”

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