Page 40 of Expecting an Argument
I concentrated on hydrating so I wouldn’t have to look at him. Once he disappeared, I watched the numbers on the pump climb and climb. Since he was a modern oil baron, I couldn’t imagine Beau was too concerned with buying the most expensive gas possible. Hell, Fontaine Energy probably supplied the gas.
Of course, that would depend on which gas station we had stopped at.
I rolled down my window and stuck my head out to get a better look at the sign. I spotted a green dinosaur on the sign—StegCo. I didn’t know much about them, not like…
I turned my head and instantly scowled. I knew my old nemesis was near. Just across the street was that ugly red geometric logo that some shitty focus group had thought made an acceptable “H.”
Fucking Herringbone. Their station was advertising prices that undercut the StegCo station by ten cents becauseof coursethey were. A $98 million verdict wasn’t enough. I should have asked that jury formuchmore.
Fueled by the hatred in my heart, I flipped off the Herringbone station just as the driver’s side door shut.
Beau settled in the driver’s seat and set the plastic bag of snacks on the console. “Is that for me?”
I put down my middle finger as a hot flush crept across my cheekbones. “No! That was for Herringbone. My verdict against them was what my $2.9 million bonus came out of.”
Beau raised his eyebrows and started to drive away from the gas station. “You sued Herringbone and won? What happened?”
A little yellow butterfly in my chest fluttered its wings. I could have talked for hours about everything that went on in the Herringbone case, but this was the first time Beau wantedto really speak to me since Christmas and I didn’t want to risk annoying him.
“Long story short,” I said, “Herringbone made a bunch of contracts with smaller companies they never intended to fulfill. Enough of the smaller companies got together and sued for the money they were owed, money from lost business due to the non-payment, and…”
Oh, might as well brag.
“I pissed off the jury enough with Herringbone’s history of shady business deals that they awarded a few million extra as a ‘fuck you.’”
Beau laughed. “Damn, sugar. You kicked them in the teeth.”
I took a sip of my water to keep from blushing. “Well, one of the partners did most of the trial. I did the grunt work before and after…but I still got to get up in front of the jury and yell about how shitty Herringbone was.”
Beau changed lanes and sped up. “That’s what happens when a company is publicly traded. When you promise your stock holders continuous growth quarter after quarter, a lot of businesses will do anything to raise profits. It’s why Fontaine Energy is still family-owned. We can take some losses every now and again for the ultimate health of the company because we have no one to answer to but ourselves.”
Made sense why Beau was so concerned about heirs, then. I imagined our babies in matching pinstripe suits, sitting at tiny desks and…doing whatever Beau does.
“Where did you go at Christmas?” I asked. “You’ve never actually explained what you do for the company.”
His jaw clenched and I studied the passing billboards on the side of the highway as I waited for him to answer. Maybe he really was attending that masked orgy like Ashley had suspected.
He cleared his throat. “So, my dad runs the company as theCEO, but he doesn’t get out much. My grandpa used to go out to the oil fields and offshore rigs to meet with the managers and shake hands with some of the workers. I started going in his place during the last year of his life and I’ve been doing it ever since. It builds unity and loyalty to the brand when you can put a face to the Fontaine name.”
We passed a Lindsay University billboard, featuring their goofy felt Crimson Knight that danced on the sidelines at games. “So…you’re like the company mascot?”
“No, I take important business matters into consideration and…” He sighed. “Yeah. I’m like the company mascot.”
Well, that’s a little embarrassing.
I rattled the ice in my cup and took a drink. “Mascots are good for morale.”
“Exactly, and that’s what I was doing at Christmas,” he explained. “I flew down to the gulf and met with all the managers of our offshore rigs so they could air out all their concerns. And for all the rig workers who didn’t get to go home for the holidays, I rented out this huge dance hall on Christmas day and threw a massive party. Every year, I pay for an open bar, grazing tables full of barbecue and seafood, and tons of door prizes that the company gives out through the night.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s…a good time—like I’m fraternity president again and everyone likes me. We have low turnover on our rigs compared to everyone else and I like to think the Christmas party is a big reason why.”
“But then I had to fall down a hill and spoil the party this year?”
He shrugged. “I had already made my big ‘thank you for working for us’ speech. Everyone had their alcohol and food by then, so they probably didn’t miss me too much when I had to run out.”
My stomach growled a little at the mention of food. I draggedthe plastic bag from the gas station into my lap and inspected the snack haul—carrot sticks and beef jerky. Was he joking?
“Can we pull over at the next gas station?” I asked. “I have to use the bathroom.”
