Brock

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  Brock

  Big Easy Bears I

  by

  Becca Fanning

  Chapter 1

  “Okay Gia, today is the day. You are going to have this talk with him and you are going to make him understand. You are going to win this fight,” she said to the face in the mirror. It was a soft, delicate face, so much like her mother’s, but her hair—that dark almost-black-brown—was her father’s, if he’d ever worn it long. “You can do this.” She took a deep breath, smoothed her hair, twisted it back in a professional updo one last time, and stepped out of the bathroom. Down the hall, she could see the clock on the stove. She was running late for work. “Ah, shit.”

  She grabbed her shoes, purse, and phone, and ran for the door.

  Her condo was twenty minutes from work on a good day, twenty-five if all the lights were against her, and if she was lucky she could make it in eighteen. She needed more than luck today, and what she got was a nightmare.

  A road construction project had started, not on her route but just down a side street, and that meant traffic was being detoured onto her usual route, backing traffic up a full light. Another light was down—looked like a traffic accident overnight—and she had to wait to be waved through by a cop. A jerk in a huge black SUV cut her off and then proceeded to slam on his brakes and nearly reverse into her trying to get a parking spot in the curb lane. She slammed on her brakes in turn, and the car behind her almost rear-ended her.

  When she leaned on her horn, he gave her the finger and took up most of her lane as he tried to wiggle his giant vehicle into the moderate-sized spot. The lane beside her was packed, and everyone behind her was moving into what few openings popped up, so she was stuck there until he finally gave up and sped off again. Even with the AC running in the car, she felt hot and flustered by the time she arrived at the office.

  She made it up to her office without further mishap, but her heart was pounding and she was already tasting bitter defeat. Being late wasn’t the way to prove you were ready for bigger and better things. Not that she could tell her boss she considered moving on to another company ‘bigger and better’ than working for him.

  She had her whole argument planned out. She just hoped he would still listen to her.

  “You look rough,” said Carol. Carol’s desk was just across from hers and they often had lunch together.

  Gia rolled her eyes and her shoulders. “The drive in was hell.”

  “Well, he’s waiting for you. Good luck in there. I know how he can be.”

  “Thanks. I really hope this goes well. I don’t want to just quit—it would devastate him.”

  “He’s pretty strong on the whole company loyalty thing, yeah. But you’ve got this.” Carol offered her a reassuring smile and then hurried off, her arms full of papers for copying or shredding or whatever.

  Gia took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and walked up to the wooden door that separated the CEO’s corner office from the rest of the ‘executive floor.’

  “Come in,” said a smooth Cajun voice.

  Gia went in smiling. “Good morning. I hope your drive was better than mine.”

  “Given that you’re late, and that you are never late, I would say yes, undoubtedly. How was your weekend?” Mr. Carosa said. He was seated behind a giant wooden desk. Behind him, New Orleans shimmered in the early autumn heat.

  “Lazy. I needed some time to recharge. And to think. I need to talk to you.”

  “Of course, have a seat.” He gestured to the chair that faced the desk. “What’s troubling you?”

  “You know I’m thankful for this job. You put a lot of trust in me, putting me in an administrative assistant’s position straight out of school, giving me the chance to attend meetings with you, learn from you …”

  “Gia, you’re my daughter, I would support you no matter what path you chose for your life. I was honored you chose to follow me into business.”

  “Right.” She took another deep breath and pushed on. “So, I need you to support me now. There’s only so much I can learn staying in this one position in this one company. I need to leave the company for a while, gain some experience working for someone who doesn’t have the same last name as I do. It wouldn’t be permanent. Once I have enough experience, I could come back. I just don’t see how I can get enough experience to someday be a partner in your business, and eventually CEO in your stead, if I stay here as your personal assistant.”

  “You’re right,” Giancarlo said, smiling at his daughter over steepled fingers.

  “I don’t want you to be mad at me. I’m not abandoning the family enterprise. I’m …”

  “You’re right,” he said again. “Sweetheart, I’ve been thinking the same thing. A friend of mine mentioned that a temp position has opened up, and I thought of you right away. It is for an administrative assistant, but,” he held up a hand to silence her protest, “it’s in politics, not business. If you want to learn something of the cutthroat negotiations of the business world, learn it from politicians. No one knows double-speak, carefully worded promises, and forced diplomacy like a politician.”

  “And after that?” she said, wary.

  He shrugged. “After that, we’ll talk. We’ll see what sort of experience you are interested in gaining and we’ll find you a job that will provide that.”

  “So, this temp position is a proving of sorts?”

  “Not at all. Gia, you have already proven yourself to me. I saw this as an opportunity for you to further your horizons. I only want what is best for you. But there is one thing.”

  “What one thing?”

  “You start today. After lunch. I will manage on my own this morning. You get your desk packed up and your stuff taken home, have a nice lunch, and then you go meet your new boss. I left the information with Sandra at the front.”

  “Thank you.” Relief and excitement washed over her. “Thank you. I thought you’d be angry.”

  “Why should I be angry that my little girl wants to be the best businesswoman in the world? I’m concerned that you’re already planning for my retirement, though.”

  She laughed. “Not for many years, I promise.”

  “Go on then.”

  She grabbed an empty filing box and began filling it with personal items from her desk. Carol looked up from her computer.

  “Fired?” she asked. “Or quit?”

  “Extended leave of absence for professional development purposes,” Gia said with a huge smile on her face.

  Carol cocked an eyebrow.

  “He said yes! He even got me a job. He agreed I needed more experience, different experience. I start a new job today!”

  “Yay!” Carol came around and hugged Gia. “Today? When?”

  “After lunch.”

  “Good, then we’re going for an early lunch to celebrate. What do ya say to that?”

  “I say I’m definitely in. Let me get this stuff loaded, and I do have about an hour worth of work to do before I go, no matter what the big boss man says, and then we’ll go. Okay?”

  “Deal.”

  Gia took the box—mainly dishes, a few photos, and a pair of running shoes, and a change of gym clothes—down to her car. On her way back up, she stopped at Sandra’s desk. “Mr. Carosa said you had a paper for me.” She never called him Dad at work, not unless she and Carol were just chatting about casual stuff. He was Mr. Carosa, sometimes Giancarlo to the other executives, but never ‘my dad.’

  “Here you go,” Sandra said. “I’ll be sorry to see you go.”

  “I’ll be back,” Gia said. “This is just temporary, a chance to stretch my wings a little, make a few connections of my own.”

  “Well, good luck out there.”

  “Thanks.” She grabbed the elevator and on the way up she unfolded the paper. The address ‘1300 Perdido Street’ was written at the top and she frowned at it. Perdido was a long street, but the 1300 block was right in the heart of the city. She looked at the name written beneath it and began to shake. Her hand balled into a fist, crumpling the paper.

  She marched off the elevator, across the executive floor, past Carol, and straight into her father’s office without knocking. He looked up from his computer, startled for a moment, and then amused.

  “What is this?” she said, waving the paper.

  He raised both eyebrows. “I cannot see through paper, nor through your hand. Would you care to tell me what it is?”

  “My working orders,” she snapped. “Would you care to tell me what this is about?”

  “I told you, politics is a great training ground for business.”

  “You want me to work as the administrative assistant to that … that … that thing?” Her breaths were coming in great heaving gasps, driven by outrage and fear. “I can’t,” she said, her voice losing all its conviction. “Dad, I can’t. Not after what happened at the airport.” She still had nightmares of that great beast, bellowing at her, baring its massive teeth, lumbering toward her with those dangerous golden eyes staring right through her. She shook her head, trying to clear what was half memory, half
nightmare, from her mind’s eyes. “Dad …”

  “This man is not the other, Gia. He has never shifted in public. He is a model of courtesy and gentlemanly behavior, and he must be one hell of a politician to get elected in the face of that scandal. You will take this job because you want to learn. Sometimes you work with people you do not like.”

  “You told me yourself never to work too closely with someone you do not trust.”

  “You cannot distrust a man you have never met. It’s a temp position, Gia. You’re not signing on to serve him for life. You’re working for him for a few months. And I’ve already said that you would be there. You can’t disappoint them or embarrass me.”

  “After this is over, I am choosing where to apply for my next job on my own,” she said, anger heating her voice.

  “Of course,” he said. “That’s only fair. You’ll do fine, Gia. You’re smart and capable. Nothing is going to happen to you on this job.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Brock Tandell looked around with a sense of loss. All around him volunteers and staff were busy packing posters and pamphlets into boxes and dismantling computers. He’d rented the storefront on O’Keefe to run his campaign out of, and now campaigning was over. Brock had been the mayor of New Orleans for a week now. The campaign office was no longer needed.

  His cell phone rang and he glanced at it. It felt like the damn thing hadn’t stopped ringing for the last two weeks. He saw the name on the screen and smiled as he answered. “Marsha, how are you doing?”

  “Hey Brock, we’re all settled in. Thanks for the use of the apartment.”

  “I won’t be in New York on business for a while, not with the circus going on here, so you’re welcome to stay a while. Probably cheaper than a hotel. How long are you planning to be up there?”

  “Uh, you know, I don’t really know. This stuff with my sister happened pretty quickly, you know. I’ll talk to her tomorrow and maybe then I’ll have a better idea. You don’t need me back, uh, right away, do you?”

  She was talking too fast. Brock’s assistant, Marsha, was a level-headed woman who had handled the media around his campaign and his accidental outing as a shifter the same way she handled ordering lunch. Something was amiss.

  “Marsha, are you sure everything is okay? You didn’t run into trouble along the way, did you? Is there something wrong with the apartment?”

  “No. Of course not. I’m just concerned for my sister. We were very close growing up. She’s all the family I have.”

  He could hear the lie in her voice. If she’d been standing there, he’d have seen it plain on her face, smelled it on her, but here or there it didn’t matter. She had her reasons for wanting to keep him at a distance on this. Hell, he could think of a dozen reasons she wouldn’t want a shifter involved in her sister’s affairs, and he respected her too much as a co-worker and as a friend to push her on it. “All right. I’m sorry. I’m just worried about you. Anything you need, you just call me, all right? And your job will be here waiting for you when you get back.”

  “Oh yeah, about the temp,” Marsha said.

  “What about her?” Brock rumbled. He already didn’t like the idea of learning to work with someone new; the thought of complications scraped at him.

  “Don’t sleep with her.”

  “Ha ha, very funny. Did I ever make a move for you?”

  “No, but you were always afraid of my husband.”

  Her husband was a large man, but it had been a long time since Brock had lost a fist fight. Having the strength of a bear inside you had some perks. Still, he smiled. “You’re right. Say hi to Brad for me. I’ll see you when you get back.”

  “Yeah.” She sounded tired. “Okay.”

  He ended the call and clipped the phone back on his belt. Most of the work was being done without him, he didn’t actually need to be there to supervise, but he’d spent a lot of time with these people over the last two months. Most of them he wouldn’t see until it was time for his re-election campaign in four years, if he wasn’t impeached before then. It had been relaxing working alongside them, chatting about kids and the start of the new school year and the upcoming general election in a few months.

  He walked back toward the front of the storefront, and that’s when he spotted her. There was a lot of traffic on O’Keefe, both cars and pedestrians, people of all walks of life, but something about her stood out. She wore a white blouse with a high-waisted red skirt and a matching short jacket. Her shoes and handbag were the same shade of red. Her dark hair was up in a simple twist held in place with a red clip—he saw it when she turned to check both ways for traffic.

  That made him smile as she looked left, then right, then left again. O’Keefe was one way. That she was crossing mid-street, right in front of his office, set off bells. She was making a beeline for him, he could tell. Being a predator himself, he recognized when someone was on the hunt. He moved toward the door, intending to meet her there to intercept her. The office was officially closed. He was officially on lunch break. He didn’t want to talk to anyone else from the media—not today.

  She crossed the street with all the haste her skirt and heels allowed her, reaching the safety of the parked cars on his side just as a delivery truck barreled along behind her.

  He opened the door. She looked up at him and smiled, and then her shoe caught on the uneven curb and she spilled toward him. Instinct took over and he let go of the door, closing the distance between them fast enough that he caught her before she scraped her knees and put a run in her stockings.

  Was she even wearing stockings? She had great legs, but professionalism demanded he not look too close or consider what might be under the skirt either way.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Yes. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She looked at the sidewalk and crouched down suddenly, pulling her arm free of his hand.