Things
took a slight turn when he went to Brodie's office. He heard yelling
as he got off the elevator. Recognizing Brodie's voice, he followed
the deafening bellow to a conference room. There, he saw his friend
in an argument with a short, extremely fat man whose jowly face was
nearly purple. He stood less than a foot from Brodie, yelling up at
the younger man's chin. Strangely, his friend's size didn't seem to
be intimidating the other man. Curious, Chas watched a moment to
determine the dynamic of the confrontation, until the fat man poked
Brodie in the chest with one fat index finger.
Seeing
his friend was about to blow his top, Chas walked in. “Oi, Brodie!”
he greeted his friend cheerfully, insinuating himself between the two
men. “Who's this?” He turned to face the fat man, who looked like
he was fending off a heart attack.
“That's
Mr. Stevens.”
“The
health club guy?”
“The
very one.”
“Problem?”
Chas directed at Stevens.
“Those
are my goddamn plans, Brodie!”
“No,
they sure aren't. You didn't pay for them, so they're mine. I can do
what I want with them.”
“I'll
make you wish you'd never met me.”
Brodie
laughed loudly. It was an ugly, flat sound. “I was sorry the first
day, you fat assed bastard.”
“You
can't talk to me like that! I'll sue.”
“You
just called me a pansy assed girlie boy,” Brodie snarled.
“I'm speaking the truth. You're not.”
“Okay,
let's take a breath,” Chas said, putting his hands gently against
each chest.
Pressing
against Brodie was like trying to tear down the Wall of Jericho
single handed. Mr. Stevens was like pushing the Stay Puft Marshmallow
man. Brodie didn't move, but Stevens stumbled back a step.
“Those
plans are mine!” Stevens yelled past Chas.
“Oi!
Unnecessary volume, old man. Sit!” He pointed at a chair.
To
his surprise, Stevens sat.
“You—hallway
conference,” he said to Brodie. “Don't move,” he told Stevens.
Yanking on Brodie's sleeve, he dragged him into the hall. “Speak.”
“The
plans we're using for the Ravenwood project, they're based on plans I
drew up for his newest gym. Modified, re-woked, perfected, additional
space for the dorms. He hadn't paid us a cent, rejected them, decided
against the project. Now, all of a sudden, he wants them.”
“They
had the article in the paper about the ground breaking, didn't they.”
“Yep.
Along with pictures of the model and basic floor plan. So, fat-ass
thinks he can mop up if he builds the facility himself. He hasn't put
down a penny on those plans. He always does this, I should know
better. But, dammit, we spent a lot of time on that project and he
hated every permutation. Belinda loved them and only asked for a
couple changes to accommodate her staff. Easy fixes. God, working
with that woman is an absolute dream.”
“So,
does he have legal recourse?”
“No.
I have paperwork showing he rejected the plans.”
“Then
call your lawyer, let him call his, and they can hash it out.”
Brodie
sighed, running his hand through his blond, wavy hair. “When did
you become the voice of reason?”
“When
I saw my friend ready to put his fist through a fat fuck. What
happened to the Brodie self-control?”
“Died
a horrible death when I met that man. He's enough to make the Pope
curse. And Gandhi homicidal.”
“Fire
him.”
“Boss
doesn't want me to.”
“Why
not?”
“His
is a very lucrative account.”
“Do
you need the manky twat's money?”
“No....”
“Then
fire him. He's been a thorn for years. He's here, have at it.”
Brodie
looked at Stevens through the glass wall. The man was muttering and
tapping his fingers on the table. Nodding, Brodie straightened his
tie and squared his impeccably clad shoulders. Expensive tailored
suit clung to the muscular bulk of his frame as he walked back into
the conference room.
“You'll
be sorry, Brodie! Mark my words.”
“No,
not at all. You're the one who will be sorry. You're fired, Stevens.”
“What?
What!”
“You
heard me. You're gone. No worming your way back in. I'm telling my
partners not to take you back. Don't call, don't come by. You are
persona non grata. Show your face or call even once, and I'll call
the cops.”
©
2016 Dellani Oakes
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