He felt better after brushing his teeth and showering. Still insulated from life but totally capable of doing his job; glad-handing and cutting deals and manipulating people. He could do this, and he’d be well fucking dressed too.
He hadn’t looked at his new Tom Ford suits since he picked up the two—uh, three—he’d bought a few weeks ago, but one of them had to be the right thing for this meeting. After dropping what these babies cost, they’d better all but read “power suit” on the breast.
Checking them out, he found the perfect one: Subtly outrageous, in a muted gray-and-brown plaid. It made a total “don’t fuck with me, I’m a wild card” statement, but only when the enemy got close. He definitely wasn’t dressing for Dalton, no matter how the cut of the jacket hid his growing gut—man, he needed to find time to go to the gym again.
Some eye drops for the redness, some ginger ale for the nausea, some ibuprofen and coffee for his head, and he was good. A drink would be nice, but Tierney hung on to that last bit of control over alcohol by his proverbial fingernails. He wasn’t going to be the kind of guy who took a drink when he got up, no matter how much the hair of the dog would help.
He wasn’t greeting Dalton with alcohol on his breath first thing in the morning.
Maybe he could pretend he didn’t remember Dalton’s name? Nah, that’s seriously pushing it.
When he got to the Interagency Disaster Blah-blah-blah office, he took a few seconds outside the frosted-glass door, closed his eyes, and tried to wipe all expression from his face. Prepare himself. “Gotta do it, man,” he murmured. Deep breath in, deep breath out, turn the knob, walk in—
Dalton’s chair was empty.
“Oh hey, dude, you’re here already?”
Tierney turned toward Ian’s voice to see the man himself poking his head out of an open doorway. “Uh, hey. It’s—” he checked his watch “—6:50. I’m early.” Christ, how had he managed that?
“Hang on a minute, I gotta start the coffee.” Ian disappeared. “I think Dalton got us set up with donuts or something. Can you look in the conference room? Should be open.”
He was physically weak with relief, but disappointment still staged a sit-in in his chest, weighing him down. Of course Dalton wasn’t here. He didn’t start work until later. Maybe I’ll get to see him then. Not speak to him, just look at him. He might appreciate this suit.
Get a grip, dude. Yeah, right. Okay, donuts. Where were they?
“You can’t do that,” Tierney said to the Marlyle County sheriff. This meeting had spiraled way out of control, but they often did when the top brass were involved.
Sheriff Fowler smiled, but Tierney could see a muscle in his jaw ticking and spite in his eye. “Now, I thought this meeting was to determine just what it is that’s needed to comply with the new federal requirements.”
“It is,” Ian said firmly, slicing through some of the tension. “And no one is saying that Marlyle County will get an unfair percentage of the funds—”
Tierney bared his teeth at Sheriff Good Ol’ Boy.
“—Today’s agenda is simply for you all to give me realistic estimates of what you need to meet the new federal standards.”
“And new countywide radio equipment isn’t realistic, it’s greedy,” Tierney snapped.
“This is what we’d like in a perfect world,” the Marlyle County fire chief interjected. He pointed at Tierney. “Didn’t you say you needed Cyanokits for every one of your employees? You know damn well that’s gonna be a fortune, and you’d have yearly replacement costs.”
“I think it’s time to take a break,” Ian said. He sounded like he was talking through gritted teeth. Or to toddlers. Tierney’s nieces were only a couple of years out of that stage, so he was familiar with the tone. He shoved his chair back and stood up, hearing it hit the wall behind him. Ian caught his eye, glowering, but Tierney stalked out of the room and right through the empty reception area into the hall. He didn’t know where he was going, but he ended up in a deserted bathroom a floor above the conference, pissing for lack of anything else to do. Turned out he had to anyway.
It shouldn’t have surprised him this meeting had gone to shit. Too many big egos in the room, too much money at stake. He’d known it would be tense, but he’d expected a little more help from Ian. The dude was being all moderate and neutral, though.
Someone walked into the men’s room behind him, and Tierney put his head down farther, like he needed to inspect his urine for blood or foreign objects. The last thing he wanted was conversation. With his luck it would be Sheriff Fowler.
He’d done a lot of things in men’s rooms, but he’d never punched someone. He was up to the job, though.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Ian asked, unzipping at the urinal next to him.
Christ. Still, his friend was better than Sheriff Redneck. “What?” That dumb act wouldn’t fly, but it might buy him time.
“You fucking know what,” Ian said. “You know damn well Marlyle County won’t get that much money, so why get all worked up about it? Let’s just get through this meeting.”
Why was everyone picking on him lately? Tierney was done, so he closed up and headed for the sink. Best thing he could do was ignore Ian’s question and the way that blood vessel in his neck had started fluttering. His own private high-pressure gauge.
His refusing to argue didn’t stop the dude. “It’s bad enough I have to deal with Fowler’s homophobic digs and just fucking knowing who the man is and who he’s related to,” Ian continued, following Tierney. “But then I have to keep you from careening around the room like a loose cannon? C’mon man, help me out.” He yanked on the faucet handle, turning the water on full blast and frowning down at his hands.
Tierney shut his water off and rounded on him, pulse starting to beat in his ears. “By what? Keeping my mouth shut? Are you saying I shouldn’t do my job? Not represent my company and their interests?”
Ian snorted. “No.” He didn’t look at Tierney, reaching for paper towels instead. “I’m saying you used to think your job was to be reasonable and ignore how these fuckers posture and piss on stuff. You know none of that shit will do them any good in the end, not in this case.”
Tierney walked over to Ian and ripped out his own paper towels, bunching them and twisting them in his hands, then slamming the ball into the garbage. What the hell was this douche bag doing, telling him how to do his job? “Sometimes my job is to piss on stuff too.” Anger banged away under his ribs, knocking to get out.