My father was the only person sitting at this fifteen-foot table with me.
The chairman called the meeting to order along with the secretary, who read the minutes. They might as well have been Alexa speaking for all we took notice of them. I locked my eyes on my father’s. Bryant Morelli. Patriarch of our family. General abuser. Asshole. Villain. My boss, for now.
We got to article two and my pulse sped up.
This was it.
This was the moment.
Outwardly, nothing changed. I didn’t have a tell. No one beat me at poker. Not even my father. I didn’t tap my fingers, but I also didn’t become unnaturally still. I didn’t blink too fast or too slow. My breathing didn’t change.
I knew every word before they left Mr. Ohanian’s lips. After all, I wrote them.
“The board is grateful for the long and fruitful leadership of Bryant Morelli. Morelli Holdings continues to be a powerhouse in international real estate. Even the great rulers must eventually rest. So with utmost respect, the board will vote on removing Bryant Morelli as the CEO and appointing his son, Lucian Morelli, to replace him.”
Someone seconded the motion. And then we went around the table.
“Aye.” “Aye.” “Aye.” “Aye.”
The vote went according to plan. One of the nos, one of the oldest people on the board, gave me a disapproving glare before casting his vote against me.
Then we arrived at Leonard Hart.
He was technically a no, but not out of any loyalty to my father or any love for the old guard. He was a no because I wouldn’t promise to make him the chief of operations. He was a slimy bastard. I don’t mind paying for my position in corporate favors, but I’m not about to put someone as useless as Hart in such a high position. He gave me a look with a glint in his eyes, faintly reptilian. It meant he was voting no, but more than that, it meant he had something up his sleeve.
Before I continued, he said, “Before I allow this vote to proceed, I feel there’s something the board should know. I’ve had this information for a while, but with Bryant Morelli at the helm, able to control his son’s impulses, it seemed less important. But now that might not be the case…”
He trailed off, looking faintly worried. What the fuck.
O’Hanian slapped the table, a nervous gesture. “See here,” he said. “this isn’t the proper procedure. We’re in a vote. The only thing you can do now is cast yours. The time for discussion has passed.”
Another board member, one of my yeses, but one of the less enthusiastic yeses frowned. I wanted to hear him out. Fuck procedure. Morelli Holdings didn’t get to where it is now by following the rules. A general murmur of ascent ran through the room. The meeting was getting out of hand.
Hart pulled out the remote for the projector, which should have been assigned to anyone else. How unspontaneous this moment really was. A coup. Technically, it was a coup of a coup, but whatever you called it, it meant I wasn’t not going to be the fucking CEO when this meeting was over. That much I could sense in the air. I don’t show weakness. I don’t let my frustration near the surface, but of course my father still knew it was there. He gave me a slight knowing smile.
A slim screen unfolded from the ceiling. The lights dimmed. The conference room was massive and primarily surrounded by glass. The windows that faced the office were an expensive privacy shield. So we could see out, but they were tinted too much for the people on the floor to see in. On the other side, we had an expansive view of New York City’s skyline. It was through that opening that the conference table, a single large half-ton slab of petrified wood, was lifted via a crane into the room. Each chair, ergonomically crafted and made of rare leather, cost five grand. The audio visual system was state-of-the-art.
It was in this room that a photograph flashed across the 100-inch screen of me, bare chested, holding a whip. I was standing behind a pretty little sub beating her ass bloody. And what a beautiful ass it was, already striped from my blows, red and swelling, a few breaks in the skin where droplets of blood trickled down. I remember her ass. I don’t remember her name. We were in a highly exclusive club, a place where privacy is valued above all else, a place where a man with my power and wealth and infamy can play, but obviously someone found me there. Someone filmed me there.
There was a faint click and the slide changed. The same woman, but this time we could see her face. Agony was written across her pretty features, tears streamed down her face, mascara streaked her cheeks. She was in agony. Someone who didn’t know about pain sluts might not realize she was also about to come. She’d come so hard that she squirted arousal down the inside of her legs. She screamed my name and continued calling me for weeks after that encounter, begging for another night. No, thank you. I didn’t do repeats.
There were gasps around the room. They were scandalized by my behavior. As if each of those men didn’t have 21-year-old influencers tucked away in Tribeca for them to visit. I didn’t bother explaining their hypocrisy. It wouldn’t help. I also didn’t bother defending my kink. It didn’t matter.
But I did stand up.
At my nod, one of my men flipped a switch on the wall. The screen rolled back up, removing the offending image, and the lights turned up again.
“Gentlemen,” I said, “and ladies.” I nodded toward the one woman in the room. Ironically, she was the only one who didn’t appear scandalized. Instead, her cheeks were flushed and her pupils were dilated. Sixty years old or not, someone had just seen something for the first time that was probably going to infiltrate her fantasies from now on.
“I have a private life,” I said. “I have sex. These things shouldn’t come as a surprise. And they don’t affect my performance here at Morelli Holdings. Since when do we parade private pictures in the boardroom? Who among us is a saint?” Most people looked away from me. They couldn’t meet my eyes, except for Hart. He felt very proud of himself. And my father, who simply looked amused. I had to give credit to the old man where it’s due. He didn’t become this rich and powerful by showing up unprepared.
Mr. O’Hanian cleared his throat. “I agree that our private lives aren’t usually open for discussion.” He gave Hart a censorious look. “However, now that this has been brought to our attention, it would be remiss of us to ignore it. The truth is, your actions do reflect on the company.”
“Hear! Hear!” said one of the men who was opposed to this takeover from the beginning. He was deeply in my father’s pocket, but at least he was there of his own conviction, unlike Hart, who went to the highest bidder. “Bryant Morelli is a married man, a family man, a God-fearing man.”
Is that what this company needs? A God-fearing man? My lips twitched, but I managed not to laugh. Bryant Morelli feared nothing and no one. He certainly didn’t fear retribution when he beat me and my brothers bloody. Or when he stepped out on my mother for the millionth time. Bryant Morelli was not a man of high morality, but I understood what they were really saying. He had the appearance of it. He had the image. And the fact is, I don’t. My sexual predilections aside, I was cold, unfeeling, arrogant. Nothing about me said family man.
The room burst into rapid discussion. My father’s supporters spoke loudly, demanding a new vote. Some of my supporters spoke out in my defense, but even to my own ears, it sounded feeble. It sounded like we’d already lost. If we took another vote right now, I’d lose. And that would be a hard blow to recover from. I’d eventually have this coup again, but it would take longer and I’d have to give up more to slick assholes like Hart.