“See if this one here fits, son,” he said before turning to the board and adding, “I’m sure we can round up a booster seat if necessary.”
There was a round of hardly concealed sneers as I slipped into the chair. Mr Killinger’s hand on my shoulder made me expect my shoes to not reach the ground and when I adjusted my tie, I felt like I was playing dress-up in my father’s clothes.
“There you go,” Mr Killinger said, squeezing my shoulder almost painfully. He moved his face to mine, his smile now grotesque to me. “Having fun?”
I tried to straighten myself up, but his hand on me weighed me down like a collapsing ceiling.
“Please don’t let me interrupt,” I said, trying to not sound as intimidated as I felt.
Mr Killinger pushed off me like I was his walking cane and moved to his own chair. He patted my hand kindly, but all kindness had left his cunning grey eyes as he looked at me.
“Chime in whenever you want, son.”
I gave a nod of assent, but no one in the room, including myself, believed for a second that Mr Killinger needed it, regardless of our respective titles. Everyone saw it for what it was: I was a boy, a spoiled, stupid little boy, playing at a man’s game.
With Mr Killinger at the helm, the board dived into discussions I struggled to follow. My father’s hotel empire paid for everything in my life, but I knew little of its inner workings. I was a child riding a mechanical pony with no knowledge of the cogs that made it gallop.
Mr Killinger held up a hand after a few minutes to pause the conversation and turned to me.
“Really, lad,” he said, his snake’s smile absent of only the flicker of a forked tongue. “Whenever you have something to say.”
He waited for me and I managed the tiniest grin while shaking my head.
“Please, continue.”
“Very well.”
It was bad enough that I was clearly out of my depths. But it was one thing to be drowning and it was another thing entirely to be mocked by the lifeguards on shore. One by one I caught the eyes of the board members glinting as they looked over at me, silent and stunned and afraid.
Blood was rushing in my ears as I sat there petrified, and it took a moment to realise that Mr Killinger was speaking to me.
“Ronan?”
I turned numbly to stare at him. “Huh?”
“Your thoughts on refinancing the assets in our western division?” he asked.
“Umm.”
The board members seemed to lean forward as one like a pack of hungry hyenas. I eyed them fearfully.
“No thoughts for us?” asked Mr Killinger. “Mr CEO?”
I surprised the entire room when I suddenly leaned forward, rested my elbows on the table, and bridged my fingers, drumming them together as I plastered on a grin.
“I do have a thought, lads,” I said, waiting as they glanced between each other in confusion. “And that thought is… whiskey.”
Mr Killinger leaned back contently in his chair as I shoved my own back to go to the mini bar at the end of the room. I’d proved him right about me: that I was nothing but a distraction, a liability, a brat with a fancy title. I’d proved the whole lot of them right.
They had no idea I just getting started.
“Glasses are in the cabinet beneath,” Mr Killinger said as I grabbed the crystal bottle of whiskey from the gold cart.
I responded by drinking straight from the bottle. Walking with a lazy, bored gait, I started around the large board room table.
“Look, fellas, I know a mint on the pillow is sort of the standard hotel thing,” I said, swinging the whiskey bottle wildly and causing members of the board to duck to avoid getting cracked in the back of the skull. “But my thoughts are that it’s a little overdone. My thoughts are to give the people what they actually want: cocaine!”
I stopped suddenly and gestured around the table.
“Who’s writing this down?”
I eyed a small man with a greasy combover. He glared hatefully at me as he obediently picked up a pen. I leaned forward and watched his writing.
Like any good CEO, I lent a helping hand by spelling out, “C – O – C – K—oh, wait. That’s not it.”
I guzzled more whiskey and then snapped my fingers.
“Ah! But there’s another thought. Cock. Gigolos. Room service gigolos!” I said, pausing only for the man to take notes. I didn’t want to go too fast. “How great a thought is that? A lady can order a coq au dude right along with her coq au vin.”
I finished the bottle and slammed it down on the table.
“Genius!” I shouted. “Goddamn genius.”
Tapping my fingers against the empty glass, I smiled cockily and sighed as if I’d just completed a long hard day’s work.
“Gentlemen,” I said, clutching oh so goddamn earnestly at my heart, “let me sincerely apologise for not coming in earlier to grace you with all my brilliant thoughts.”
Mr Killinger’s smile was ice cold as he craned his neck to look up at me while I stood behind him.
“Are you done, son?”
It was my turn to squeeze dear Mr Killinger’s shoulder as I loomed over him.
“No,” I said, patting his cheek condescendingly. “No, I’m not. I think we should order a pizza…”
By the time I’d thoroughly trashed my reputation with my own board, I wasn’t sure if there were four grease-stained pizza boxes or eight, three empty bottles of whiskey or six, twelve furious board members or twenty-four. And, frankly, I did not give a damn.
They could be mad all they wanted. The truth was I gave them exactly what they wanted. They wanted to see me as nothing more than a useless piece of shite who never had to work for his fortune and, not to toot my own horn, I’d more than delivered. I’d given a stunning performance, one that none of them would likely forget any time soon.
Under a room full of swaying glares, I swept into a low bow and nearly fell over before laughing carelessly and stumbling out of the board room into the hallway. But the second the door clicked shut behind me, the easy smile fell from my lips.
I was angry.
I was angry at myself for making such a stupid mistake as coming to the board meeting. I should have remembered my place. And stayed in it.
I was angry at Delaney for opening her big fucking mouth. I was angry at her for coming into my life. I was angry at her for making me foolishly think I could be something more.
I pointed to the receptionist as I stormed across the lobby without even glancing at her at her desk.
“You. Now,” I said, snapping at my side.
The receptionist’s voice came stuttering as I jammed the call button for the gilded elevator.
“Umm… but… umm… why?” she said before adding a nervous. “Sir.”
“Because we’re going to fuck.”
“My shift doesn’t end for an hour.”
My back was turned to her as the doors of the elevator slid noiselessly open. I stepped inside without a word and grinned devilishly when I heard the rushed click-clack of heels against the marble floors.
Delaney
Two mornings after the yacht, Ronan was still not at breakfast.
Like the morning before, I waited in the scratchy tea-length dress with the lung-squeezing corset and hip-enhancing layers of tulle all during breakfast. I kept my shoulders straight, expecting at any moment for his fingers to try to unzip me under the thin guise of making sure my spine was straight. I ate my three grapes with a fork and knife, expecting him to pluck one from my plate with an obnoxiously loud yawn. I sipped my disgusting tea slowly without slurping, expecting at even the tiniest noise an inappropriate remark about how I suck.