Tommy’s mom was one of those new-age hippies (except she really hated that word—the beliefs dated back thousands of years, she would say). Not only did she believe in the healing power of crystals but also that everyone was guided by angels, that Love with a capital L could cure anything, along with a whole list of other stuff Tommy could never fully align with. She was the one who should’ve moved to LA. It would’ve been a better fit. Though if he remembered correctly, she might’ve said something about tiger’s-eye being protective, guarding against curses and the like. All Tommy knew was on his first day of high school she’d slipped a similar stone into his pocket. By the end of third period he’d already lost it, and yet he still managed to survive those four years mostly unscathed. Though it made sense that Ira would need that sort of protection. A guy like that came with a long list of enemies just waiting to attack.
Tommy counted himself among them.
He picked at the hole in the knee of his jeans and waited for Ira to continue.
“Heard I caused you some trouble over at Farrington’s?” Ira paused, waiting for Tommy to confirm or deny.
It was a test. Every moment with Ira was a final exam.
“He canned me.” Tommy lifted his shoulders as though it was no big thing, but they both knew he was lying.
“You might think that makes me feel obligated to you.” Ira studied his nails, not polished, just filed and buffed, keeping the man in manicure. “But that would be a mistake.” He leveled his gaze on Tommy’s. “I tend to take a more nihilistic view—at least where the more mundane social mores are concerned.”
Was this guy for real? Did all of the interviews go like this—with Ira aimlessly pontificating like they both had all the time in the world?
And how the hell was Tommy expected to reply to a statement like that?
Ira was a major windbag who loved to hear his own voice.
Tommy was a man of much fewer words.
Clearly he took after his mother.
“You made a choice that day. You chose to act on your own and risk the consequence. All of our actions bring consequences. Getting fired was yours.”
Tommy ran his tongue across his gums, flipped his boot on his knee, and messed with the gash in the shank. No longer caring if Ira saw the sorry state of his shoes, his finances, his life. Seemed like he’d blown the interview long before he arrived. It was Farrington’s all over again. The guy was completely devoid of an empathy gene. Great father figure he was turning out to be.
It was time to head back to Oklahoma, where people at least said what they meant and never made sport of other people’s well-being. Back home, he didn’t know a single person who behaved like Ira. They were good, down-home, solid, dependable folks. He couldn’t believe he’d just used the word folks—but yeah, folks who would never so much as—
“—which is why you’re not a good fit.”
The room fell silent. Tommy had no idea what had just happened. “So . . . I’m not a good fit because you like to take a nihilistic approach, or because you got me fired so easily?” He scrambled to catch up.
“What do you think?”
Tommy shook his head. This was un-fucking-believable.
“For someone who claims they love to win, you haven’t said a single thing to convince me.”
“You don’t even know me.” Tommy stood, struggling to keep his cool. He wasn’t good enough for the job, wasn’t good enough to be Ira’s son. He’d never felt as powerless as he did at that moment.
“Don’t I?” Ira tilted his head, studying Tommy like he saw right through him.
“You have no idea what I’m capable of.”
Ira shrugged and reached for his phone, which only enraged Tommy more. He might be broke, down on his luck, but he didn’t have to tolerate b
eing treated like this, and he wouldn’t leave without Ira knowing it.
“Just so we’re clear—” He pushed his chair aside, nearly tipping it over. “The consequence of your decision will prove to be your loss, not mine.”
He made for the door, pushing past the assistants scurrying out of his way, just as Ira said, “I’m beginning to wonder if you’re right.”
Tommy pulled the door open, still committed to leaving while he was somewhat ahead.
“You’re my weakest candidate by far.”
Tommy scowled. Ira was an asshole. An asshole who didn’t know when to quit.