Jake pressed his lips together to stop his first response, which wasn’t diplomatic. “I’m getting the office set up today, and I’m billing the furniture to Lowell.”
Brandon reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, and handed Jake his credit card.
Mouth tight, Jake pocketed it. “I’m buying the expensive shit.”
“Dad would want you to have the best,” Brandon said with a vague wave of his hand. “He always did like you best of my college friends.”
Well,thatwas news to Jake; he’d only met Brandon Lowell Sr. a handful of times when the man had flown in to Chicago to visit his son. Then again, Jake had been the one busting his ass with his books or his internship while the rest of his friends became one with their red Solo cups. And there it was: yet more incentive to redouble his efforts to secure his partnership. Mabel was the red Solo cup he should have resisted.
He pulled out his phone to shoot Brandon a text. “Here’s the office address if you need it. When you’ve got paperwork for me that can’t be digitized, just let me know and I’ll swing by and pick up.”
After hours, of course. Anything to avoid temptation. If he laid eyes on Mabel right now, there was a possibility that he’d forget all his best intentions, throw her over his shoulder caveman-style, and force her to listen to his apologies until she forgave him or kicked him out.
His next stop was the furniture store, which was zero help. He passed the couch section and smiled at the memory of Mabel dramatically sinking onto each of them, swooning Southern-belle-style, to test them out. Then he lingered over the desk they’d picked out for the station. He’d wanted to tug her down onto the desktop in the middle of the showroom that day and kiss her silly, and he’d imagined making similar use of it in the station greenroom if they could ever steal a few minutes alone.
His thwarted hopes had him spinning away from the radio-station desk to examine the fussy oak desk next to it. God, he hated furniture shopping.
“Can I help you with anything, sir?”
Jake turned and did a double take. He wasn’t a short guy, but the employee who greeted him had him beat by several inches. The man was obviously a weight lifter, with tree-trunk thighs and bowling-ball arms straining against the khaki and cotton covering him. He wore gauges in his ears, the dark skin of his arms was covered in tattoos, and his tight, curly hair was shaped into a subtle pompadour. In short, Robbie, according to his name tag, was the single most memorable salesperson Jake had ever encountered.
He recovered quickly. “Hi. I need to outfit a small office. Desk, a couple of chairs.”
Robbie’s eyes flicked to Jake’s slim-cut suit, skinny tie, and patterned-silver belt buckle. “Seems to me you’re a modern guy in a traditional line of work. I think you might like this one.” He pointed to a sturdy steel desk with clean lines and ample drawer space. “It’s based on the midcentury steel-tanker models.”
“Sold,” Jake said. “Now point me to chairs.”
Robbie indicated a line of office chairs against the wall. When Jake tried to buy the first one in the line, Robbie insisted that he sit in each one to check for comfort, and after a few tests, Jake begrudgingly admitted it was smart to find his best fit.
“I’ll take that and two of those blue upholstered chairs for guest seating. And don’t bother; I’m not going to sit in those. They’ll be fine.”
As Robbie jotted down a few notes, a man with a big belly, a mean mouth, and a name tag identifying him as the floor manager moved behind them and pointedly cleared his throat.
Robbie’s eyes closed briefly, and then he said with artificial enthusiasm, “What about accessories? Credenzas? Plants? Art? We’ve got a fine line of coordinated decorative items for any office.”
The manager offered Robbie an unctuous smile. “Good boy.” He patted Robbie’s broad back before stalking way.
Robbie’s massive shoulders had tensed when the manager approached him, and they gradually eased as the manager’s pungent cologne started to dissipate. Although Jake had recently learned a few things about dealing with a difficult boss, he still didn’t feel bad enough to buy any accessories for his new workspace. “Nah. It’s just going to be me in there. I don’t need anything else.”
“Got it.” Robbie looked up from the notes he was making. “I don’t mean to overstep, but this isn’t the way most people usually outfit a new office.”
“It’s only short-term. I’m on loan from Black, Phelps, and Suarez in Chicago, consulting for a local company.”
“BPS?” Robbie looked surprised. “They do work this far down south?” At Jake’s equally surprised look, Robbie shrugged. “What, a black man can’t know about the biggest accounting firm in the state?”
Jake’s mouth dropped open, and he’d started to stammer an apology for his assumption when Robbie’s face split into a grin. “Nah, I’m messing with you. It’s cool. I wrote a paper on BPS for my senior project.” He pointed a thumb at his chest. “I majored in accounting at ISU.”
“And you’re selling furniture now?”
“Mostly delivering it. They prefer to keep me off the sales floor when possible.” Robbie scratched the back of his neck. “My extracurricular herbal activities have made certain types of employment unattainable for me unfortunately. The, uh, ones that require drug testing.”
Jake looked Robbie over. “You any good with computers?”
“I’m a fast typist who can spell.”
“How are you with people?”
“You’re still talking to me, aren’t you?”
