Demanding All Of You

Damion

I finished making my editorial notes on the article from one of my new journalists before adding a complimentary note and emailing it back. She was a talented writer and I was looking forward to seeing what she could do.

There was a soft knock on the door. "Come in," I called, knowing it would be my assistant.

She pushed it open. "Mr. Whittle, Tony is here."

I nodded and waved a hand, indicating he should come in. "Thanks."

Tony walked in. The guy was in his thirties and probably about one of the worst employees I had ever had the misfortune to work with. Tony flopped down in the chair across from my desk. I took in his wrinkled shirt and unshaven face. The guy was about a hundred pounds overweight and didn't even try to clean up.

"What's up?" he snapped. "What did I do now?"

I offered my best smile. "Tony, it isn't about what you did, but what you didn't do. We've had several conversations about your work. I have a feeling it all fell on deaf ears. Your work didn't improve. In fact, it got worse."

"Excuse me?" he said, an ugly frown on his chubby face.

"At this point, we've exhausted all options. Your position with the magazine is officially terminated."

I kept my voice even and devoid of all emotion. He wasn't the first man I had fired and wouldn't be the last. I ran a tight ship. I believed in giving second chances, but Tony was on his thirtieth chance with me. I had felt sorry for him.

"Fuck you," he seethed. "You don't know shit about anything."

I raised an eyebrow. "That's your opinion."

"I should have known a little prick like you would get promoted over me. You come in here thinking you're all that with your Hollywood looks and think you can boss me around."

I slowly, purposefully looked down at my broad chest that was an appropriate size for my six-four frame. Little prick was not a term I had ever been called. I cleared my throat and straightened the royal-blue tie before offering him a small smile. "Tony, I'm sorry you feel that way. All the same, you're fired."

He hopped up from the chair. His stance and demeanor were aggressive. I got to my feet and stared down at him. He was almost a foot shorter than me. I gave him a hard look, warning him not to try anything stupid.

"You stupid motherfucker," he shouted. "I fucking hate you. You can take your job and shove it up your ass."

I nodded and walked to the door, pulling it open. My assistant stood on the other side, her face a mixture of fear and shock. "Sir?" she breathed.

"It's okay," I told her, jerking my head and telling her to step out of the way. I turned to look at Tony, who was still glaring at me. "Tony, I'll walk you to the elevator."

"Fuck you."

"Let's go," I said, my voice low.

He glared at me before stomping by me. I followed him, not trusting him not to damage company property or possibly hurt another employee. Employees sitting at their desks looked up to see what the commotion was.

"Good luck working for this prick," Tony said loud enough for everyone to hear.

I pushed the button on the elevator. Tony continued to rant, insulting the size of my dick and the color of my hair. His tirade was almost comical. The elevator doors slid open not a second too soon.

"Asshole," he said, turning to look at me. "You're a spoiled brat that doesn't know the first thing about shit. You'll crash and burn."

He stepped onto the elevator and stood right next to my grandfather, who looked like he was about ready to knock Tony on his ass.

"Grandpa," I exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

Tony looked at the old man standing close to him and currently staring him down. He must have realized the threat and stepped back. My grandfather was an intimidating man. His steely-blue eyes could stop a rampaging steer dead in its tracks. I inherited my height and eye color from him.

The standoff between them ended when my grandfather stepped off the elevator. I breathed a sigh of relief. As much as I wanted to knock the shit out of Tony, I couldn't afford to get hauled off to jail.

"Damion," my grandfather said in that rich baritone voice that could shake the rafters one minute and read a bedtime story the next.

"Grandpa, when did you get to New York? I didn't know you were coming."

"Why do you let a little pissant talk to you like that?" he growled.

I sighed. "Because, Grandpa, this isn't Montana. We don't settle our differences with our fists."

"I don't think you settled anything," he stated. "A man like that needs to have his ass beat."

"I like being able to pee when I want without five other men watching me," I told him.

He shook his head. "If you keep letting him talk to you like that, he'll never respect you."

I smiled, put my hand on his shoulder, and guided him back toward my office. "That's why I fired him," I said with a great deal of satisfaction.

"I would have popped him," he insisted.

I ushered him into my office, closing the door behind us. "I'm glad to see you," I told him. "Again, what brings you to New York?"

"I wanted to see you. I didn't think you'd be coming home anytime soon."

"How long are you in town for?"

I took the seat behind my desk. I watched him sit down. He moved a little slower than I remembered, and he looked thinner. I studied his face, taking in the more pronounced wrinkles around his eyes and the yellowish tint to his skin.

"I'm only here for a bit," he answered.

"How've you been?"

He nodded. "Fine. You?"

I smiled. "Good. Busy."

"You work too much. You're pale."

"Pale?" I repeated, putting my hand up to my face. "I'm not pale."

"You ever get outside? Let me see your hands."

I laughed. "Grandpa."

"You don't go outside. You don't work with your hands. What do you do?"

Damion

I shrugged. "I work in an office. When I'm not working, I'm taking care of Oliver."

He smiled at the mention of my son's name. "How old is he now?"

"Five, Grandpa. You know that."

"Does he look like the old man?" he asked proudly. "I let him have my name. He better look like me."

I chuckled. "He takes after me."

"And you take after me," he said.

I shrugged. "I suppose. How's the farm?"

He turned his blue eyes on me. "The farm is fine. It could be better. I'm hoping to change that soon."

"What happened?" I asked with concern. "You didn't tell me you were having a hard time."

"I'm not. Just needed to change a few things. It's handled."

He had always been a man of few words. Maybe it was why I had become an avid reader throughout my childhood. My mother had died of ovarian cancer when I was five and my father had been killed in a car accident shortly after. That left my widowed granddad to raise a little boy who was shy, lonely, and suffering from insurmountable grief.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" I asked him.

He scoffed. "No. I don't know if you could anyway."

"What does that mean?" I asked defensively.

"It means I just witnessed you getting disrespected by a man that isn't worthy of licking your boots. Then again, I suppose you don't wear boots anymore. You're uptown. You're too clean. You're uppity, wearing your fancy suits and sitting in this big office. You don't have that look of fire in your eyes. You're not happy here. I can see that."

I squirmed under his scrutiny. "Grandpa, it's a good job. I like my job."

"Since when did you like sitting in a goddamn office all the time?" he asked with a scowl.

"It isn't that I don't like it, but I need to pay the bills."

"You could work the farm," he offered.

"I'm not a farmer," I reminded him.

"Yes, you are. It's in your blood. You were raised on a farm. I let you go off to college, thinking you'd come back. It's been eleven years."

"I fell in love with the city," I told him. "Oliver likes it here."

He scrunched up his face. "Bullshit. You live in an apartment. That poor boy doesn't even have a backyard. What does he do all day?"

"He's in school, then an after-school program, and then we play games or read books."

He shook his head. "That's too bad."

I rolled my eyes. I had been taught to respect my elders. "Grandpa, he's a good kid. He's healthy and is doing fine. Let me clear my schedule and we can pick up Oliver and go out to dinner."

He gave me a soft smile. "I've got to be getting back soon."

"How long have you been in town?"

He shrugged. "Not long, but you know I don't like being in the city."

"You won't let me treat you to a steak? We've got some of the best steakhouses in the country here."

He scoffed. "Bullshit. You'll never get a better steak than what I have on the farm. Fresh and fed right. You'd remember that if you ever came home."

"Can I fly you out for a longer visit in the near future?"

His smile was sad. "We'll see," he said, nodding his head. "We'll see."

I studied the man I had thought was invincible for the majority of my life. He was big and strong and tough as nails. I had idolized him before my parents died, and then after he took over the role of being dad, mom, and grandpa, my idolization had faded. I respected him, but he was less of an idol and more of a parental figure.

"Maybe I'll see about coming out to visit this summer. I've got some vacation pay and Oliver will be out of school."

"Sure, sounds good," he said in a noncommittal tone. He got to his feet.

I followed suit. "I really wish I could convince you to stay longer," I said, walking him to the door.

"Me too, son, me too. Take care of yourself and that little boy."

I stopped him and gave him a quick hug. He wasn't the hugging type, but I did it anyway. I had become more of a hugger since having Oliver. Hugs were important. I walked him to the elevator and we said our goodbyes again.

I walked back to my office and sat down. Something felt off. I hated that he was disappointed in me. He had some high standards to live up to. It all seemed to come so easy to him. He was strong and capable and such a powerhouse. I always felt like I would be in his shadow. Nothing I ever did could ever compare to him.

"Shit," I mumbled, feeling like a loser.

By most standards, I was a successful man. I was an editor of a popular magazine. I had a great job, made decent money, and had a perfect little boy. My life was good. Slightly lonely, but good. I had thought when I graduated from NYU, he would have been proud of me. Instead, he'd seemed disappointed that I had chosen to stay in New York. He didn't seem to care that I had found a woman I loved. We'd gotten married and had been looking forward to starting a family. Grandpa had said all the right things, but I knew he wasn't truly happy for us.

He had expected me to take over the farm. I had thought I would too, but then I came to New York and my world changed. My eyes were opened to something new and different and exciting. Going back to the small town and the farm hadn't been appealing. Ann, my wife, was a city girl through and through. She never would have been happy on the farm.

Ann was gone, I reminded myself. That excuse was no longer valid.

Alex

I stared over the green hood of the newer John Deere tractor. I glared at the man with the cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes. It was a prop. He wore it like it was part of a uniform. I wanted to pull the damn thing down over his ears and then choke him with it.

"I'm going to say this one more time," I said, trying to keep my voice calm. "You cannot just drive the tractor around the field. You need to make circles or do rows if that's what floats your boat. This meandering about isn't going to cut it."

"Alexandria-"

"Stop. I've told you about twenty-eight times to call me Alex."

"But you're a girl," he insisted.

I grabbed my ample breasts and fluffed them. "Yes, yes I am. I suppose that's why I've got tits. My name is Alex."

He sighed, pushing the hat up. "Alex, I made straight lines."

I rolled my eyes. "No, you didn't."

The guy was nice enough, but in the words of my granddaddy, I didn't think his elevator went all the way to the top floor. Oliver had hired the man to act as his manager or foreman over the farm's operations. I didn't know who he owed a favor to, but hiring Deke was too big a favor for anyone. Deke was not foreman material. He'd probably be okay as a hand, but he was never going to be able to run the farm.

I was the one that was going to have to break that to Oliver.

"I'll do better next time," he promised.

"Deke, you can't keep plowing the same field. At some point, it has to get planted."

"But it's all just dirt," he insisted.

I smiled. He was a simple man. "All right, let's not worry about the field. What's done is done. Let's talk about that feed order."

"I did good, right? I ordered plenty to last all month."

I prayed for patience. "Deke, you ordered enough to last six months."

He grinned. "Oh, good."

I slowly shook my head. "No, not good. Part of running the farm means you need to pay attention to the expenses. Buying six months' worth of feed is not wise. Mice and raccoons and god knows what else are going to get into it before the horses will ever eat it."

He looked confused. "Oh. Well, can't we just shoo the vermin away?"

If only that were possible. "I see Oliver pulling up. I need to talk with him. Can you take care of filling up those troughs?"

He nodded, the same goofy smile on his face. "I sure can, Alexandria."

I ignored the Alexandria part and walked across the wide dirt parking area in front of the barn. The old house was the typical ranch home. It was white, two-story, with a covered porch that wrapped around three sides. The house had been modestly updated but nothing extravagant. The first time I had met with Oliver, I knew I wanted to work for him. He was the real deal. He was a salt of the earth kind of man.

My work as a fixer had allowed me to meet a lot of people. Some I liked, some I didn't. Oliver, I liked. He got out of his old Ford pickup and waved. He was moving slower than he had a month ago.

"You're back," I called.

He smiled. "I can't be away from this place for long."

He opened the front door and gestured for me to go inside. Another one of the many traits I liked about him was that he was a perfect gentleman. "I'll get you some tea," I told him.

He chuckled. "You're the guest. Aren't I supposed to be getting you the tea?"

"I'm not a guest. You pay me, which means I am your employee."

He took a seat at the old, scarred, wood dining table. I poured two glasses of iced tea from the pitcher and carried them to the table. Oliver was staring out the window, watching Deke fumble around.

"How's he doing?" he asked.

I laughed. "Oliver, you and I both know that kid is not cut out to be a farm manager. I'm not sure what he's cut out for, but this isn't it."

We both watched as he picked up a feed bucket and pulled it on over his head, laughing at himself. He ambled out to the pasture, presumably to fill the water trough like I had asked. One could never be sure with him.

"I suppose he isn't. I told his daddy I'd give him a shot, but this just isn't going to work."

I slowly shook my head. "No, it isn't. Do you want me to do some checking around town?"

He looked lost in thought. "No, I'll take care of it."

"How was your flight?" I asked him, noticing he looked tired. He looked wiped out really.

He sighed. "I hate flying."

I laughed. "I don't know a lot of people that actually enjoy it."

"It isn't natural," he complained.

I watched as he sipped his tea, still staring out the window. I turned to look out the window as well. I didn't see Deke. There was nothing but the sprawling pasture that stretched on as far as the eyes could see. The flat land looked like it reached all the way to Square Butte, but it was a trick of the eye. Oliver's farm wasn't quite that expansive.

"I've talked with Deke and we'll get that alfalfa planted within the next couple of days."

"How's the wheat?" he asked.

I smiled. "Beautiful. It will be ready to harvest next week as scheduled. The crop looks great. I don't think you'll have any problems with selling it for top dollar."

"You've got those hands coming in to take care of the harvest?"

I nodded. "I do. I'll be overseeing the process."

"If time allows, I'll be able to run the combine," he said, sounding almost defeated.

"That would be great," I told him, thinking of the time that could be saved with an experienced man like himself running the harvester.

He sighed, pulling his gaze from the window and turning the steely-blue eyes on me. "There was a time I would do this all myself with the help of one or two guys."