Page 23 of A Little Moore Action
“Seriously?” Now I’m shaking my head. “You were seventeen!”
He strolls over to his office door, still open from when Alice left. “But I was seventeen with a nine-inch dick.”
With that parting shot, he walks out, turning down the hall. “Coming?” he calls.
“If I had nine inches, you bet your ass I’d be,” I mutter.
He pokes his head around the door frame. “What was that?”
“Nothing! Nothing!” Eyes determinedly fixed away from said nine inches, I hustle out the door and past him toward the elevator.
EIGHT
Chase
Buzz.
“Mr. Moore, sorry to interrupt you, sir, but your brother is on the line.”
Sighing, wishing it was yesterday with Campbell in my office, I push the intercom button. “Tell him I’m not in, George.”
“Yes, Mr. Moore.”
“Thanks. And remember, call me Chase.”
Nothing. George won’t outright tell me no, but he isn’t afraid to go radio silent when he disagrees with me. I’d thought George, being a younger guy who grew up in the days of leisure wear as everyday wear, would embrace informality. I should’ve known better when it came to light that he was Raymond’s nephew.
I swear the kid had been more offended than his uncle when I’d asked him to call me Chase.
The intercom buzzes again.
“Yes, George?”
“Now your mother is on the line, sir.”
“Tell her the same, I’m out of the office.” I tap the fountain pen in my hand on the desk. “In fact, whenever they call, tell them that. I’ll only answer for my sister. All other family members get the new party line. Got it?”
“Yes, Mr. Moore.”
“Chase.”
Silence.
Why the hell is my brother calling? My mother I might understand. Every once in a while, she gets it in her head to invite me to lunch. But more than likely it’s because I’m not answering my father’s calls and he’s managed to bully her into calling me on his behalf.
But Mom calling right after my brother? My brother who’s never once called me? That’s just weird.
I grab the family picture on my desk, running my finger over the crack in the glass. It runs diagonally, perfectly dissecting my image from the rest of the family.
Metaphor, anyone?
Instead of the usual resentment about my family dynamic, I find myself chuckling, remembering Bell in here with my father, holding her own as he blustered on. Was that really only two days ago?
She’s something else. Something different. I knew it the moment my nipples became third-degree burn statistics.
She’s also interested, even if she might not want to be. Don’t think I didn’t hear her comment about my dick yesterday morning. I’d just played the gentleman card and pretended I hadn’t.
I also pretended not to notice how we traded glances in front of her team as they ate the bagels she’d brought and drank the coffee I’d had sent up fresh. It was like high school, each of us cutting our eyes away when the other looked.
