Page 101 of A Ticking Time Boss

I laugh outright at that. The conversation devolves, like it often does, and I love it. The past week with Audrey has been one of the best of my life. She’s stayed at mine nearly every night.

On Tuesday she had us cook fajitas together in my kitchen. From scratch, including making tortillas. Turned out she’d only done it once before, and the place was a battlefield by the time we were done, flour everywhere. I’d mostly focused on getting flour on the tip of her upturned nose, but all jobs are equally important.

Then we’d let a movie play while I fucked her slowly on the couch, my hand working her clit, until she shook in my arms with her orgasm.

Again, all jobs are equally important.

On Wednesday we’d both had to work late from home. She’d made us popcorn and coffee, and beneath the table, I’d had my hand on her bare knee. It had been intoxicating in how comfortable it was, how happy she made me. It was the true kind, not the fleeting exhilaration of winning a business deal or seeing my name in print.

She’d left my apartment earlier than me this morning, bashful about travelling in my car without me. As if she feared it was a nuisance instead of pleasing on a deep, molecular level, the same way I felt when I saw her wearing one of my T-shirts to bed or the scent of my shampoo in her hair.

Audrey: Good luck with your meeting today, by the way.

I answer her in the elevator on my way down.

Carter: Thanks. Let me know as soon as Booker gives you proper feedback on your article, okay?

Audrey: Promise. See you tonight.

Carter: Can’t wait, kid.

It’s the truth, too. Most of my waking hours spent apart from her feel wasted. I nod at John in the lobby and he gives me a grin back. They’ve noticed my new girlfriend, too, although none of the staff in the building have mentioned it.

I make it a few strides out of my building before I stop dead.

He’s standing on the sidewalk. His hair is grayer than I’d seen it last, and the lines marking his face have deepened. He looks distinguished, but smaller than I remember.

His eyes are locked on mine. “Carter,” he says. “It’s good to see you.”

I consider walking in the other direction. Leaving him and the past behind, where it can’t hurt me or anyone anymore.

But my feet won’t let me. “You’re here,” I say. Accusation makes my voice dark.

“Yes. Sorry for ambushing you like this, son. But you didn’t leave me with many options.”

“Not ambushing someone outside their house is always an option.”

My father smiles, like we’re old friends. “You’re right. But I so wanted to see you. Will you let me buy you a coffee?”

I want to say fuck no. The words dance on my tongue in burning motions. But I also hear my mother’s voice in my head, and Audrey’s. It’s a chance to say your piece.

And a chance to tell him to stay away from me and my mother.

“Yeah. Okay. There’s a place up the street,” I say.

“Won’t take long,” he says, falling into step beside me. “I know you’re a busy man now. Big company and all.”

A sour taste rises in my throat. “You’ve read about me?”

“It was one of my favorite things in prison,” he says. “You know, they give us computer access. I’d read everything published about you. Your first deal, and when you merged Kingsley Investment with Acture Capital. Smart move, that. Did it sting to lose your name in the company title?”

Damn him.

“Yes,” I admit.

“Figured it did.” He chuckles, his voice pleased. “I know my son. But it was necessary. Gave you the leverage you needed. You’re making bank now.”

So often, I’d heard him use terms like this, and as a kid I’d thought him the smartest man on Earth. Now I wonder if he really understands most of them at all. He was never interested in building businesses.

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