I blink in surprise at the statement. Then I choke off my laughter into my fist. God, I didn’t know these old bastards had a sense of humor.
“Do you find this funny?” Ms. Taleisin asks, disapproval sitting heavily in the crow’s feet around her eyes.
“My apologies,” I say, trying to dampen my smile. “I wasn’t expecting jokes, ma’am.”
Mr. Frackett snorts disdainfully at that, and my certainty falters when I see a hint of glee in his eyes. He’s made it no secret that he doesn’t want me as partner, but Mr. Jameson gets final say. Seeing himenjoythis is enough to give me pause.
“No one here is joking, boy,” he says harshly. “You insulted some of our most prestigious clients. A strip club? Are younineteen? You may have lost us the entire deal.”
I look back and forth between him and Mr. Jameson in shock. There’s no way they’re actually mad about this. I mean, come on, everyone I took there was a man. Some ass shaking shouldn’t be insulting to anybody. I even took them to a tasteful place—more of a gentleman’s club than a strip joint.
“I expected better from you, Wayne,” Mr. Jameson says with a frown. “I gave you an unheard of opportunity, and you crashed and burned. This isn’t the first time you’ve rocked the boat with clients, but it will be the last. I’m not cleaning up your messes any longer. You’re out.”
Shock gives way to rage as I realize how serious they’re being, and I bolt upright from my seat. An angry scoff falls from my lips as I look at the five of them. They’re all weathered and old and starting to wither. My lip curls in disdain.
They want to fire me? Fucking fine.
They can regret it later.
“I’ll pack up my office,” I spit out.
I’m not stupid enough to say something that’ll truly burn any bridges, but they won’t get any sympathy from me.
I storm out of the boardroom, slamming the door behind me. I take long, angry strides back toward my office. I’ve relished this place. The massive windows overlook all of Billings. And they’re stupid enough to kick me out of it? I’ve made this place mine, given them everything, but all it takes is a tiny little fuckup for them to toss me to the curb.
Whatever.
It’ll be a piece of cake to get a new job. Anyone who’s anyone will take one look at my resume and beg me to join their firm.
I’ll pack up my office and go back home to my sprawling condo and make a few calls. I’ll be drinking whiskey on my couch and deciding between offers before the sun sets tonight.
But the firstfew calls I put in after I get home go straight to voicemail. The next three don’t make it past a secretary. The familiar excuse of being out of the office and an offer to take a message is all I get. The few people who do pick up quickly find something that needs their attention and hang up on me before I can even start my winning spiel.
Even fucking Brett only gives me about five minutes of his time.
“Dude, I hate to say it, but you just became unemployable,” he tells me, bluntly. “Jameson blacklisted you everywhere in Billings. You’re fucked.”
The pity in his voice sets my teeth on edge. He’s a fuckingkid, and he doesn’t know shit about actually practicing law. I hang upon him without saying goodbye, tossing my phone carelessly to the other end of the couch.
Bullshit.
All of it, fuckingbullshit.
I allow myself some time to seethe, knocking back glass after glass of whiskey. I had planned to get drunk tonight, but it was supposed to be in celebration, not sitting alone on my couch with the bitter taste of anger in the back of my throat. Fuck this.
I’ll just take a vacation back home for a bit, wait for all this to blow over.
It’ll probably be awkward as hell, but Dad stopped confrontinganythingafter Mom died. At worst, he’ll ignore me. If anyone gives me shit for how long I’ve been gone, it’ll be Jenny, but she’ll get over it quick enough.
Besides, I don’t intend to be there for long. Just long enough to get my head back on straight and find something else to do.
Someone in Billings will see sense if I give it enough time. I can be patient and take some time to regroup. It’ll be nice to see my buddies back home, and last time I talked to Jenny, she mentioned something about Dad dating someone. That’ll be a sight to see.
Decision made, I fall into bed for the night, planning to pack in the morning.
I wakeup in a horrible fucking mood, and my packing mostly consists of throwing whatever clothes are closest into a duffel bag. I still have some of my old clothes at the ranch, and while I’ve put some muscle on through the years, they should still fit.
The drive back to Windy River takes a good four hours, and I spend most of it alternating between calling some old contactsin the hopes that someone has an opening for me and stewing in my own rage. I left home before the sun was even up, not wanting to contend with rush hour traffic, but the sun is bright and right in my fucking eyes by the time I pull up to the ranch.
