Page 3 of Brenna, Brat

“It will,” I told him. “I already know which private school you went to.” I told him and knew I was right because he smiled when he heard it.

“Ok, I’ll give you that,” he said.

“What are your parents’ names?” I asked next.

“Are you hoping I’m a junior? That would be all too easy,” he said, and my lips twitched. He’d drummed his fingertips together like an old-time spy movie villain. “They’re Vanessa and Ghregg, spelled G-H-R-E-G-G.”

“Holy Mary. His name is Guh-hu-reg-guh? Did your grandparents not understand that in the English language, the H is unnecessary and one G is plenty?”

“Tell that to ‘ghost’ and ‘aggravate,’” he said, and laughed. “I’m not Guh-hu-reg-guh junior. So, who am I?”

I thought for a moment. “You’re not Ghregg the second, but you are second-generation wealth,” I stated. “You’re used to having money because you grew up with it, but this lifestyle isn’t so long-standing that you drive your grandfather’s vintage Land Rover and wear his Yale class ring.”

“You’re correct. My grandfather drove a Chevy Impala and he never even stepped foot in Connecticut. Double Ns in that word,” he noted. “How did you know that?”

“You have your suits custom-made and you know what you like,” I said, looking him over. He made good choices, too. “But I bet that your parents were worried about fitting in. They bought a big house and then they hired an interior designer who overcharged them to make it look ‘right.’” He seemed intrigued, so I continued. “They checked to see where their friends were vacationing before they booked trips and they paid attention to what the other parents drove at school pick-up before they leased their cars. They lease instead of buying, because they want better, fresher models all the time,” I pointed out.

He whistled. “You’re spot on. Every time I look up, my mom is paying a decorator to redo her house.”

I nodded, noting that it was “her house” and not “theirs” anymore. “You and your sister were canvases for them to demonstrate their new status. But they might have loved you, too,” I added.

“Thank you for acknowledging that,” he said. He seemed to be biting back another laugh.

“You both had to dress right, to talk right, to have the right friends, et cetera, et cetera.” I looked him over, thinking. “They wanted to give their children names that showed how they’d come up in the world, so their choices had to sound fancy and important. Weighty. They went with a surname for your sister and I bet they did for you, too. Your mom probably wanted to have a boy and a girl with the same initials, so yours also starts with the letter C.”

“Damn,” he said, shaking his head. “Can you pick stocks and football winners for me?”

“Cameron,” I guessed. “Collins. Crawford.” He wasn’t showing any recognition, so I kept going. “Cabot. Carter. Campbell.”

His head jerked. “Damn!” he repeated. “You got it.” Then he offered his hand. “Campbell Bates. I would try to deduce what your name is, too, but I’m not clairvoyant and we would be here all day.”

“I’ll just tell you,” I said, and shook with him. “I’m Brenna Curran.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Campbell Bates told me, and I nodded graciously. “Are you that good at guessing everything?”

“It’s not really guessing or second sight,” I answered. “I notice little details and then I extrapolate.”

“That was good extrapolation, then.”

I shrugged my shoulder. “My sisters would say I should keep my thoughts to myself. They tell me it’s rude.” They actually said that I was a brat. Brat, instead of Brenna, was what they often called me.

But Campbell didn’t seem mad, although my performance might have been a little bratty. I’d insulted both him and his family, but if the shoe fit? Anyway, I didn’t think I’d messed up my sale, but maybe I’d done exactly that. I’d gotten caught up in my cleverness and forgot about it, and it had been a mistake. I wanted the money and I could have lost it by messing around.

To test this, I asked, “Are you still interested inEgo?” He said yes, which was good. “Then I’m going to need some assistance to take it off the wall,” I mused, and thought of my coworker Dion. He was never of much assistance.

“I can help you.”

“No, the crew here will handle that.” We were supposed to be professionals, after all. “We’ll need to package it, too. If you want to put down a deposit, I can start the process.” I waited, but he was nodding as I spoke.

“Sure,” he agreed. There was no tag on the piece, so I told him what it was going to cost. I thought it was a fair price, but also way more than I would ever be able to spend at one time. He didn’t blink.

“Will you need it delivered?” I asked.

“I can come back with a bigger vehicle. I own another one, but it’s nothing cool like my grandfather’s old Land Rover,” he said, and grinned at me. He took a wallet out of his back pocket and handed over a card.

“We close at six,” I stated, and ran the huge charge. For some reason, the thought of him interrupting me again wasn’t overly irritating. I watched his car pull away from the curb and considered his return for a moment before I started to figure out what we were going to do about his purchase.

“There’s no way,” my coworker Dion announced when I discussed the problem with him. He held out his hands, showing me his soft palms, and then he rubbed them over hisbiceps, as if those muscles were aching from even the thought of putting in effort. “I’ll strain myself.”

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