Page 25 of Game Change

“Because I wanted you to take the job, and I want you to stay.”

“But you’ve made Brynne feel like she’s not valued.” The anger and hurt were rolling off her in droves. I could feel it. All I wanted was to put my hand on top of hers to calm her, but I knew my touch was the last thing she wanted to feel.

She’s not only a woman but a Black woman in a space with so few people who look like her. She was promised something, only for it to be snatched away and given not just to a white man but to the nephew of the company's owner.

And, of course, the universe fucking hates me because everything I’ve been dreaming of since she left the island has been snatched away from me too. Worst case, she doesn’t return to work tomorrow and stops taking my calls. The best case is that we work closely together, with her hating me. Every day, I’ll remember what we shared, and I’ll die a little, knowing I will never have it again.

I expected today to end with me having a girlfriend; now I have an enemy who I’m certain is thinking of ways to make my work life a living hell.

“Listen, Paddy, it’s your job to make sure she’s happy here and she doesn’t quit. I’ve invested too much time in her, and not only that, but she’s smart and a great architect.”

“Then let her have the job,” I say. “I can take her current position.”

“She’s not a Kincaid,” he insists. And that’s the Kincaid creed right there. It’s Kincaid, first and foremost. If you share our blood, we’ll have a spot for you somewhere. If you don’t, you’ll be on the outside looking in.

That’s not my way, but that’s how my dad operated. That’s how my older brother and sister operate, and that’s how my uncle runs his business.

“And just how the hell am I supposed to ensure she doesn’t leave? How am I supposed to keep her happy after the stunt you pulled?” I want to toss this damn piece of paper across the room. I’m sure she’s plotting her exit right now, and I wouldn’t blame her. If it were me, I’d already be gone.

Unlike you, she doesn’t have a trust fund to fall back on.

“Well, you have to. I’m going to count on you while I have my treatment.” No one else knows he’s sick. It’s stage one colon cancer, and he’s starting radiation.

“I want to hire Heath.” He’s my older sister’s son, and he graduated college six months ago. He has no idea what he wants to do with his life, and he’s been calling me a lot. “He can assist me while he figures out what he wants to do with his life.”

“Fine, but let’s keep it under wraps that he’s related to us,” Uncle Milton says.

“Uncle Milton, that’s a stupid idea. I don’t want to lie to these people.”

“And I don’t want them to think I’m handing out positions to my nephews. That’s non-negotiable.” Another thing that’s going to blow up in my face because Heath is about as subtle as a flashing neon sign.

“Tell me about her,” I ask my uncle, deciding to change the subject from Heath to Brynne. “Tell me everything you know.”

Her back is to me when I get to the kitchen in search of coffee, but the reality is that I can use something much stronger. I’ve never been a big drinker, but I can go for one right about now.

She’s speaking to another woman. The other woman is on the heavy side, wearing a tight gray skirt and a purple sweater. They don’t notice me as they whisper to each other.

I can’t hear a word until the other woman says, “Are you fucking shitting me?”

“Shh,” Brynneka says. I can see her put a finger to her lips.

“I will not shh,” this other woman says, raising her voice slightly. She seems affronted by Brynne’s shushing. “He said the job was yours, and now he gives it to some nephew who’s never worked here a day in his sorry-ass life.”

“Right,” Brynneka says. “Probably from an unaccredited school,” she snickers.

“If he even graduated at all,” the other woman says. “Which I doubt because why else would he need his uncle to hand him a job he didn’t earn on a silver platter?”

“I’m pretty sure UC Berkeley is accredited,” I say.

They go still, but the other woman turns around and crosses her arms without even a hint of embarrassment at being caught gossiping about her new boss. She’s a black woman who looks to be in her mid-fifties. She eyes me up and down, and I cock my head to the side at her audacity.

“Colin Kincaid,” I say as I walk to them. I extend my hand, and she looks at it as if she’s contemplating taking it. In the end, she does, and I wrap mine around hers. She offers me no smile, however.

“Ernestine Gunner,” she says, her voice rough and unwelcoming. “Heavy on the first three letters of my last name.”

“I’ll remember that,” I say with a chuckle. “Brynne, can I have a word, please?"

“I bet she will let you have several words,” Ernestine whispers under her breath. “All of them four letters.”

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