Disgruntled

This is a work of fiction. All characters, locations, events,
and situations in this book are the product of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
persons living or dead, events, or locations is purely

Numbers Never Lie
Bring It On
The Designated Driver’s Club

My love and adoration to my parents, Bob and Agnes Kurtz,
who have taught me what hard work, respect, kindness, and
loyalty really means—and more importantly what it can
achieve. My sincerest thanks to my friends, Cindy Davis and
Carol Bland, for their fantastic advice and support.

Reva Zamora shivered from the chill that always rushed over
her when Brent Huber was around. Why was he so creepy
when the rest of her coworkers thought he was practically a
saint?
She
realized
she
shouldn’t
be
judgmental.
Her
counselor had told her she needed to stop distrusting the
world, or in this case, him. One bad experience from the
past shouldn’t be allowed to taint future ones.
She hadn’t been able to cross that bridge.
Instead, she stopped seeing the counselor. Her instincts had
always served her well in the past.
They saved her life in
fact. She decided to trust them more than a complete
stranger that used statistics versus personal knowledge. How
could she possibly understand what Reva had been through?
Brent looked over his desk with dead eyes, “Have you ever
used a gun for therapy, Reva?”
The desk was piled high with paper and electronic parts. His
computer monitor glared from behind him, framing his
solemn face in a blue glow. The picture was nothing less
than eerie, made even more so by his question. She assumed
that was why he had asked it.
“Not really, but I own a gun,” Reva chose not to admit that
it had never been used, and she was thankful it had not.
There was a time when it was her closest companion and the
fear that drove the purchase had weighed heavily.
She
recognized
something
when
she
glanced
over
his
shoulder at the blue screen. Icons. She narrowed her eyes
and focused. Her desktop. Brent had remoted into her
desktop, and opened her files. He was snooping through her
employee data. It was there plain as day.
“You want to tell me what that is?” She pointed at his
screen, trying to ignore the hairs on her arm that prickled as
she raised it.
“Work.” His voice held a ting of challenge. He pressed a
couple keys to engage the screensaver.
“I doubt that. Exactly what do you need with my computer,
especially my employee files and where do you get off
snooping
through
them
without
my
knowledge
or
approval?” She felt a flush coming up her neck but she
sucked in a breath to maintain composure. She hated it when
her old fears started to take hold again.
“That wasn’t your computer and I wasn’t snooping. H.R.
asked me to do some research for them.” He stood, bringing
his eyes level with hers. He lied.
The screensaver scrolled a line across and he looked down at
his desk, tapping fingers on a printed picture that held his
interest. “You ever used that gun of yours, boss?”
The chill in her arm spread through her back and Reva
rolled her shoulders
involuntarily.
Was he threatening me?
“Who exactly asked you to do this ‘research’?”
Brent walked around his desk, brushing against her in the
confined space, his face within inches. He ignored her
question. “My counselor said I should take up a sport or
hobby. Said it would take my mind off things.”
She had no idea how to answer
that
and his acrid breath
against her arm further added to the chill she felt. “What
things?”
“He said it would give me an avenue to express my stress in
a positive way.”
“So, you chose weapons? That’s positive?”
“There’s something exhilarating about punching holes in a
target until it’s completely obliterated.” His voice hissed. “I
imagine the face of my latest problem as I fire it. It’s –
relaxing.”
“Would that really be considered a sport?”
His face twisted into a grin. Reva stood to her full height,
attempting to gain control. She recognized the menace in his
actions but she had just discovered an employee snooping
on her computer. That was a violation of policy. He could
try to avert her attention with scare tactics but she’d not fall
for it.
“I don’t see what that has to do with your connection to my
computer and I seriously doubt Human Resources would
authorize you accessing your supervisor’s or anyone else’s
without consent. Who did the request come from? I’ll call
and check.”
Brent lowered his head and softened his voice further. By
the time he spoke it was so quiet, the threat of his words
hung in the air like smoke in a bar. “I told you that wasn’t
your computer. You never answered my question, Reva.
Have you ever used that gun of yours? Have you ever felt
the thrill of blowing the hell out of a picture that represents
whatever makes your life miserable at the time? You answer
mine. I’ll answer yours.”
In
past
years,
she
could
have
held
the
bravado
easily,
because it had been a core part of her. Recent years had
taught her to keep it hidden. Silence it so that one didn’t
cause further anger or aggression that might end up in –pain.
She backed away, and turned, her focus on escape. She knew
her trembling was visible.
He laughed. Not a scary laugh that fit the craziness of his
prior words. A
normal
laugh that seemed to dispel the fear.
“I’m messing with you, Reva. Here, I’ll call upstairs and you
can talk to them. They’ll confirm what I told you.”
With his hip on the corner of his desk, Brent lifted the
receiver of his desk phone and finger dialed an extension.
He lifted it to his ear and waited. Reva thought it odd how
quickly he had transformed from threatening to casual.
A couple seconds ticked by.
While he waited another call rang through, summoning him
to answer. He feigned disappointment. “Voicemail. Sorry.”
He clicked to the other call before she could ask him to
leave a message for her. When he answered the other call, he
turned as if dismissing her and began a conversation with
the caller, apparently a girlfriend. He mouthed the words
“excuse me” and waved.

Two days later, Reva’s blood boiled. She almost heard the
bubbling and she definitely felt it. If anyone walked down
this hall, she was certain they’d turn and run after one look
at her face.
Did Brent just call me a lunatic?
She heard the words from the other side just as she pressed
palms against the cold wood to open the door of the staff
room. She was seconds away from trouncing in, but decided
to take a few breaths instead.
Practice your yoga breathing.
She
attempted to calm herself. This came from a staff member
with no experience that she’d hired away from a local
restaurant. He had practically begged her for the job and
she’d taken the chance against her better judgment.
He doesn’t
have the nerve to talk to me in person?
His
words continued on the other side of the barrier,
speaking to an unknown listener. “I mean, did you hear her
talk in the meeting yesterday? She has no idea what she’s
doing and she’s so inconsistent it’s ridiculous. I absolutely
hate her. I swear to God, I felt like punching her when she
spoke but –,” she overheard.

“That’s a little over reactive,” Gavin, one of her other direct
reports, responded.
“I’m not really the violent type anyway.”
“I don’t think she intended to upset you. She’s just trying to
give you direction. Maybe the
way
she says things could be
nicer.”

Nicer? I practically coddled the guy because he’s so moody and I didn’t
want to offend him.
She smiled.
So much for the breathing exercises.
“It’s not just that. I can take constructive criticism as well as
the next guy. I’m not that sensitive - but she’s so harsh – her
words aren’t the problem. It’s how she uses them. The tone.
And those incessant lists she makes are annoying. Does she
do that when you’re talking to her, or is it just me?”
The faint smell of McDonald’s fries reached her nose. Gavin
often ran through the drive-thru on his lunch hour. She
knew this because he offered to get her a burger whenever
he went.
Gavin ignored the question and laughed. “So, you’re telling
me if she said the same thing all soft and sweet, you
wouldn’t have a problem?”
“No. Um. I guess. Yeah.”
“Better check your gender bias, man. If a guy said it, he’d
add a damn or something, or call you a few names – and you
wouldn’t give a shit about it. Besides I think her intention is
good – she’s just saying what’s on her mind. She’s trying to
do her job. If you have a problem with it, tell her. She’ll
listen.”
“Maybe I will.”
“Or quit and find someone you can deal with.”
“Where would I go? Besides, that’s too drastic.”
Reva jolted back to the present when the clip clop of
approaching heels caught her attention. This was probably
not
a good time to stop in and check on Gavin’s projects as
she’d intended.
Later at her desk, Reva rubbed her throbbing temples.
A
quick glance at the clock signaled the weekend was upon
them and she could go home. More time to consider how to
handle what she’d learned. As she drove home to the
suburbs, she debated that logic too. After all, if he was that
unhappy, surely she should talk to him and find a way to
resolve the problems right? Although if he intended to talk
with her, he would. Left unattended, his foul mood was
certain to infect the staff in a negative way. If he said all that
to Gavin, what else was he complaining about, and to
whom?
“It doesn’t matter,” she said out loud. “Anyone who knows
me will take it with a grain of salt. You can’t change opinion
by attacking it. Just keep a positive face on and it’ll all blow
over.”
Reva knew why he was upset. She had caught him trying to
log into her computer again…he had denied it. She knew
that
denial
to
be
untrue
but
couldn’t
prove
otherwise.
Apparently, he didn’t care for being caught red-handed.
Responding by suggesting that she should try to find a
boyfriend rather
than follow
him
around didn’t
exactly
lighten her mood. Especially since she
followed
him right into
her own office. The opposite mood resulted, in fact. The
word “fired” flashed through her brain but she bit it back.
That was the old Reva. She was determined to be a better,
more street savvy woman going forward. She seriously knew
she could turn him around – he was a talented young man
that worked hard and could change his attitude. She was
certain,
or
at
least
she
had
been
before
hearing
his
conversation with Gavin, now she wasn’t as confident.
She shrugged and wished she could tell the truth to Gavin to
clear up why Brent was complaining, but that was out of
bounds. Never discuss employees with other employees. She
considered going to Human Resources. Her old self would
have stormed in earlier and fired him on the spot.
But her old self had been taught a lesson –that self was too
brash and prone to spur of the moment decisions. At least
until her mouth put her in acute care with stitches. No, it’s a
minor issue – it will turn out fine in no time. Besides, she
had no intention of appearing incompetent as a manager by
taking every little squabble to someone else for resolution.
By the time Reva reached her house, she’d convinced herself
to leave it alone and move on to happier things. This was an
exercise she had undertaken often over the past few years
just
for
self-preservation.
She
sighed.
An
abusive
relationship will do that to a person.
Her thoughts derailed when she walked up the sidewalk to
her front door and viewed a very fine looking stranger lazing
across her step in shorts and a brown t-shirt. That certainly
brought out the happy. The chacos on his feet looked worn
and, judging by the tan lines on his toes, they’d seen heavy
use. The prickle of fear that had always hit her when
surprised was short-lived. Apprehension was forced away as
she mustered a slight smile, yet held her breath. She really
wanted her old self back.
“You live here?” he asked, squinting into the sun behind her
as he stood.
Reva debated answering. He didn’t
look
dangerous but then
neither had her ex-fiancé. She shook her head
“No? Do you know who does then?”
She gained control of her voice and answered, “Yes, I’m
sorry. It’s my house. Can I help you?”
“I live back there.” He pointed straight through the house.
“Behind you.”
“Ah. You’re the one who keeps throwing lemons and limes
over the fence. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.
Can’t you just put them in the garbage or something?”
How
does one politely tell a person not to use their backyard for disposal?
The first time fruit had sailed over the fence, it had terrified
her such that she ran inside and locked the door. Subsequent
discoveries of lemons and limes gave way to irritation that
the yard had become a dumping ground for her neighbor’s
unwanted harvest.
He laughed. Actually, he sparkled. Weird. “I throw them
over to all my neighbors. I thought you might like them and
I’ve got too many. Listen, my son’s ferret crawled under the
fence and it was in your backyard.”
“Oh, no problem…come on. You can go through here and
get it.” She strode to the side gate and opened it, waiting for
him to enter. He stood back and motioned for her to
proceed.
“Not really necessary. He climbed over and got it himself,”
he said.
She glanced over her shoulder puzzled, but kept moving
through the fence with him following. “I don’t understand.”
“He broke some yard-art thing you had back there when he
crawled over.” His footsteps plodded closely behind her.
Oddly, the hair on the back of her neck had not risen. Yardart.
That
was
a
good
way
of
describing
the
welded
contraption her brother had gifted her with on her twentyninth birthday. It always required an explanation – it was
intended to be some sort of sundial, made of metal with a
ceramic globe in the center. She had never known what to
do with it so she put it at the back of the yard, out of the
way for mowing. One of many.
“It’s a sundial,” she stated. The shards of ceramic lay in the
grass like a cracked egg. Ben will be pissed. Ben believed in
hand-made gifts, never bought any, and he took it personally
if the new treat wasn’t proudly displayed. Her backyard had
metal art in every possible opening.
“Wow,” the man said when he saw the conglomeration of
metal, glass, and rocks sprawled around. “Either you’re really
into your yard or your husband’s really into welding.”
“Neither. My brother makes this stuff and I don’t know
what to do with it. He gives it to me all the time. I can’t
just…”
“Say no or throw it away? What a softie,” he teased.
“Yeah, but I draw the line at the front yard. At least I have
standards. I’m not putting any of this stuff out there.” She
reached
down,
gathered
the
fragments
of
ceramic
and
started toward the trash. “Don’t worry about this. As you
can see, there’s plenty more.” She waved a hand at the other
items.
“Still, this one was unique. I’ll get you a new ball for it.” He
walked over to a table that Ben had made of metal and
concrete. “This is cool. Your brother did this too?”
“Yep. Not the chairs, just the table.”
He stood over it, shoulders square, tanned arms and legs,
admiring the work. As he leaned down to smooth fingers
over the surface, Reva noted the tightness in his arms and
legs. He worked outside. Or he’s a fitness buff. He turned
suddenly toward her and caught her eyes…on his butt.
“Nice table.” A slow smile warmed his face. He rubbed a
hand on his shorts and held it out. “I’m Todd Grisham.”
She hesitated, then shifted the ceramic pieces to one hand
and grasped his. “Reva Zamora.”
“Well, Reva. Where would I find something like that?” He
pointed to the pieces. “Unbroken, of course.”
“I said don’t worry about it. You don’t need to replace it.”
She dropped the pieces in the trash and brushed her hands
together.
“You have to help me out on this. I’m trying to teach my
son a lesson on taking responsibility. He’s the one that will
replace this, not me.” He lowered his brows into a frown.
Todd had an interesting face. His nose was straight and long
with a small scar at the side. A shadow of whiskers lined his
chin and one eyebrow had a small bare spot, very likely
another scar. She doubted those marks appeared in the same
manner as the one on her left temple just below the hairline.
“I see. Well, in that case, your wife can probably track one
down. I’d imagine they have them at a craft store or garden
center. I don’t really know.”
“That’d be tough. My
ex
-wife just dumped Eric on me so
she could spend the weekend with her ex-boss, whom she’s
banging and plans to make hubby number three, hence the
ex-wife. I doubt she’d be much help. And personally, I’d
rather not ask her.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“Don’t be. Ancient history. It’s been two years.”
“Not that ancient. How old is Eric?” She realized he would
notice the quick calculations going through her head. Two
years divorced, kid of….
“Five.”
Five years. So, married seven?
“Eric is from her previous relationship but I’m the only dad
he’s known.” Todd’s face went serious as he explained. Oh,
well, that completely blew the calculations out of the water.
Reva frowned but listened. “I’m lucky she lets me still see
him. It’d be pretty hard on him to be ditched by two dads.”
“Does he remember his real dad?” She squinted into the last
glimmer of sun that dipped behind her roof.
“Barely, but he’s awfully young to deal with that. As far as
I’m concerned, he’s mine. I’ve fed him, stayed up all night
with him when he was throwing up…and taught him how to
pee like a man.”
Reva smiled. “Well, that would certainly qualify you.”
He flashed another quick grin. “Life’s important lessons.
Anyway, she’s not exactly the ideal mother. I should have
seen that from the beginning and taken it as a sign.”
Reva cleared her throat and turned to the gate. “At least he
has you, right?”
“Yep. Every other weekend he has me…plus whenever she
doesn’t want him.” He picked one of the broken pieces of
ceramic from her trash and followed. “You like to jog, don’t
you? I think I’ve seen you on the roads.”
“I run in the mornings before work and at least one day on
the weekend. I started a few years ago. It keeps me sound –
physically and mentally.” Once the words were out, she
wished to take them back. Too much information.
“Usually does. Although it’s probably not a good idea to run
so close to the center. Do you play sports?” She turned
when he asked and caught his eyes on her hips. The quick
shift startled him into meeting her gaze. “Payback.” He
shrugged. “Don’t tell hubby.”
“None to tell. I played softball and ran track in high school.
I haven’t done much since. Why do you ask?”
“I saw a sign at the pool that they’re starting a softball league
next month. You might like to play.” She wondered if he
had signed up.