I peek up at Sylas for just a moment to find him studying me for the briefest moment longer. “Sorry y’all, being that we grew up together I get carried away picking on her now and again. She has to put me in my place when that happens,” Sy explains easily covering for me, and placing his hand on my knee beneath the table, giving a gentle pat.
Fuck. Our cover is blown, Anxiety hyperventilates.
Now what’s the master plan, genius? Regret asks snidely.
He’s going to keep asking what your problem is so—just—explain yourself later when you’re alone with him, Practicality reasons.
Hell no! Regret barks. Optimism is curled up in the corner reading a book, resuming her deaf, mute act. Blind Rage is siding with Regret. Negativity, even with duct tape in place makes her opinion clear. Self-Loathing is shaking her head in disgust. The collective stance is clear, I should not be here and yet, here I am because Sylas Broussard has always been able to draw me in.
For the next hour I listen and Gene, Dale, and Sylas discuss his non-profit’s three fishing boats and the possibility for adding another one to the fleet. At Dale’s mentioning it Sy, glances my way and mutters that he doesn’t have a name for a new boat but that he’d think about it. Gene quickly launches into the financial ramifications of adding another boat to the fleet and based on what he has said, it seems Buzzsaw Charted Fishing is not doing so well. I sincerely hope to help the charity win some high-profile donors and then, perhaps he will not only continue but also expand his charity work because it’s such an admirable, worthy venture.
“Why not get another boat soon? Maybe expanding will garner more attention and make it clear to the public that Buzzsaw is a growing charity worth their donations.”
“Not feasible, Miss potter,” Gene scoffs, his lip curling for just a moment and I’m reminded of the expression a person makes when someone passes gas. It’s the who farted face. Incidentally it’s also rude as hell and aesthetically displeasing. I smile and bite my tongue realizing that Gene may or may not be in the politics game—that I don’t know yet but his obvious disdain for women in business conversations is clear. I’m happy to see it, truthfully. I squash chauvinistic pigs for sport. My inner circle all perk up.
“Well, I’d have to bring on another Captain, not to mention the initial investment, the overhead in terms of mooring and maintenance, insurance… then I’d have to have a name for her.” He ticks things off one by one. “And Year 28 just doesn’t ring true so far,” he mutters focusing his attention on wiping his hands clean with the tiny damp towelette the waitress had dropped off when she delivered our barbeque sauce-drenched food. “I’m gonna go wash my hands,” Sy announces getting to his feet and walking away.
“You’ve got his panties twisted up, I see,” Dale laughs easily, leaning back in his seat and patting his full belly.
“Yeah, I guess so. So Mr. Yoder, tell me, how long have you been in accounting?”
“Please, call me Gene,” he playacts possessing genuine kindness. “I’ve been an accountant and financial advisor for nearly forty-six years. I’m retired of course, but I take on certain clients to keep me busy, involved.”
“Of course,” I nod. “If you need any assistance with the accounting, perhaps some fresh eyes to take a look at things please let me know. I would be glad to help. At that, Gene’s jaw ticks but he cocks his head in a half nod. “Excuse me,” he says getting up and pointing himself in the direction of the bathrooms.
“Dale, you seem to know Sylas pretty well.”
“I spend a lot of time with him down at the marina.” He shrugs.
“Sylas said you’ve been working for him about a year. How’d you meet?”
“I was piss-drunk and ran him over,” Dale admits so casually that it catches me off guard and I choke on my water.
“I’m sorry,” I frown and shake my head. “You said you—”
“Yep. Ran him over. Got into a fist fight too.” He nods smiling a little ruefully.
“You’ll have to elaborate,” I laugh.
“I was neck deep in bourbon that night. Didn’t stop me from gettin’ in my truck.” He presses his lips together and his forehead wrinkles clearly in frustration with what he’d done. “I clipped his truck, technically, then tried to run. When he chased me down I swung on him,” he admits sheepishly. “I was a useless drunk not coping with some things and now I am,” he shrugs as though it’s all so simple and plain.
“And now you and Sy are friends,” I state more than ask.
“Yep. He gave me a job and a good reason to keep a clear head,” he says.
“Only Sylas Broussard,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Dale, I’m glad you crashed into Sylas Broussard’s truck,” I declare with a smile and a decisive nod.
“Me too. Every single day, me too.”
Chapter 18
Sylas
16 years old…
Since we began dating steadily, Rae and me spend just about every free moment together, reading, talking, and listening to music together. It’s basically very much like we were before we labeled ourselves boyfriend and girlfriend just without the bullshit bickering and me begging for a date. I still pester her because, well, it’s habit by now but she doesn’t mind it. Truth be told I think she’d be bored to tears if I didn’t ruffle her feathers the way I do.
“I just don’t see how Gabriel Oak didn’t die of jealousy. I would have,” I snort and slap the book shut, tossing it to Rae whose head is resting on my stomach. I crack my knuckles then thread my fingers behind my head, soaking in the sun at the bayou with my eyes closed.
“Oh you mean like the way I feel when Brooklyn makes eye at you,” she says, irritated.
“Baby, I love seeing you jealous over me,” I laugh. I’m punished by Rae’s thin fingers pinching the hell out of the skin on the inside of my knee.
“Not funny. I don’t like her. She’d steal you if she got the chance.”
“Well she ain’t getting the chance so don’t you worry about it, huh?” I lean forward, shifting Rae as I bend down to kiss her gently, loving the taste of her vanilla lip balm.
Rae grabs the book and flips it open to a part where Bathsheba is being a real asshole. “Why do you suppose she’s such a witch?” I ask motioning my chin toward the book in Rae’s hands.
“Bathsheba?” she asks. I nod and Rae seems to look through the book for a moment giving it thought. “I don’t know. I think it’s a mix of stuff. I think she’s had a hard life you know? And she’s a woman doing her best in a man’s position with no respect from the people around her. She’s determined to keep up a good front. She’s tough because she thinks she has to be.” Rae shrugs.
I have the distinct urge to grab Rae by her shoulders and shake her until she tells me what’s going on with her. After we had sex she had a full on anxiety attack. I was equally concerned as I was confused seeing her gasping to breathe, her eyes wild and frightened, her brow misted with sweat. Then during lunch with Dale and Gene, she had flipped out over me calling her darlin’. What else? That’s what I want to ask her. What else is going to upset her and most importantly why?