“Are you certain that’s the question you want to ask?”
She got up and walked over to stand in front of him, eyeing him unblinkingly.
Sigh. “I don’t know.”
“There wasn’t a card?”
He gave up his attitude. “There is, but it’s not signed and it just says, ‘I’m sorry.’” Maybe she’d have some idea who it could be from.
But she only wrinkled her nose, probably just the way he was doing right now. They shared the same confused expression. DNA was so random.
“I called the company that delivered it, and it wasn’t a mistake. Someone bought it for me, but insisted on being anonymous.”
“Huh.” She shrugged and headed back to sit down again. “Maybe you have a secret admirer.”
“For a second—” more than a second “—I thought maybe Tierney had sent it.” Judging from the way Andy whipped her head around and stared at him—mouth and eyes wide open—he probably shouldn’t have volunteered that. Duh.
“Why would Tierney send you an apology basket?” she demanded.
Dalton shrugged and turned away, pretending to straighten the arrangement. Fluff the fruit. “Well, he was kind of rude to me this morning.”
“Yeah, but it’s Tierney. Does he even know who you are?”
Now it was his turn to whip his head around. “That’s insulting.”
“It’s no reflection on you,” she said, flapping her hand as if dispelling a bad smell. “It’s a reflection on that douche bag.”
“He’s not a douche bag,” he shot back before he thought better of it. “Not all the time.”
“What?” She gaped at him. “He’s a freaking homophobe.”
He really needed to shut up, so he pretended his jaw was wired shut and made a face instead. The whole conversation had made her suspicious—he could see it in the way her eyes narrowed and she lowered her chin.
Time for his exit. Past experience told him just knowing Andy was stewing for the rest of the day, uncertain about whether she’d truly won an argument or not, would give him the most satisfaction. So Dalton smiled pleasantly and left the room.
Tierney went home instead of to work after his meeting disaster. He cracked open a bottle of booze, then called Gina to tell her she’d have to handle everything for the rest of the week.
“At least that long,” he added after thinking a second.
“What?” she half shrieked. “You have, like, five appointments tomorrow, and th—”
“Yeah, I need a mental health break.” He felt strangely uninterested in how she interpreted that. It could be the three shots he’d had already, or it could be the fact that the inmates had pretty much taken control. Another thing he was uninterested in figuring out.
“What?” Wow, the girl could really pierce an eardrum, couldn’t she? He’d never noticed that before.
“The meeting this morning didn’t go well,” Tierney said in lieu of explanation.
Gina groaned. “Tierney, what did you do?”
“Oh, honey, I—”
“I’ve asked you not to call me that.”
“—totally screwed the pooch on this one. Fucked it right up the ass.”
“Seriously, boss, some people would sue you for harassment for language like that.”
Whatever. He knew she didn’t really care, otherwise she wouldn’t still be working with him after almost two years. “Check Edward Asshole’s Facebook page. I’m pretty sure he filmed it. If it’s not there, I bet he has a YouTube account.” Tierney scooted his butt forward on the couch, reaching for the bottle of bourbon and his remote. Time for a little Captain Kirk and some more Jim Beam. The two Jameses.
Gina made a noise like she was drowning. “What am I going to tell your brother?” she whispered frantically. He could hear the clicking of her keyboard. Then she gasped. Aspell must have posted it.
Faintly, Tierney could hear his voice yelling, “—pretty little county commissioner you’re doing—” then just noise.
“Oh noooo,” Gina wailed. “Oh my gawd!”
“Just send Chase a link to the video.” Tierney waved his hand in the air grandly, flicking an imaginary bombshell email off to his brother. “He’ll figure it out on his own.”
Gina moaned, and something thunked in his ear. Her forehead on the desk?
Whatever. “I gotta go. Mental health time doesn’t start itself, you know.”
“Tierney, do not hang up, we need to—”
He hit End, then the power button. Good thing he didn’t have a landline, or he’d have to find it and unplug it or take the batteries out or something. He turned around to see the intercom next to his front door. Could he disconnect that? Maybe he’d just cover it up with duct tape. Did he have any duct tape?
If not, could he pay the hardware store to deliver it? And some stuff to board up the windows too. Maybe he could pay Gina to deliver it. He couldn’t go shopping. Tierney had so utterly fucked himself over it was like declaring war, and the public might just shoot on sight. It was safer here. He needed to barricade himself in, hunker down, and . . . What?
Drink, James said. Kirk or Beam, he didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. It was an excellent idea.
Shit. He’d need to bribe Gina to bring over more booze too.
It turned out he did have a landline. Even worse, someone had the number. After the fifth consecutive phone call—each one lasting seven looong rings—he answered it.
“Wha’?”
“What?” Chase yelled. “What? I will tell you what, you fuckwad!” A long string of semiarticulate cursing followed, but Tierney didn’t feel it necessary to pay attention. Besides, the force of Chase’s voice made him dizzy. He turned and stumbled back to his couch, holding the phone to his ear.
“If you’re jus’ calling to be rude, I’ll return to my reg’larly scheduled program,” he said when Chase paused to gulp some air. Then he hiccuped.
Chase switched to moaning. “Oh my God.”
Huh. “Tha’s what Gina said.”
“You’re drunk.”
Tierney snorted. “Uh, yeah. Wouldn’ you be drunk?”
“If I’d single-handedly destroyed the family business? Probably,” Chase muttered. “Thank God Grandfather isn’t alive to see this. Jesus. Now you need to fucking sober up and get your ass in here.”