Page 21 of Game Change

Another thing about Uncle Milton is that when the trouble comes, he’s usually not around to deal with the aftermath.

“Don’t tell me you promised this job to someone else,” I say with a chuckle. When he doesn’t laugh back, my stomach sinks.

“The jobisyours. That won’t change, but—” He stops mid-sentence and stares out the office window.

“But what, Uncle Milton?”

“I have an employee. Brynne,” he begins. “She’s worked here for six years. She’s the best employee I’ve ever had. She’s smart and talented, and I’ve not only mentored her, but I’ve played a kind of father figure.” None of what he says surprises me. He only hires the best, and he loves to teach the secrets of the trade. He’s been my mentor my entire life because my father was too busy and too old.

“Okay—” I say. “I’ll take good care of her. You said her name is Brynne?”

“Yes. Brynne Barber.” The hairs on the back of my neck start to stand up. “See, the thing is, I kind of intimated that she would be the one replacing me. At the time—”

“Brynne Barber?” I ask, raising my voice slightly. I feel goosebumps at the mention of the name, but not in a good way. Brynne Barber. It can’t be.

It’s not. Barber is a common name, and her name is Brynneka. I’ve been calling her Brynneka for almost two weeks, and she never once told me to call her Brynne.

That’s because you call her Honeybee most of the time.

“Yes, and—”

“What does she look like?” I ask. I’ve suddenly turned cold, and there’s a sudden throbbing behind my eyes.

“What’s it matter? You’re the boss. You better not diddle any of your subordinates, boy.” He has the audacity to point his finger at me even though I’ve heard stories of him having relationships with his past assistants. He was even sued once, but she dropped the lawsuit after he paid her off.

“That name sounds familiar, is all,” I say. I lower my voice, but my pulse has picked up and so has my heart rate.

“Well, she’s about to be here in two minutes,” he says while he types something on his phone.

“What?” I yell. I tell myself there is no way this can be. Tonight, when I’m with Brynneka, I’ll tell her this story and have a good laugh before I take her to bed. My Brynneka is an artist. I’ve framed the sketch she made of me.

Architects tend to be good at sketching, moron.

I tell my inner voice to shut the hell up. There is absolutely no way the universe can fuck me over like this. Not after the disaster that was Esme. Not after moving cross country. Not after finally meeting someone with whom I want to spend quality time. There’s no way she would be the one person on this planet who not only works for my uncle, but was promised the job he handed to me.

Now, I’m kicking myself for not getting a background check, but I wanted to learn about her from her. I didn’t want to get a report on her. I craved the sound of her voice, and I wanted to lie in bed with her at night and, under the cover of darkness, learn everything about each other.

“Is she black, Uncle?” I raise my voice, and he arches an eyebrow.

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response. What kind of question is that?” His voice sounds accusatory as he lowers it and looks around the office as if we’re not the only two people there. “What the hell is the matter with you?” He grumbles something else under his breath before snatching his coffee cup and bringing it to his lips.

"Can you please just tell me?” I beg as I run a hand through my hair, but there’s no time left for answers. The conference room door opens, and I whip my head in the direction away from her.

I close my eyes for a brief second and say a short prayer that it’s not her. There’s no way. What are the odds? It can’t be because no one is that unlucky. Not even me.

“Sorry I’m late, Milton,” the voice says, and I’m doomed. I would know that voice from anywhere. I hang my head in defeat but still don’t open my eyes. Of all the ways I expected today to go, this didn’t make the list.

The sound of heels on the hardwood floor gets louder with each step.

Under any other circumstance, I’d stand to greet her, but if I stand now, my knees will buckle. I open my eyes just as she gets to the head of the table, and instead of shaking hands with my uncle, they hug, and she giggles. She still hasn’t noticed me, but her laughter is like music. It also confirms my damnation and the end of any hope that today will end well.

“Vacation looks good on you, Milton,” she says. She clears her throat, and I hold my breath while I wait for her to notice me. It doesn’t take long. Our eyes lock, and she gasps, putting a hand to her chest. She also takes a step back, but then her eyes light up, and she smiles at me.

Knowing her, she probably thinks this is some surprise, but the only one surprised at this moment is me. The smile doesn’t last long. It drops. Uncle Milton snaps his fingers at me like he used to do when I was a kid.

I get my wits about me and stand before extending my hand to her, and she shakes it without saying a word.

“Brynne, this is my nephew, Colin Kincaid,” Uncle Milton says.

---