Chain Reaction 3.1.58: The Mighty Casey

 

Braydon McCullough

     What an exhausting day! We had another receptionist quit on us this morning! Why is that job so hard to keep filled? Instead of doing my regular duties, some of my employees and I all took turns manning the desk and answering the phone. It's not a hard job, but I can't do anything else if I'm constantly trying to fill in.

     It's Friday night, so I decide to go unwind.

      I have a seat at the bar and order a simple glass of red wine. Eventually, the lady next to me asks for a drink as well. I look at her. She looks really familiar, but I can't place her. That happens to me a lot, though. She's fit enough; maybe she frequents the gym.

     "Hi. I haven't seen you in here before," I tell her once the bartender hands her her drink. She'd jumped a little when she saw me, so I thought I'd say something.

     Who IS she? I know I've seen that face before. Why can't I place her? 

     "That's because I've never been in here before." Her eyes give nothing away.

     I probably should just leave her alone. She doesn't really look like she wants to talk to anyone. "New in town?" I ask, stubbornly continuing to talk to her.

     "No, I've lived here all my life."

     Who the plum is she? She's... gorgeous. How have I missed her?

     I clear my throat. "Okay. Me too. I'm Braydon McCullough." I offer my hand in handshake.

     "Isabella Love." She briefly lets me hold her soft hand before taking it back.

     Maybe I don't know her because she's younger. We must've moved in different circles. "So, Isabella, what do you do?" She's going to get up and walk away any minute now. Unless I'm teaching them workout routines, I'm suck at talking to women, especially pretty ones. It comes from a lifetime of striking out. That's not to say I haven't dated, but the only ones that went anywhere approached me instead of the other way around.

    "I..." She looks away. "I clean houses." A smirk plants itself on her face.

     "A noble profession," I say and act like I'm toasting her. That might not have been the best move for some reason. Does she think I'm mocking her? Plum, she's going to get up and walk away any second now.

     "Some might disagree with you." Yikes. That was a hurt expression. She finishes her drink. Yep, she's gonna leave.

     "Well, I don't disagree with me. It takes a lot to go in and clean up other people's messes. It's an underrated job." Why am I still trying to salvage this? I should just let her be.

      But then she suddenly smiles.

     "Exactly! Thank you! And people think it just magically happens all on its own," she tells me as she clips though the chair. But I'm distracted by something.

       No ring.

     She shoots a delightful smile my way, so I decide to keep going with this line of conversation. "Right. It's a lot of hard work, and people have a bad habit of taking advantage of the hard work of others."

     The bartender finishes making her next drink and hands it to her. Before she can say anything, I place a large bill on the counter, paying for everything and leaving a generous tip to boot. The bartender smiles and thanks me, and I ask Isabella if she'd like to have a seat on one of the sofas. I drain my glass before going over--for courage.

     "So do you like your job?" I ask her then wished I hadn't. Crap, Braydon. You are NOT about to offer her the receptionist position! I've done that too many times in the past, and it's always been to my detriment. Sure, I always look for a pretty face for people to see as they walk in, but eighty percent of the time, it's because I'm attracted to them and I'd like to see their face more often. Then, that whole 'I'm their boss' thing gets in the way, and I just end up torturing myself.

     She looks into her drink, considering her answer. "No, not really. I think I'm looking for a change."

     Don't do it. I swallow. Oh, plum it all. "Well, I, uh, run the Body and Soul gym downtown, and we're," I'm in trouble, "in need of a new receptionist." Why don't I listen to myself? "I mean, I know it isn't much." That's it; I'll talk her out of it. "It's probably not what you're looking for."

     She finishes her drink.

      "That actually sounds great."

      Crap. "Well, it's okay if you'd rather not. You're probably wanting something better anyhow."

      "No, it'd be great just to get out of the house." She pauses. "Um, houses."

     Well, now it would seem rude and mean to take back the offer. "Okay, then. Uh, could you come by tomorrow for an official interview?" That'll do it. I'll find some random reason not to hire her then just ask her out. Sure, the odds of that succeeding after just telling her she's not right for the job are slim to none, but... Crap.

     "Sure." She has a beautiful smile. I still can't shake the feeling that I've seen her somewhere before!

     "Great! Do you know where it is?"

     She nods. "Yes. My dad used to love going there. Sometimes, he'd go daily."

     "Oh yeah? Who's your dad?"

     "Graham Taylor. You might've heard of him from the news a few years ago." She says some other stuff, but my mind just goes into shock.

     Graham Taylor. Yes, I knew Graham Taylor. We were friends. Sometimes, he seemed like a second dad. He'd once tricked me into believing Emily was single. My hands ball into fists. Plumbob, this is Graham's YOUNGEST daughter Isabella. I've already met her. Although, at that time, she was about six or seven.

     And she looks so familiar because she's the spitting image of her mom.

     I have no idea what she just said, but I can't help but mention, "You said your name was Isabella Love, right?"

     She scowls for a moment. "Yes. Taylor is my maiden name."

     Sh*t. She's married. 

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Yes, this Braydon McCullough from 2.65: Out to Lunch.