Cash Burn

  “We’ll be careful.”

  “I could ask for a transfer.”

  “No. Don’t do that. I need you here.”

  Her head tilted, and a blush rose through her face. The green of her eyes seemed to bore into him, compelling.

  He stood out of his chair. Around the desk. It took forever. She rose to him and rushed into his arms again, the garden fragrance of her filling his senses, the warmth of her body against him. Her arms surrounded him, and her hands trembled against his back. Her face rose to him, close, the green in her eyes deep and mysterious as twin oceans, teeming with life.

  They kissed. Delirious with her, Jason abandoned himself to the sensation of her against him and the texture of her mouth against his.

  It was too much. Too much for this place. He pulled away.

  “What’s wrong?” Brenda searched his face, her eyebrows rising to ask him what she’d done.

  It occurred to Jason how fragile she was in this moment, and how careful he must be with her.

  “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.” He glanced at the door. From the position of the switch in the knob he could tell it was locked. But that wasn’t enough. “Look,” he said, touching her cheek with his fingertips. “I want you too. I want this. But more. And to have more, we have to be careful around here.”

  He pulled away. He plucked a tissue out of the box on his desk and handed it to her, pointed to her mouth.

  Her lashes beat with embarrassment, and she dabbed at it. “What about you?” she said. “You don’t usually wear lip gloss.”

  Jason laughed. He wiped off the gloss and realized that he hadn’t laughed in weeks. “Tonight. What are you doing tonight?”

  Brenda pressed herself into him and ran her hand down his arm to wrap his palm with hers. “Whatever you want.” She didn’t smile, just gazed into his eyes in a way that rattled his guts. Then she released him and went to the door, unlocked it, and returned to her desk.

  * * *

  Jason looked at his watch again. It was almost 4:30.

  He could sense Brenda’s presence outside the door.

  Eighteen unanswered e-mails spelled out their senders’ names, subjects, and dates in boldface. Half of them had attachments. One was from Mark, two from Vince. It would take some time to get through them.

  Instead, he glided his mouse to get the cursor over the Start icon and turned off the computer.

  A hand to his lips, he considered the layout of the desks outside his office. Brenda sat ten feet from Angie Barrett’s desk, and lenders were always hovering around. Anything he said to her out there would be overheard. Text messages might be used against them too.

  He slotted the laptop into his briefcase, then closed up a couple of files and dropped them in too. As if he would be working tonight.

  Hands resting on the briefcase on his lap, he watched the doorway. Just a few feet outside it, she sat. He didn’t hear her typing or her voice. If she’d gone somewhere, he would have heard the sound of her chair rolling against the floor and the scrape of her heels when she slid her feet around to stand. He would have heard one heel on the plastic sheet between the carpet and her chair before she stepped off it, and he might have heard her speak a word or two to Angie as she passed.

  He took up the briefcase and went to the doorway. The briefcase had to go to the floor for him to retrieve his jacket from the hanger on the back of the door. He draped the jacket over one arm and leaned over to pick up the briefcase. He cleared his throat.

  Rounding the corner, he saw her. She lifted her eyes to him.

  Angie glanced up, then back to the paperwork before her.

  “I’m taking off,” he said to Brenda. “I have that appointment, then a dinner tonight.” He shuffled his feet, glanced toward Angie. Angie’s head stayed down. “You can go ahead and clear out if you don’t have anything too pressing.”

  “Okay. Good night.” She gave him nothing. No wink, no smile.

  “Okay, then. See you.”

  Jason moved away from her desk. His feet acted like they didn’t belong in his shoes. His movements felt as clumsy as a toddler’s. At the elevator, he held his briefcase in both hands, then shifted it to his left and pulled his jacket over onto his other arm. Finally he draped the jacket over his shoulder.

  The elevator let out a chime. The door was about to open.

  “Jason.”

  No. Not now.

  “Hey, Jason.” Vince stood in his doorway. The Pillsbury Doughboy in a Brooks Brothers suit.

  The elevator doors opened. Jason put out the hand with his jacket to hold the door open. “Yeah?”

  Vince waved him toward his office and turned his back to him, his round bulk moving out of sight.

  Jason sighed and shook his head. He let his hand drop, and the elevator doors slid closed. The whir of the car descended away.

  He went to Vince’s office. “What’s up? I have a five o’clock appointment.”

  “Who with?”

  Vince hadn’t met the Northfield guys yet. It would be as safe as any other lie. “Ed Monroe.”

  “We need to go over a few things. I’ll be here for a while. You can see me when you get back.”

  “I’ll be late. We’re going to dinner after. It’ll have to be in the morning.” Jason turned to go.

  “You know, I still need to meet Ed. Why don’t I clear my calendar—”

  “Not this meeting. Next time.” He walked out. “Jason!”

  He cursed under his breath and went back.

  Vince met him at his office door. “Why not this meeting?”

  “We’re just going to go over third-quarter performance and grab a quick dinner. I’d rather do it later. You know, make a special appointment to introduce you.”

  “No, let’s do it today. I’ll clear my calendar. Be with you in a couple minutes.” Vince went to his computer.

  “All right. I’ll call him and let him know you’re coming.” Jason marched across the lobby.

  Brenda was away.

  He picked up his phone and held it to his ear. Listening for anything that would signal Brenda’s return to her desk, he tried to think through his options.

  He dialed Ed Monroe’s office. Ed’s assistant picked up. The CEO was in New York meeting with investors.

  Brenda still hadn’t returned. He would have heard her, sensed her, even while talking with Ed’s assistant.

  Vince was waiting. With no Northfield appointment, any other excuse would be transparent. Jason’s frustration mounted.

  He could simply leave. Find Brenda. She’d said, “Anything you want.” The words and the expression in her eyes took his frustration with Vince and wadded it into a ball of fury.

  His fist pounded into his desktop. Outside, the sounds of the office paused momentarily, and then returned to their ordinary pattern. Jason stalked out of the office and across the lobby to Vince’s lair.

  “A meeting with investors is going long. He had to cancel.”

  Vince looked up, his usual expression of irritation in Jason’s presence taking on the sneer of a man smelling rotten fruit.

  Jason went on. “I’ll reschedule for sometime in the next couple of weeks. I’ll let you know.”

  Vince held his gaze for a minute, his mouth drawn tight, before turning to his computer and clicking his mouse a couple of times. “I’m pretty booked, but I’ll see if I can move some things around. Sit.” His fingers were like little sausages, pounding on the keyboard with a precision they had no business possessing. Another mouse click, and he leaned back in his chair. “Go ahead. Sit down.”

  The spot opposite Vince’s desk felt too much like a visit to the principal’s office. Jason took the seat at the table across the room. Vince had to rotate his chair to face him.

  “Let’s go through your September numbers. I didn’t see much growth.”

  Not this conversation again. It was bad enough with Mark, but Jason heard every word out of Vince’s mouth as if it were a bullet being loaded.

>   Jason stared at him. Vince’s white hair was shorn like a sheep’s. The scalp glistened through it. He’d started wearing it short after he moved his office here. Jason couldn’t imagine why.

  Vince spread his hands. “Well?”

  “What do you want me to say that you don’t hear in your pipeline meetings every Monday morning?”

  “I want you to say you’re working on a strategy to turn things around.”

  “Yeah, me and the president are working on turning around the economy.”

  “I don’t want smart—”

  “We’re in the worst economy in seventy years, Vince. What kind of miracles do you expect?”

  “The branches are still growing.”

  “Yeah. I’ve seen some of their deals. They look really solid.”

  Vince snorted. “They’re new business. Approved by committee and booked. Nobody but you is making excuses.”

  It was about to come out. All of it. Jason’s fury over everything Vince had done over the past six months was perched at the base of his throat.

  Jason swallowed hard. “You’re running every deal process. Every pipeline meeting. How am I supposed to get anything done? You tighten up the terms of every loan we try to do until we lose it.”

  “Now who’s not paying attention to the economy?”

  “Your branches get deals done that are so loose you could drive a bus through the holes in the structure. Why is that, Vince? Why do you fight so hard for branch deals, but the ones this office pitches, you’re down on? Let’s hear it.”

  “Always somebody else’s fault, isn’t it, Jason? Never yours.”

  Jason beat a rhythm on the tabletop. “Are we about done here?”

  “No.” Vince slid a piece of paper across his desk. “Read that and sign it.”

  Jason would have to get up and walk to Vince’s desk.

  He stayed put. “What is it?”

  “A memo. For your file.”

  “My file.”

  Vince slapped a pen down on top of the piece of paper. “That’s right. You need to sign it, evidence that we talked about it.”

  So this was what it was coming to. Vince was papering Jason’s personnel file so he could fire him for cause.

  Jason stood. He turned and walked out without saying another word.

  26

  From his space in the underground garage, Jason could see Vince’s silver Jaguar XJ glistening in the fluorescent lights. He imagined what it would feel like to take a hammer to the hood.

  That wasn’t enough revenge. The man was trying to destroy his career. Trashing a car in return wouldn’t cut it.

  Jason reached for the ignition and switched on his engine. The tachometer rose and settled as the motor reached idle speed. Jason let the smooth rumble massage him while he stared at the rounded contours of Vince’s Jag.

  Papering his personnel file so they had a case to fire him. Vince could never get away with that without Mark going along with it. Scotty too, maybe. Well, they’d have trouble getting that through a wrongful termination lawsuit. Every performance review had been outstanding, and his promotions backed them up. It would take more than a couple of letters in his file to overcome that track record.

  Jason tapped the steering wheel, the engine’s groove rumbling through his bones.

  No, the strategy wouldn’t be to terminate him. They had to know about his legal connections and how risky and costly it would be to try to fire him. Vince was a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t try a frontal assault. The letter was just another tool in his box, another way to make Jason miserable along with undermining his authority, stripping him of his team’s loyalty, and weakening his customer relationships by injecting Vince into them.

  Still, it wouldn’t hurt to talk with an attorney.

  His mind automatically went to Serena. Six months ago, he would have had her on the phone, and in an instant she would have been maneuvering for him, calling in chits with colleagues who were experts in wrongful termination. She would have had them launching off threatening letters to every executive at BTB from HR to the board of directors.

  He shook his head. Serena was out of his life now. She’d found another lawyer to love. He would have to find another legal expert.

  But somewhere in the city, Brenda waited for him. A smile surfaced. He revved the engine of his BMW and found his cell phone. Six messages. He tabbed through them and saw Brenda’s number. She’d called twice while Vince was grilling him.

  Her recorded voice in the first message brought the image of her face to his mind. “Hi, it’s me. Brenda. Where are you? I saw you at the elevator leaving, and I know you didn’t have an appointment. It was all I could do to sit still and not run after you.” Her voice paused. In the background, he heard the clopping of her heels on concrete and pictured her walking along the sidewalk, phone pressing her ear tight and angling over the smooth contour of her jaw. “Call me. I want to know where we can meet. I’m waiting for you. Okay?”

  She left the next message thirty minutes later. “Jason, please call. I’m starting to think . . . I don’t want to say it. Just call me, please.”

  He deleted the messages and went back to the call log to find her number. He was about to press the button to connect.

  A knock on his window startled him. He nearly dropped the phone.

  It wasn’t Vince, chasing after him with the letter. A tall guy in a Hawaiian shirt leaned over and pressed an open wallet against the window, clicking a badge to the glass. A parole officer. The guy said something, but Jason couldn’t hear him over the rumble of the engine. After a second, the guy lifted his hand next to the window and pointed downward, indicating that he wanted the window down. The badge went into his back pocket.

  Jason set down the phone and lowered his window. “What do you want?”

  “Turn off the engine and step out.” The guy worked gum with the patience of a cow chewing cud. Jason didn’t move. The guy grinned. “You’re going to be like that, huh?”

  “Yeah. I’m going to be like that. I’ll give you thirty seconds to convince me I need to talk to you, then I’m out of here.”

  “Okay, Kahuna. Just tell me where to find your brother and I’ll be out of your hair.” A couple of pops of his gum punctuated his point.

  “I have no idea.”

  “You haven’t seen him.”

  “We’re not exactly tight.”

  “But you knew he was out.”

  Jason paused. The surfer’s grin was an insult. “In. Out. As long as he stays away from me, I don’t care where he is.”

  “I’m going to ask you again. Have you seen him?”

  “No.”

  “You’re lying.” The grin was gone. “Step out here so we can talk.”

  Jason shifted gears and released the parking brake.

  “We’re done.” He began to raise the window.

  “Okay. I’ll come back in the morning and hang around your office.”

  Jason turned to him.

  “Talk to your boss, maybe. Some of your banker buddies. See if they’ve seen you hanging around with your felon brother.” He patted the roof of Jason’s car. “See you tomorrow.”

  The guy turned, and Jason was faced with the back panel of his shirt—surfboards, palm trees, hibiscus, suntanned girls in bikinis. The officer began to saunter away.

  Jason clutched the steering wheel. “Hold on.”

  He turned. His grin was subtle as a slap. The gum popped like some code. “Change your mind?” Back at the car, he put a hand on the roof. “There’s a coffee shop across the street. You can buy me a Coke.”

  * * *

  Rosie wasn’t working this late. Customers occupied only two of the twenty or so tables in the room.

  The guy slid into a booth. “I’m Hathaway.”

  Jason sat opposite. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Hathaway looked toward the counter. The waiter chatted with the fry cook through the opening to the kitchen. Hat
haway cupped his tongue and whistled loud enough to startle every ear in the room.

  The waiter said something to the fry cook and came over. He was skinny as a table leg. He brought a pad out from his back pocket. “All right. You got my attention.”

  Hathaway nodded at Jason. “He’s buying me a Coke. You got any fries?”

  “Sure, we got fries. This is America, isn’t it?”

  “You having anything?” Hathaway asked Jason.

  “Just bring me some water.”

  The waiter raised an eyebrow. “Water.”

  Jason stared at Hathaway until the waiter tucked his pad away and angled himself back across the room. “So your Coke’s on the way. Let’s get to it.”

  Hathaway leaned back and drew an arm across the top of the booth. It caused the pictures on his Hawaiian shirt to accordion together in front. A native girl’s head was now perched atop a red surfboard. “I’m not his PO. You want to know where his PO is?”

  “If you’re going to tell me, tell me.”

  “He’s over in Brotman. Concussion. The docs are holding him for observation. Your little brother did that.” Hathaway’s laid-back attitude vanished. He brought his arm down and planted his elbows on the table. For the first time, Jason noticed that Hathaway’s arms had some bulk to them. “I’m going to find him. Put him back inside. And you’re going to help me.”

  The waiter brought two plastic glasses to the table, one filled with Hathaway’s Coke and another filled with water. He put them both in the middle of the table and retreated.

  “How am I going to help you if I don’t know where he is or how to contact him? Even if I wanted to.”

  The PO stripped off the tip of the straw wrapper and took a sip of his Coke. “You know, I have a knack. You want to know what my knack is?”

  Jason waited.

  “My knack is, I can tell when people are lying to me. All the time. That’d probably be a good knack to have in your line of business, huh? You have that?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “No, if it’s sometimes you don’t have it. I’m talking about all the time. Guy says to me he’s been keeping the conditions of his parole when he’s been hanging out with people he shouldn’t, doing crack or something, I pick up on it right away. And these guys are good, too. They make lying an art form. But maybe his eyes shift a little too much. Maybe his color changes a little. Or maybe the words he uses, they’re strung together weird. Could be anything. Even something I can’t put my finger on. But I can tell.”