He throws me his most menacing grin, but it doesn’t reach his sullen, gray eyes.
“I can’t wait to see you try.”
Chapter 10
Easton
I watch the smoke cloud disappear above my head as I lie in bed, dreading what I have to do next. I’ve been fucking procrastinating for the past couple of days, and I know it. It happens every time I have to do something that I hate, which usually involves asking Dick for a fucking favor. Maybe he won’t do justice to the nickname I gave him, and he’ll just give me what I want without bitching about it.
Not likely.
But still, I have to try.
I stub out my cigarette before leaving my room to head downstairs, knowing that if I want to talk to my stepfather privately, then crashing into his office on a Saturday morning is the way to go about it. The man is a certifiable workaholic, so I know he’ll be in there. It’s not as if he needs to pull all these long hours anymore. I mean, how much richer can you get? His incessant need to be better than his competitors, while admirable, also pisses me off since he could put that same amount of fucking effort into making sure my mom is happy. But Dick has always had his priorities screwed up on that front.
Once I reach the door, I only knock once. I don’t want to give him enough time to deny me entrance into his beloved ruler-of-the-world sanctuary. I waltz in like I own the place, taking a seat in the plush armchair in front of his desk. I sprawl my legs open and lean back with my best fuck-you smile plastered on my face as my greeting card. Just because I need a favor from him doesn’t mean I’m going to be nice when asking for it.
“What do you want, Easton? I’m busy.”
He doesn’t even raise his head from his computer screen.
Yeah, you’re always busy, Dick.
“What makes you think I want something?” I ask, flicking the imaginary lint off my shoulder.
He leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest to take a good, hard look at me, and states, “You hardly ever come into my office. And when you do, it’s with something in mind. So what is it this time?”
I crack my knuckles to keep myself from cursing him out, or defiantly blurting that I don’t need shit from him. Because, right now, I do. And for a good reason. Swallowing my pride leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, but I’ve got to suck it up if I want to see Scarlett tonight.
“I need you to add my name to the list at The Brass Guild.”
“No,” he replies, snapping his head back to his work.
“And why the fuck not?” I retort sharply, pissed off.
He keeps his head down like he didn’t even hear my disgruntled outburst, so I continue, “I know you’re old as fuck, Dick, but I’m pretty sure your hearing works just fine,” he scoffs, which is the only reaction I get from him.
I know the prick isn’t old. He’s barely in his mid-forties. Being a dead ringer for a Josh Duhamel, my stepfather knows he’s in his prime. But still, it gives me pleasure to bring him down a peg. The asshole needs a healthy dose of humility, and I’m more than happy to give it to him.
I start impatiently tapping my fingers on the armrest while he continues to give me the silent treatment.
“It’s no skin off your back. Just make a few calls and get my name on the list. It’s not like I’m asking you for a kidney or something.”
He stops what he’s doing, fixing his elbows on the edge of his desk, his clasped hands placed in front of him.
“Why?” he asks sharply, his expressionless face not giving anything away.
“Why, what?”
“I’m not going to ask you how you found out about such an establishment. You’re too clever for any secret this town has to be kept hidden away from you for long.”
You’re damn right, I am.
“But I will ask you why,” he continues on. “Why do you need to frequent The Brass Guild? And don’t tell me it’s about the high-end pussy there, because I know you get plenty of that for free.”
There is a small tug of a smile at the corner of my lips. Most parents would never talk to their kids this way. My stepfather and I, though, have a different kind of father-son dynamic. More importantly, we never beat around the bush.
“I’m not interested in the menu they have to offer.”
“I figured as much. So, what are you interested in?”
“Let’s just say I have personal business with someone who frequents the place, and I need to get inside to deal with it properly.”
“I see,” he mumbles, rubbing his thumb on his chin. “And you can’t deal with this personal business of yours outside the club?”
“No.”
“Hmm. Maybe you’re not as resourceful as I thought.”
Fucker.
“Instead of asking me twenty-fucking questions and making me jump through hoops, what if you just be a decent guy for once and do me this solid?”
There is a pregnant pause that elapses, both of us unblinkingly staring at each other. For a minute, I think he’s going to turn me down again. Not that I didn’t expect it. Dick lives to rain on my parade.
I’m about to cut my losses and just accept the fact that I have to get Lincoln to come with me again, when Dick picks up his phone and starts texting, getting a reply notification a few seconds after.
“There. You’re in,” he affirms, and then goes back to typing on his laptop.
“Thanks,” I clip, the word of gratitude sounding as insincere to him as it does to me.
I get up from the seat and walk to the door because this is as civil as our interaction is ever going to get.
“Easton,” he calls out just as my hand reaches the knob.
I suck in my teeth, thinking the dick couldn’t have just made this easy for me. I turn around with my face as stoic as ever, waiting for whatever he has to say, so we can just fucking get it over with.
“I’m not sure what you got yourself into, but that club is full of unsavory assholes.”
“Funny you should say that since, from what I saw, most of them looked like the fuckers you golf with on Sunday mornings,” I retort, crossing my arms over my chest as I lean against the door.
He doesn’t as much as smile as he rebukes, “Doing business on the green, or doing it in a brothel are two very different things.”
“Are they really?”
And it’s not a brothel, asshole. It’s just a damn club.
“On the green, they know I expect integrity, respect. In a club like that, paying to tag team one of the whores as a way to celebrate or close a deal, doesn’t have the same honorable ethics to it, now does it?”
He’s right, but like hell, I’m going to agree with him.
“Not everything has to be about a deal, Dick.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Everything is a negotiation. Whatever you are about to do, just make sure that you hold all the cards. Most of them don’t play nice.”