“The bourbon,” I remind myself. I dig the bottle, still wearing a red Christmas bow around its neck, from the other bottom drawer of my desk. I hid it behind a row of files. Anytime I caught a glimpse of red, I thought of Archer. I hold the bottle up for him to see, almost pulling a smile from his stubborn lips. “Care to join me?”
“Lead the way.” As if I didn’t just juice my boss, Archer calmly takes the bourbon and gestures with one arm in the direction of the elevator.
“Real mature, Talia.” Brandon, mopping his uncle’s brow with a handful of napkins, says as I pass by. His scolding tone is a better fit for a misbehaving toddler.
I open my mouth to say what, I don’t know. Probably more things I’ll regret later but will feel good in the moment. Before the first syllable is out, Archer positions himself between Brandon, Ed, and me.
“You’re done, Owen,” Brandon tells him. “Consider our ties cut.”
“And if you ever come within fifty feet of Talia Richards,” Archer says in a calm, yet growly tone, “consider your ass kicked.” He takes one step in Brandon’s direction, his left hand still wrapped around the fifth of bourbon. His threatening stance is a warning my ex-roommate ignores.
“You don’t have to piss on your territory,” Brandon returns with a slippery smile. “I’ve already been there and hit that.”
The punch comes out of nowhere. Archer lifts his right arm and delivers a short, precise pop to Brandon’s jaw. Brandon stumbles backward and falls into the food table. Muffins topple onto his splayed form as the pitcher of green juice dyes his blond hair a decidedly less attractive color.
“Oh my God.” I blink dumbly at Brandon, akimbo and dressed in baked goods and wheatgrass like a spread in a weird fetish health calendar. He sits up, his face reddening to a dangerous color, but it’s Ed who speaks.
“You’re fired, Richards,” he tells me. “Good luck finding work in this industry again.”
“She works with me now.” Archer takes a menacing step closer to Ed, who backs up and nearly trips over one of Brandon’s legs.
“She does?” Brandon asks.
I do?I think but don’t say.
Ed chooses not to reply at all.
Archer nudges me in the direction of the elevator. “Let’s go.”
Brandon lumbers to standing but wisely chooses to keep his mouth shut. I do not choose to keep my mouth shut. I’m not quite ready to board the elevator for the last time. Not until I’ve said what I’ve been dying to say for months.
“You’re the one who slept your way into the position I worked for, Brandon. You rode my coattails, not the other way around. The only reason you have this promotion is because you’re related to him.” I point at Ed. “Don’t forget that.”
I spin on my heel, encountering Prisha, her eyes wide with adoration and confusion. I am reminded I am not an island. I have a team. I have friends. I have a responsibility to the people who have worked alongside me. And now they have to deal with Brandon and his ineptitude.
“I’m so sorry, Preesh,” I tell her, meaning it.
“Are you kidding? That was awesome.” Her smile broadens when she looks over my shoulder at Archer. “Can I work for you too?”