brandon-foster

[brandon-foster]

“I wouldn’t have to be desperate. Just that I’m not.” Trying to make it clear he didn’t want her only made him sound like he did even more, which he didn’t bother to dig deeper, a wound better left to fester in later hours. “Oh cause of my haircut?” He assumed, remembering how much she hated when he cut his hair but really it could have just been founded in his own insecurities. Like a second nature, she had a talent for making him second guess himself and focus on what might be wrong with him as if there wasn’t enough already. What made things even worse was that it worked, and how much he still cared that it did.

“I hate sending emails.” He shot back, though with much less malice than before. She seemed like she might be relenting which in and of itself was more than a blessing than being right. It was always easier to let her win. He bargained it was half the reason they stayed together as long as they did. He didn’t mind it, most of the time. Not even now. “Don’t make it seem like I blow up your phone all the time. And it’s always only work stuff so,” he gestured like he might have something else to say but left it hanging in the air.

“Rich like palette wise, or are we talking expenses?” This was the stuff he was good at, and he leaned into his work, suddenly comfortable where he excelled. “Well, no. It’s an appetizer, so the dish is an opener and it’s really just to make them hungrier.” He worked his hands in the air like he might be explaining the words better with them. “Edamame can be bland, even with smaller grains. The larger grains are better cause they can elevate the taste, they’re prone to buying more drinks. It’s a snack so while they’re browsing the entrees they’ll feel like ordering more.” Not wanting it to sound like she knew any less, he corrected himself. “I get where you’re coming from. It’s opinion based - honestly. Just wanted to get your opinion.”

He wouldn’t lie and say that the mere sliver of a mention of something she liked that he did didn’t get him. It was in those rare moments where he felt closest to her - and some of those moments in which he felt the most useful, the most memorable. It reminded him of a time where they weren’t always fighting, when he could excel at something and actually impress her. It’s probably why he had her come here, because the only times he felt more like a man was when she looked at him like one. “I can squash the whole idea.” Now he was backtracking, as if the difference of an ingredient would fix it all if it would please her. “I thought you liked change.” He tried to roll back on his words, using his hands in expression. “Innovation.” He started to look down at the dish like it might have been a failure. “I liked the asparagus. It was perfect to me, the food..” He muddled it over, feeling a twist in his side at the way her lip curled over a tiny bit. “Do you… I can make it for you now, the way you liked it? Are you hungry?”

Even through tight lips and gritted teeth, it was nice to hear his old nickname slip between her lips, like even when she was angry a part of her still remembered. “No one said desperate.” He took offense to the suggestion, as if there were so many other brunettes with accents in his immediate vicinity. “You don’t have to be desperate to sleep with me, just angry. Which you are more than the half the time, so you can understand my confusion.” Of course he knew well enough to know that the embarrassment of admitting her slip-ups was worse than the act itself. It was just easier for him to say it out loud, because he wasn’t afraid of the equal lapse of judgment.

“Relax I’m not desperate.” He shot back, repeating her words back to her with a concentrated annoyance. “If I wanted you on top of me I wouldn’t send you an email, I’m not a fucking dork.” Displeased by how disgusted she seemed to be at the prospect of having sex with him, or even being involved, Brandon knew some part of him was taking it personally, and he knew that part of her thoroughly enjoyed it. He also knew that if he was truly was only staff to her she wouldn’t be mouthing off to him this way. When she needed to be, she was always professional. He knew he still got under her skin, and a reaction was better than none because it meant some part of her still cared. “We’re not getting business phones so we can use them to communicate between the two of us. We have the phone for the restaurant, we’re not gonna tie up the line by screaming at each other over food samples.”

He was at least making a plea for his case, and knew that at the end of the day the last thing they needed was funds distributed to more of their spats. “Yeah,” he chided in with sarcasm laid on thick. “I had questions. It’s different to taste something than to look at it in a picture I know that concept may seem foreign to you.” His hands worked themselves in the air with mocking gestures, a petty trait she had the habit of pulling out of him. “Don’t get a business phone, we don’t need it. Don’t waste any of your allowance on it. I’m good.”

Brandon knew well enough the deep root of their separation was the thing she mentioned now, and he knew she knew it bugged him. It was one thing to date a woman who was well off without him, but a whole other to not be a provider. It was a shame he hadn’t worn gracefully. He had always been aware of the fact that the likelihood of being richer than her parents was slim, but the fact that he failed to give her a decent and comfortable situation always stung. As a man he felt he’d failed, and she never let him forget it.

As much as Brandon wanted to chime in that she had been saying much worse to him, he relented knowing the tone in her voice was a more serious indication that she was no longer interested in fighting, which was enough for him to let it be. He let out a heavy sigh and moved to the fridge and then the warm ovens, setting down a few plates in front of her. “I added truffle to the edamame, there’s like, heavier salt on it, I think it adds to the taste.” He was scratching the back of his head one he’d placed the dishes at her attention, suddenly insecure about something he’d been so sure of before. “I pickled the cucumber for the salmon and teriyaki so there’s better texture. The steak is the same, it’s medium so it’s the way you like it just has chili now. Everyone else tried it, they thought it was pretty good but I didn’t want to put it on the rollout without your approval.” He was looking at her with a tinge of needing validation for his work, even minuscule in ration as he leaned on the stainless steel surface, awaiting her response to his additions.

[brandon-foster]

Even through tight lips and gritted teeth, it was nice to hear his old nickname slip between her lips, like even when she was angry a part of her still remembered. “No one said desperate.” He took offense to the suggestion, as if there were so many other brunettes with accents in his immediate vicinity. “You don’t have to be desperate to sleep with me, just angry. Which you are more than the half the time, so you can understand my confusion.” Of course he knew well enough to know that the embarrassment of admitting her slip-ups was worse than the act itself. It was just easier for him to say it out loud, because he wasn’t afraid of the equal lapse of judgment.

“Relax I’m not desperate.” He shot back, repeating her words back to her with a concentrated annoyance. “If I wanted you on top of me I wouldn’t send you an email, I’m not a fucking dork.” Displeased by how disgusted she seemed to be at the prospect of having sex with him, or even being involved, Brandon knew some part of him was taking it personally, and he knew that part of her thoroughly enjoyed it. He also knew that if he was truly was only staff to her she wouldn’t be mouthing off to him this way. When she needed to be, she was always professional. He knew he still got under her skin, and a reaction was better than none because it meant some part of her still cared. “We’re not getting business phones so we can use them to communicate between the two of us. We have the phone for the restaurant, we’re not gonna tie up the line by screaming at each other over food samples.”

He was at least making a plea for his case, and knew that at the end of the day the last thing they needed was funds distributed to more of their spats. “Yeah,” he chided in with sarcasm laid on thick. “I had questions. It’s different to taste something than to look at it in a picture I know that concept may seem foreign to you.” His hands worked themselves in the air with mocking gestures, a petty trait she had the habit of pulling out of him. “Don’t get a business phone, we don’t need it. Don’t waste any of your allowance on it. I’m good.”

Brandon knew well enough the deep root of their separation was the thing she mentioned now, and he knew she knew it bugged him. It was one thing to date a woman who was well off without him, but a whole other to not be a provider. It was a shame he hadn’t worn gracefully. He had always been aware of the fact that the likelihood of being richer than her parents was slim, but the fact that he failed to give her a decent and comfortable situation always stung. As a man he felt he’d failed, and she never let him forget it.

As much as Brandon wanted to chime in that she had been saying much worse to him, he relented knowing the tone in her voice was a more serious indication that she was no longer interested in fighting, which was enough for him to let it be. He let out a heavy sigh and moved to the fridge and then the warm ovens, setting down a few plates in front of her. “I added truffle to the edamame, there’s like, heavier salt on it, I think it adds to the taste.” He was scratching the back of his head one he’d placed the dishes at her attention, suddenly insecure about something he’d been so sure of before. “I pickled the cucumber for the salmon and teriyaki so there’s better texture. The steak is the same, it’s medium so it’s the way you like it just has chili now. Everyone else tried it, they thought it was pretty good but I didn’t want to put it on the rollout without your approval.” He was looking at her with a tinge of needing validation for his work, even minuscule in ration as he leaned on the stainless steel surface, awaiting her response to his additions.

“180.” He bellowed back at her, acutely bothered by her mention of his struggle with his fluctuating weight. “180 pounds.” He reinforced his point, eyes darting at her. He knew he was probably 185 pushing 190 the way his shirts started to fit a little more snug, but to assume he was any heavier was a slight she knew he’d clock. Typical. “A bit of both, if I’m being honest.”

Brandon moved around the office in a brief pace, finally settling his back in a leaned pose against the wall, closing the door so that the outside party could hear less than they would through the paper thin walls. “You treat me like staff. Because now apparently all of our communication has to be through telegrams and smoke signals in the sky.” Now he was rambling. “Does it count as using your position of power if you’ve slept with me after our separation? Cause that happened once or twice if I can remember.”

His eyebrows rose as she spoke, mouth open as if he was going to be able to interrupt her long bit of newfound complaints. He tried almost a hundred times to interject, quickly met with another snap as he struggled to find the words. “If you’d answer your phone maybe you would have known that I have been working on them. I had..questions,” he wagged his hand in the air like he was passing on the idea already.

“About the variations, we were trying to figure it out, whatever. And if you hadn’t come in here guns blazing like the one call I miss from you and the million unanswered of mine are somehow equivalent, then you would know that I was working on them today. They’re in the kitchen.” He scratched the back of his neck with irritation. His scrunched his fingers at her words. “Your daddy could care less about who you’re with as long as they have multiple homes and a Roth IRA. Cause no one’s as good as home, I learned that right away. You could go home with Shrek as long as he’s got connections to old money. Long as he looks good on paper. That’s why you came home with me cause I actually gave a shit where you laid your head at night not that you give one. Forgive me for being a concerned business associate.” He shook his head and fixated his eyes on the ground, tone settling as if it wasn’t raised in defiance moments before. “I sent you pictures of the food, too.”

[brandon-foster]

“180.” He bellowed back at her, acutely bothered by her mention of his struggle with his fluctuating weight. “180 pounds.” He reinforced his point, eyes darting at her. He knew he was probably 185 pushing 190 the way his shirts started to fit a little more snug, but to assume he was any heavier was a slight she knew he’d clock. Typical. “A bit of both, if I’m being honest.”

Brandon moved around the office in a brief pace, finally settling his back in a leaned pose against the wall, closing the door so that the outside party could hear less than they would through the paper thin walls. “You treat me like staff. Because now apparently all of our communication has to be through telegrams and smoke signals in the sky.” Now he was rambling. “Does it count as using your position of power if you’ve slept with me after our separation? Cause that happened once or twice if I can remember.”

His eyebrows rose as she spoke, mouth open as if he was going to be able to interrupt her long bit of newfound complaints. He tried almost a hundred times to interject, quickly met with another snap as he struggled to find the words. “If you’d answer your phone maybe you would have known that I have been working on them. I had..questions,” he wagged his hand in the air like he was passing on the idea already.

“About the variations, we were trying to figure it out, whatever. And if you hadn’t come in here guns blazing like the one call I miss from you and the million unanswered of mine are somehow equivalent, then you would know that I was working on them today. They’re in the kitchen.” He scratched the back of his neck with irritation. His scrunched his fingers at her words. “Your daddy could care less about who you’re with as long as they have multiple homes and a Roth IRA. Cause no one’s as good as home, I learned that right away. You could go home with Shrek as long as he’s got connections to old money. Long as he looks good on paper. That’s why you came home with me cause I actually gave a shit where you laid your head at night not that you give one. Forgive me for being a concerned business associate.” He shook his head and fixated his eyes on the ground, tone settling as if it wasn’t raised in defiance moments before. “I sent you pictures of the food, too.”

She was always a busy body. In a state of constant movement, Addy was always looking for the next thing to do. It was with the small stuff as much as the big, and he often found that in life she could hardly stay still in one place. Now it just seemed like she was repelled by him, making efforts to move around him and in anywhere he wasn’t. “You’re right, just answer the one. You got lots to choose from, take your pick.” There was a particular kind of humiliation he felt having to beg her for a text or call back, but it wasn’t the worst he’d ever suffered.

“Since when?” He huffed, fed up with excuses she kept pulling out of a hat. She’d always been good at deflecting. At least now he had less reason to watch his mouth. “Probably would help to not be sleeping with your staff but we won’t mention that cause god forbid we shed a bad light on you and not me.” Brandon found himself frustrated, wanting her to get to the core of what her aggravation was. Usually it was him, but even now she seemed less annoyed by his actions, which only made him feel worse. “I know you’re not lecturing me about the movie you caught the second half of after falling asleep.” He sighed, scratching the back of his head with sudden irritation. “Why you wanna watch a movie?” He asked almost optimistically, a false hope lingering ahead.

“Well we’re business partners, right? I deserve to know who may or not be in and out of our shared business.” He knew he didn’t deserve the right, but the objections came as soon as they formed in his brain and cared little for how it sounded coming out. “Alright relax.” Now he was shaking his head, almost as if with disappointment, where it mostly lived in his own insecurities. “Do with them.” He said under his breath, almost upset, laughing in a humorless manner. At least it was them instead of a singular him.

“I’m not getting jealous, it’s the principle.” His words came out like a long, fast train of thought. “Ignoring texts from your business partner so you can go on all these dates isn’t suitable behavior for someone who supposedly wants to run a successful business. And make a dig all you want about the lights maybe ask yourself what kind of real elbow grease has to go into this place when you’re off playing the bachelorette.”

[brandon-foster]

She was always a busy body. In a state of constant movement, Addy was always looking for the next thing to do. It was with the small stuff as much as the big, and he often found that in life she could hardly stay still in one place. Now it just seemed like she was repelled by him, making efforts to move around him and in anywhere he wasn’t. “You’re right, just answer the one. You got lots to choose from, take your pick.” There was a particular kind of humiliation he felt having to beg her for a text or call back, but it wasn’t the worst he’d ever suffered.

“Since when?” He huffed, fed up with excuses she kept pulling out of a hat. She’d always been good at deflecting. At least now he had less reason to watch his mouth. “Probably would help to not be sleeping with your staff but we won’t mention that cause god forbid we shed a bad light on you and not me.” Brandon found himself frustrated, wanting her to get to the core of what her aggravation was. Usually it was him, but even now she seemed less annoyed by his actions, which only made him feel worse. “I know you’re not lecturing me about the movie you caught the second half of after falling asleep.” He sighed, scratching the back of his head with sudden irritation. “Why you wanna watch a movie?” He asked almost optimistically, a false hope lingering ahead.

“Well we’re business partners, right? I deserve to know who may or not be in and out of our shared business.” He knew he didn’t deserve the right, but the objections came as soon as they formed in his brain and cared little for how it sounded coming out. “Alright relax.” Now he was shaking his head, almost as if with disappointment, where it mostly lived in his own insecurities. “Do with them.” He said under his breath, almost upset, laughing in a humorless manner. At least it was them instead of a singular him.

“I’m not getting jealous, it’s the principle.” His words came out like a long, fast train of thought. “Ignoring texts from your business partner so you can go on all these dates isn’t suitable behavior for someone who supposedly wants to run a successful business. And make a dig all you want about the lights maybe ask yourself what kind of real elbow grease has to go into this place when you’re off playing the bachelorette.”

“My bus- My business email?” He dejected the idea entirely, offended even that she would think that he would be checking something like that. In fact, she knew he wouldn’t and it was probably why she did it. Addy was in the business of finding new loopholes to get around having to actually talk to him. He wouldn’t be surprised if one day she started sending him letters. “Can you be serious?” His hand went out to add on to gesture how ridiculous the notion even was. “Send me a telegraph, I’d read that first.”

She wasted no time between his interjections to add more of her own, spouting off some nonsense about paying attention to business when they had the same phone numbers for nearly a decade. Her accent poured out of her mouth as fresh as the day they’d met, thicker than usual. “Well if I wanted to keep up with my business partner maybe you shouldn’t block me.” He mocked her, following her movements even if he stood on the other side of the room, like he might be pacing. “I gotta put something and add it to my calendar fine, I shouldn’t have to put in a ticket to talk to you.” His hands were moving as he spoke, animated.

“Okay so you admit this is personal and not business?” A grin had joined the enlightened eyebrows as they stretched into his forehead with suspense, and the smile he wore was one of disbelief and less of joy of which he felt very little. “Okay, first of all I don’t even text you that much, relax. I’m not sending you a GD email to get in touch with you, you’ve literally seen my bare ass be serious right now. We’re not in high school.”

She didn’t seem any more inclined to reason with him on the basis of pure pettiness, encouraging an exhausted groan on his end. Her mouth had pursed in a straight line, eyes narrowing in his direction. Although now, he wasn’t quick to bite back at the onslaught of what she had to say because he was more in disarray at one little bit among the rest. “You weren’t answering me cause you were on dates?” You would think the last question would sound as full of anger as the rest, but it came out quieter than his previous ramblings. It wasn’t enough to seem meek but enough to conceal from the ears of others. “You’re not going out with someone I know..?” It was a pointed question, like it may be seeking out an answer in search of another. “Good luck with those, I hope your dates have a smooth transition between your receptionist and whatever chat gpt pencils them in for appointments. Do you wait for the first or second date to warn them about the thorough probing of a background check your father does, that’s probably important.”

[brandon-foster]

“My bus- My business email?” He dejected the idea entirely, offended even that she would think that he would be checking something like that. In fact, she knew he wouldn’t and it was probably why she did it. Addy was in the business of finding new loopholes to get around having to actually talk to him. He wouldn’t be surprised if one day she started sending him letters. “Can you be serious?” His hand went out to add on to gesture how ridiculous the notion even was. “Send me a telegraph, I’d read that first.”

She wasted no time between his interjections to add more of her own, spouting off some nonsense about paying attention to business when they had the same phone numbers for nearly a decade. Her accent poured out of her mouth as fresh as the day they’d met, thicker than usual. “Well if I wanted to keep up with my business partner maybe you shouldn’t block me.” He mocked her, following her movements even if he stood on the other side of the room, like he might be pacing. “I gotta put something and add it to my calendar fine, I shouldn’t have to put in a ticket to talk to you.” His hands were moving as he spoke, animated.

“Okay so you admit this is personal and not business?” A grin had joined the enlightened eyebrows as they stretched into his forehead with suspense, and the smile he wore was one of disbelief and less of joy of which he felt very little. “Okay, first of all I don’t even text you that much, relax. I’m not sending you a GD email to get in touch with you, you’ve literally seen my bare ass be serious right now. We’re not in high school.”

She didn’t seem any more inclined to reason with him on the basis of pure pettiness, encouraging an exhausted groan on his end. Her mouth had pursed in a straight line, eyes narrowing in his direction. Although now, he wasn’t quick to bite back at the onslaught of what she had to say because he was more in disarray at one little bit among the rest. “You weren’t answering me cause you were on dates?” You would think the last question would sound as full of anger as the rest, but it came out quieter than his previous ramblings. It wasn’t enough to seem meek but enough to conceal from the ears of others. “You’re not going out with someone I know..?” It was a pointed question, like it may be seeking out an answer in search of another. “Good luck with those, I hope your dates have a smooth transition between your receptionist and whatever chat gpt pencils them in for appointments. Do you wait for the first or second date to warn them about the thorough probing of a background check your father does, that’s probably important.”

Her hand had half completed its journey to pound again at the steel doors, stopping when they swung open. Addy barreled on in, guns blazing with no real regard or care for the argument happening in the room over. She knew enough of the staff to not butt in, although for her sake it was less of a headache that way. Despite the fact that they’d been at odd ends for some time, no one else really keyed in with his side of things and greeted her with the same warmth as the day they’d gotten married. “Not as convenient as you stepping away for a week without notice. I’d like to make unannounced leaves of absence too, but then I remember it’s only okay when you do it.”

The words all but made it out just before they’d made it to the office, where he shuffled behind her as she beelined for the room with payroll and financial documents were, chair still warm from when he’d sat stumped for ages in his own head. He did his best to wait until they’d made it in the small room to argue, still holding onto the idea that their arguments should be theirs alone and not for everyone’s ears. That hardly mattered when they got into their tiffs, screaming matches besting through the thin walls.

“I never said that,” he drudged behind her, already sighing into the palm of his hand as it traveled down his beard in slight aggravation. It was a soft spot for him she knew hurt, a slight he had no bearings on controlling seeing as her father’s money financially governed the restaurant anyway. “Don’t bust my balls, Addy..” he shook his head, looking back to make sure no one else was coat tailing their conversation. “That’s not what this is about. I haven’t seen you.” He didn’t mention the fact that he’d checked her active status on what few socials they shared left, probably once too many times. Old habits die hard. “You’d get pissed I told you over the phone.” He tried to defend himself. “And it’s not about the money. I can’t even get in touch with you, it’s like you shut me out and get mad I don’t reach out. You don’t get to be cold and come in all hot and treat me like the bad guy. I’ve been here. Where have you been?”

[brandon-foster]

Her hand had half completed its journey to pound again at the steel doors, stopping when they swung open. Addy barreled on in, guns blazing with no real regard or care for the argument happening in the room over. She knew enough of the staff to not butt in, although for her sake it was less of a headache that way. Despite the fact that they’d been at odd ends for some time, no one else really keyed in with his side of things and greeted her with the same warmth as the day they’d gotten married. “Not as convenient as you stepping away for a week without notice. I’d like to make unannounced leaves of absence too, but then I remember it’s only okay when you do it.”

The words all but made it out just before they’d made it to the office, where he shuffled behind her as she beelined for the room with payroll and financial documents were, chair still warm from when he’d sat stumped for ages in his own head. He did his best to wait until they’d made it in the small room to argue, still holding onto the idea that their arguments should be theirs alone and not for everyone’s ears. That hardly mattered when they got into their tiffs, screaming matches besting through the thin walls.

“I never said that,” he drudged behind her, already sighing into the palm of his hand as it traveled down his beard in slight aggravation. It was a soft spot for him she knew hurt, a slight he had no bearings on controlling seeing as her father’s money financially governed the restaurant anyway. “Don’t bust my balls, Addy..” he shook his head, looking back to make sure no one else was coat tailing their conversation. “That’s not what this is about. I haven’t seen you.” He didn’t mention the fact that he’d checked her active status on what few socials they shared left, probably once too many times. Old habits die hard. “You’d get pissed I told you over the phone.” He tried to defend himself. “And it’s not about the money. I can’t even get in touch with you, it’s like you shut me out and get mad I don’t reach out. You don’t get to be cold and come in all hot and treat me like the bad guy. I’ve been here. Where have you been?”

There was a chorus of sounds erupting from every pot and overhead pipe. It was almost like white noise at this point. Brandon had gone over the budget at least a hundred times, but somehow there was always something he missed. Collaborative efforts from maintenance workers or rather his friends and family, piled on top of the other noises. That did nothing to irritate him, at least not as much as his current standing did. The books needed a serious undertaking, and to make matters worse, they were going to be further behind than they already were.

The business had started with good intentions. Owning a restaurant had been his dream for a time, and while he wasn’t the most skilled chef on staff he was the best at working with others. His memory had been impeccable, always remembering customers, on top of strengths and weaknesses in his own kitchen and where to place new pieces. And for a time, it worked. It went without saying that many things had changed since then, the central most significant probably being the very thing that could make or break him, and did. Business was slowing, the decreasing traffic no doubt due to a new problem arising nearly every week. Brandon would never entertain the idea that he needed another person to help, much less ask for the help. Even if he never said it or even mustered the thought, it was obvious to everyone but him. It was missing the overhead direction of someone who wasn’t passing on logging books on account of being hungover.

Brandon was too stubborn and stuck in his pride to ask for the help he probably needed, but never picked up the phone to do so. Someone in another room dropped an object with a clumsy curse spat in the air, followed by the sound of splitting glass into marble tile. His eyes rolled and he let out a defeated sigh, mentally drained enough to let whatever damage occurred in the other room subside. He dropped a heavy head into his palms, the pen between his fingers dropping on the desk below him. As if it were routine, Brandon asked himself if this was what he really wanted, if it was even feasible. Sometimes it felt like he was keeping the location just for the spite.

Already he heard their guilty whispers and attempts to clean whatever mess they made before he noticed, but someone else had already arrived. Someone worse to face the repercussions of a mess, someone whose father probably funded whatever they ruined in there. He knew she was here because the buzzer had been held for just the right amount of time she knew would piss him off, enough time for his clumsy “maintenance” workers to get the hint that they really fucked up, to which they shuffled around in a panic. It was just the icing on the cake that they had changed the locks.

Trading one stress for another, Brandon quickly moved from the squeaky desk chair to head for the back door, wiping his hands on his black apron almost like a forethought. He mentally prepared for the vitriol she was about to spit at him for even changing the locks without telling her, a move he’d forgotten to share with her due to complacency.

“Fuck. My bad. ” When he did prop the silver door open he leaned, placing the other arm of the wall for foundation. “Locksmith came a few days ago, I forgot to give you the extra keys.” He gruffed, moving out so she could come in, as if that would do anything to appease her. Already in his mind he tried to figure out how to get her through the kitchen to his office without the presence of glass. “I didn’t know if you were coming in to do the deposit, you should’ve called, I haven’t seen you in like, two weeks. Its just a..bad time right now.”

[brandon-foster]

There was a chorus of sounds erupting from every pot and overhead pipe. It was almost like white noise at this point. Brandon had gone over the budget at least a hundred times, but somehow there was always something he missed. Collaborative efforts from maintenance workers or rather his friends and family, piled on top of the other noises. That did nothing to irritate him, at least not as much as his current standing did. The books needed a serious undertaking, and to make matters worse, they were going to be further behind than they already were.

The business had started with good intentions. Owning a restaurant had been his dream for a time, and while he wasn’t the most skilled chef on staff he was the best at working with others. His memory had been impeccable, always remembering customers, on top of strengths and weaknesses in his own kitchen and where to place new pieces. And for a time, it worked. It went without saying that many things had changed since then, the central most significant probably being the very thing that could make or break him, and did. Business was slowing, the decreasing traffic no doubt due to a new problem arising nearly every week. Brandon would never entertain the idea that he needed another person to help, much less ask for the help. Even if he never said it or even mustered the thought, it was obvious to everyone but him. It was missing the overhead direction of someone who wasn’t passing on logging books on account of being hungover.

Brandon was too stubborn and stuck in his pride to ask for the help he probably needed, but never picked up the phone to do so. Someone in another room dropped an object with a clumsy curse spat in the air, followed by the sound of splitting glass into marble tile. His eyes rolled and he let out a defeated sigh, mentally drained enough to let whatever damage occurred in the other room subside. He dropped a heavy head into his palms, the pen between his fingers dropping on the desk below him. As if it were routine, Brandon asked himself if this was what he really wanted, if it was even feasible. Sometimes it felt like he was keeping the location just for the spite.

Already he heard their guilty whispers and attempts to clean whatever mess they made before he noticed, but someone else had already arrived. Someone worse to face the repercussions of a mess, someone whose father probably funded whatever they ruined in there. He knew she was here because the buzzer had been held for just the right amount of time she knew would piss him off, enough time for his clumsy “maintenance” workers to get the hint that they really fucked up, to which they shuffled around in a panic. It was just the icing on the cake that they had changed the locks.

Trading one stress for another, Brandon quickly moved from the squeaky desk chair to head for the back door, wiping his hands on his black apron almost like a forethought. He mentally prepared for the vitriol she was about to spit at him for even changing the locks without telling her, a move he’d forgotten to share with her due to complacency.

“Fuck. My bad. ” When he did prop the silver door open he leaned, placing the other arm of the wall for foundation. “Locksmith came a few days ago, I forgot to give you the extra keys.” He gruffed, moving out so she could come in, as if that would do anything to appease her. Already in his mind he tried to figure out how to get her through the kitchen to his office without the presence of glass. “I didn’t know if you were coming in to do the deposit, you should’ve called, I haven’t seen you in like, two weeks. Its just a..bad time right now.”