Chapter Fifteen
By the time Ross made it into the brewery, he had an inkling that something strange was up. His first hint being Brad Jefferson walking up to him as he was checking the overnight brewing logs, tapping him on the shoulder and crooking a finger, indicating Ross should follow him back to his office. He had noticed that no one would meet his eyes. But he’d never gone out of his way to make buddies so he hadn’t thought much of it. He’d lost an entire day thanks to his impromptu orgy, and had an excuse in mind already as he followed Brad’s broad back through the brewery and its busy, gaze-averting staff.
As he flopped into his usual seat, wearing his usual up-yours expression, the sense of things being ever so slightly off intensified. He watched as Brad futzed around with the piles of crap on his desk, checked his phone, and made himself comfortable in his big leather chair. Ross’ head was still a tad echo-y, even since he’d had a hot shower and eaten some bland food and felt a thousand times better. But this whole scene was setting him back a few hours.
It would be nothing, he figured. Simply a good opportunity to broach the subject of an extended leave of absence. While recovering at home after Austin’s shocking phone call, he’d spent some time shuffling the schedule, making sure he could cover Brad’s distribution targets. He’d never up and go without having a plan for this brewery in place. He may be an asshole but he’d never let the beer suffer.
Brad smiled a little wider than usual. “You’re fired,” he said. The big man leaned back, plunked his show-off, steel-toed boots on his desk and laced his fingers over his ample gut.
“Yeah, yeah, we’ve been through this,” Ross said, waving a hand. “Listen, I do need some time off, though. I’ve got the floor covered for the next two weeks.”
“I’m sorry. I guess you’re deaf as well as stupid.”
Ross blinked, realizing that something was, indeed, amiss. As he attempted to keep his cool, he leaned back, matching Brad’s causal stance. “Well, no I’m not deaf. But you know, I figured we were just fucking around. Did I miss something?”
“Let’s see,” Brad said. He flipped on his laptop, clicked around for a few seconds, then turned the thing so Ross could see the screen. “I thought I recalled you denying that you were with her, but, apparently, you are a liar, in addition to being deaf. And stupid.”
Ross leaned forward, squinting and trying to process what he saw on the screen. When he realized it was him, naked, along with some pretty hot chicks, similarly undressed, he groaned.
“We can’t have this sort of crap floating around, now can we, Hoffman?” Brad grinned wider, making Ross think of a gargoyle. A fucking fat-ass gargoyle.
“I didn’t…I mean, it wasn’t something I…” Ross sighed, then clicked his boss’s computer shut and stood. “You know what? Fuck it. You’re just jealous you never scored a party like that.”
Brad’s cheeks and forehead flushed red. His feet thunked to the floor but he remained seated. “You’re a god damned pig, Hoffman, and I want you out the fuck out of my brewery. Don’t come back this time, either.”
“With pleasure,” Ross said, shooting a jaunty little salute, even as his heart thudded. Panic and residual detoxing from whatever drugs that bitch had dosed him with swirled in his veins, making his vision dim. He could sense the man’s fury rolling off him in waves as he headed for the office door. “Oh, and by the way,” he said, turning back to face the fat asshole one last time. “Holly told me about your little problem.” He put on a fake sympathetic sad face. “You know, Brad, I hear that even your cheap-ass insurance program will cover having your micro penis enlarged, ya schlappschwanz.”
“Get out!”
Ross ducked to avoid getting brained by a flying chunk of metal—one of the half dozen awards his beers had garnered for the self-aggrandizing jerk. It smashed through the upper glass part of the door and bounced off the wall opposite, taking out an impressive divot in the drywall. “Sheesh, dude. Temper, temper. I’d hate to have you pop an aneurism. Calm down. I’m going.”
“Don’t even stop at your locker. I’ve already burned all your shit. Get out and don’t look back or I will call the cops.”
“Whatever,” Ross muttered under his breath as he made his way through the large, successful brewery, his home away from home for a damn long time. No one spoke as he stomped across the brewery floor then slammed the metal door behind him. Gulping in a few lungs full of air, he wondered what, exactly, Holly had done to him. Realizing getting pissed off at her at this stage would constitute a waste of everyone’s time, he climbed on his bike and fired it up, relishing the power and noise of it.
He sat a few seconds, pondering the back of the brewery where he thought he’d really, truly made it. His brain felt pinched from the effort not to yell, curse, to track that silly bitch down and shove her face into the wall.
No, Hoffman. Of all the things you are, a woman-beater isn’t one.
“Enough, now,” he said to himself, hitting the throttle and screeching the bike out into the street. “Fucking, enough. Go home where you belong.” But home as he knew it, the way he referenced it, meant more complications than he even wanted to contemplate.