by H. M. Ward
“That’s because you’re having a quarter life crisis. So, what’s the plan with all this stuff, Miss Hill? You really think you can waltz into Ferro’s office and get anywhere with the guy?”
I look into the mirror at my newly sleek hair. It frames my face, falling in a shiny sheet of brown that seems to bring out the little glints of gold in my eyes. I don’t look like me anymore, but since I don’t feel like myself either, I’m not too concerned.
As I tug on the blouse and tulip skirt, I tell Beth my plan, and she helps me tweak the weaker spots. When I’m finished dressing, Beth helps me with my makeup. “Well, damn girl! You have that law student look nailed.”
“Yeah, well, here’s to hoping. Hopefully I have enough jargon from Law & Order stuck in my head to sound halfway convincing.”
She scoffs, “Not necessary. This is Ferro, and you’re hot. Hotness trumps everything with that man.”
I nod slowly, remembering what I’ve read in the papers about the guy. He has a way of letting his dick wander. It’s disturbing how he remained married to the ice queen, Constance Ferro, and she just looked the other way. Why do women do that? Is it pride or something else? I can’t look the other way, but then again, it wasn't Connie's mom screwing her husband.
Beth makes some last second adjustments and then stands back, arms folded over her chest. Her index finger taps against her cheek. “Something’s off. We need a little boost to make him think twice, which means we need some clout. Bling. Neck money.” She rushes to her dresser, grabs a jewelry box, and pulls out a pair of gold earrings and hands them to me. “They’re small, understated on purpose. It’ll make them reconsider your bargain basement threads.”
I frown and look at the new suit. “It looks cheap?”
“Not cheap, but not designer. There are two possible explanations. One, you’re poor. Two, you’re rich and don’t waste money on stupid shit. The clues are in the little things—rings, watches, shoes, and gold. Here, take this too.” She hands me a watch with a black leather band and a plain face embossed with Roman numerals. I put it on my wrist. “It’s pretty.”
“It should be. It’s Le Couture. I got that for my graduation from my grandparents. It’s a twenty thousand dollar watch. The earrings are Tiffany’s. This ring is Cartier.”
“I can’t wear this stuff! What if I get mugged? Beth!” I turn green and start to shuck the jewelry like it's made of acid.
She places her hand over the watch and shakes her head. “It’s part of the game, Kerry. If you want to do this, you need all the pieces in place. This stuff is your shield. It deflects questions about your socioeconomic rank and status. It says you’re one of us.”
“So, I knew you guys were loaded, but I didn’t realize you were like a millionaire in the making. Why do you hang out with me?” My face scrunches up, and I wonder why she decided to befriend me. I don’t want to be a charity case, but she never made me feel like that—even though I am one.
“Holy shit! Don’t even. I’m not doing this with you right now!”
“But—”
“But nothing. I’m Beth. You’re Kerry. We’re both in college, we both have problems, and we've got each other’s backs. Isn’t that enough?” Worry pinches the corners of her eyes, and I realize she’s had enough fake friends to last a lifetime. Beth doesn’t dress like she’s made of money, but apparently she is. I’m only wearing a few things from her jewelry box, and I suspect they're worth more than most families make in a year.
“You’re right. It’s more than enough.”
“Right. Now the last thing that needs addressing is that stupid Fitbit. You can’t wear it.” She points at the black band on my wrist. “Where’d you get it? Did you have that the other day?”
I try not to blush and glance at my wrist. “Carter gave it to me. I can’t take it off. He’s all excited about it and he’ll think I don’t like him again. I’m not going through that.” I unfasten the thing and bend down and strap it around my ankle. When I stand, I beam at Beth. “Problem solved.”
She snorts. “Yeah, now you look like an inmate instead of a health nut. Good call.”
“I’m not taking it off.”
“Take it off!” She hollers back as I grab my purse and rush to the door.
I leave it on and kill the Fitbit convo. “I’ll be back later. Wish me luck.”
Beth rolls her eyes and smiles hard. “Are you going to drive over there?”
“Yeah, why?”
She dangles her keys in front of me. “Not in the bus. That just screams that you're totally fucking crazy. There’s no other explanation for it.” We both start laughing, and she shoves her keys into my hand.
Beth slaps me on the back and walks me to the door. “You got this.”
“I got this.”
“You’re a badass.”
“I’m a badass.” The borrowed confidence straightens my backbone, and I’m ready to play hardball. I’m walking in, aiming straight for his nuts, and not leaving until I get what I want.
CHAPTER 6
My heart is in my throat as I plow through the heavy wooden doors to Glousher & Dherm, the law office that served the eviction notice to Nate. Head held high and with a determined stride, I march over to the receptionist. She’s an older woman with silver hair and enough wrinkles on her face to suggest years of laughter. She has a big pair of granny glasses hanging on a silver string around her neck. Her back is to me at first, but her chair swivels toward me with my final step. Plastic smile in place, she glances up, “How can I help you today?”
“I’m here to see Mr. Glousher.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
I expected this, so I looked up everything I could before I came. I know the guy’s name, office number, work schedule, and I’m certain he’s here today even though it’s Saturday. Anyone who works for Ferro doesn’t sleep. There are no weekends in Billionaireville, which is fine by me.
“He’s expecting me.” My voice sounds like steel even though my insides are crawling with anxiety. I don’t wait for her to tell me to walk past. I just go. “I’m his three-thirty appointment—personal calendar, no name.”
The woman flushes and watches me as I walk past, hoping to God I went in the right direction. Heel toe, heel toe, don’t fall over in these stupid shoes. Five bucks at Wet Seal never went so far. I got a shiny pair of black stilettos and the stockings were free. Only catch—there’s a fake seam down the back of my leg. In other words, they’re slut stockings. But free is free, so I made do.
“Miss, wait!” she jumps up from her desk and rushes after me.
I walk faster. Heel. Toe. Heel. Toe. I wish these floors were carpet and not polished wood. I’m going to fall on my ass. I pick up my pace. Just as I reach a door with the lawyer’s name on it and reach for the knob, the old lady is on my heels.
Her bony hands clamp around my elbow. “Miss, if you please.” She’s a little breathless. “He’ll see you in the meeting room today.” She watches me closely and I know something’s off. She doesn’t want me to go into his office. It’s also become very clear that no one else is here. I’ve not seen a runner, secretary, or another soul, besides Mrs. Doubtfire here since I stepped off the elevator.
I smile sweetly as if I intend to comply, “Of course.”
When the old lady drops her arm and turns, expecting me to follow, I turn the knob on the office door and push my way in. I take two steps into the massive room and stagger to a halt. Before me is a massive bank of windows overlooking the capital building with it’s magnificent dome and beautiful architecture. My view of downtown Austin is perfect—as is my view of the young woman with her ankles strapped to the massive wooden desk. She’s bent over, with her legs spread wide and her skirt pushed up to reveal a very tanned, perfectly smooth, bare backside. Long red hair is dangling off the other side of the desk, covering her face.
Facing me, an older man stands with his pants unbuckled and his hips positioned at the woman’s head. He’s sti
ll wearing his perfectly pressed suit, jacket and all. His eyes are closed and his jaw is dropped as he holds a jar of peanut butter out in his right hand. No lid.
I have my phone out and snap a picture faster than anyone can speak. The flash goes off, and everyone stops moving, except the redhead, who seems unaware that there are people in the room. Or maybe she’s used to that. I don’t know.
“I tried to stop her. I’m so sorry, sir.” The old woman is horrified, her eyes looking everywhere except at the man.
“These things happen. You can go, Marlene.” He acts like this isn’t a big deal. His silver eyes slip leisurely over to us as his plaything continues to suck his dick.
She nods and backs away, closing the doors behind her.
The man is older, with silvered scruff on his cheeks as if he’s been here all night. Dark circles pool under his eyes and his skin looks like it’s seen too much sun over the years. It has a worn and weathered look. I know who he is. I’ve seen his face and heard his voice before.
I’m not in the wrong office. Actually, things couldn’t have worked out better. With the minor exception of my feeling increasingly awkward watching this woman Hoover his dick. But he acts like she’s not there, so neither do I.
“I’m a busy man, and you’re not on my schedule today.”
“I am now, and I suggest you put your schlong away before things get really uncomfortable, Mr. Ferro.”
CHAPTER 7
Mr. Ferro dismisses the redhead and zips up. Suddenly I’m alone in a massive office with one of the most powerful men in the world. He could have me murdered and buried under a bridge faster than I could blink. I’d disappear and no one would know what happened. It’s the Ferro way. They don’t like being challenged, and I have no intention of walking up to the guy and ruining his fun time. I was going to kick his lawyer in the nuts. Now I have a picture on my phone of a much bigger fish, but I’m not certain that it matters. Mr. Ferro has a reputation, and, unless that was really a dude impaling his mouth on Ferro’s Johnson, there’s not much my photo can do. Doesn’t hurt though.
The dark suit clings to his toned body as he moves through the room, padding across the antique carpets, until he stops in front of a mahogany bar at the far end of the room. It has a leather front and an antler as the handle. He slides open the lower section of the cabinet and when he rises, he has a decanter in his hand with two crystal tumblers in the other.
His voice is deep, commanding, with a fine amount of gravel mixed in giving it that menacing tone. “Sit.” He points toward a set of burnt orange club chairs in a sitting area adjacent to the desk and overlooking the city below.
Spine straight and head held high, I follow his finger and walk toward the chairs. I may look calm on the outside, but I’m ready to puke all over the place and run away screaming.
Gathering what's left of my courage, I lower myself into the soft seat, place my purse at my feet, and cross my legs at the knee. The Fitbit lights up. It does that when it’s tipped to the side—the watch face turns on. I need to disable that feature. I hope it looks like an ankle bracelet or a part of my shoe. It’s kind of fat to be a fashion statement. I frown and uncross my legs, trying to tuck the band behind my other ankle, and shove it back against the chair.
I look up at Mr. Ferro, trying to decide what to do. He’s a businessman, but the thing I keep tripping over is that this is Nate’s dad. There’s got to be a reason why he never claimed his son. There has to be a reason why he’s trying to crush him now that he’s grown. It seems like pettiness has nothing to do with it—Ferro is anything but.
I wonder how much Nate is like this man, how similar they are despite having never met. Part of me wants to think they’re completely different, but even now as I sit in the chair and watch his father stride toward me, there are similarities that are too hard to ignore. The stride and gait, the way his shoulders are squared, that little spark of a smile that hides at the corners of his mouth—they almost make me feel welcome. I need to find out why he’s here. I need to see for myself that Nate is nothing like this monster. So I stay.
Ferro pours some dark amber liquid into the bottom of the glass and hands it to me, before taking his seat in the opposite chair. He sips his bourbon and stares out the window for so long I think he’s forgotten I’m here. It’s not until he’s this close that I sense something else in him. It’s difficult to distinguish and would be easily overlooked.
The first thing about him is power. It smacks you in the face and makes you his bitch. That’s obvious, but there’s this undercurrent, a charge in the air, that’s warm and welcoming. It’s completely unnerving. I don’t think it’s a chink in his armor, either. It’s intentional, a way to lure enemies to destruction and make it seem friendly—right before he goes for the jugular.
I’ve never been close to someone with as much money and power as this man. He radiates sensuality and exudes confidence. I should be intimidated or awestruck, but I’m neither. Truth is, I’m pissed and barely containing it. I know this guy’s story, and, although I’m not stupid enough to think that means I have an intimate knowledge of who this guy really is, I know enough. He plays hardball and grabs life by the balls. Ferro seems passive compared to his wife, but that’s an illusion, a carefully constructed piece of bait to lure a less astute person into a sense of security.
I don’t trust my own mother, so maybe that makes me a nutcase, but I’m not walking away without Nate’s house. I just need to figure out how to do that. I’m not diabolical. I’m not some evil mastermind that can plot a coup. Hell, I can’t even play Risk. I lose. Every time. My siblings always crush me. They say I’m all heart and pretty colors. I don’t think like a chess master, and if I want to get this man’s attention, I need to figure out how to play fast.
Insta-lesson!
Fake it until you make it. I channel a younger version of Ferro and slink back into the cold leather, resting my arms on the thick padded leather arms. I rub my finger along the side of the glass, making a line in the condensation before speaking. Ferro sees me. I know he does, although he doesn’t look directly at me. He’s to my right and our knees are pointed toward one another, echoing the placement of the chairs. I know about mirroring, and the way it can make two people feel like they have a lot in common by copying their movements. It’s also a really awesome way to screw with someone’s head. Act like it’s not intentional, and in a few deliberate moves you have a new BFF. Or nemesis.
Ferro is most likely the latter.
The silence spans on as I play the waiting game with him. I’ve not had a taste of the liquor, although I hold the glass like I will—any moment now.
I stare out the windows, not speaking. The first person to speak loses. It signifies weakness to talk first, so I wait. My gaze is locked on the window, but I’m studying the reflection of the room in the glass. Bookcases behind me, legal stuff, leather couch, antlers on the walls, antler coffee table, and a dead animal on the floor—calfskin rug. The office is an ode to Texas. I’m surprised he didn’t stuff a cowboy and mount him on a barrel in the corner of the room.
Five minutes pass.
My ice is melting. I make another line with my thumb, stroking the side of the crystal.
Ten minutes.
Ferro blinks as he watches the window. A pigeon flies by, landing on the opposite eave then fluttering off.
Fifteen minutes come and go. I’m lulled into a sense of tranquility, like I’m just hanging out with Ferro, two people watching the grass grow. The clouds drift across the sky making a path of sheer translucent fluff pierced by the brightest blues and golden sunlight. It’s a beautiful day, one that makes you feel good to be alive, like you could do anything. I sit there, smug, knowing damn well I’m going to win this.
Another sleek pigeon flaps its wings and sails toward the eave above the window in front of us. It misses. His body collides with the glass right in front of me. There’s a loud thud then the little bird plummets like a stone to the street bel
ow.
I yelp without meaning to and stare at the smudge on the glass. I glance at Ferro, who is smirking now. I spoke first. I lost. He won. Bastard.
Ferro clears his throat, slams back the rest of his drink, and stands. “It’s been a real treat. We should do this again sometime.”
I don’t stand. I might be pouting. “We should.”
He stares at the side of my face. There’s a grin pulling at his mouth, but he doesn't smile. “Next time we could sit on my desk and study the view. I hear you’re quite the artist. Do you think you could still draw while bent over like that?” His eyes are cold, and his words are harsh. It’s not an invitation. He’s saying I shouldn’t fuck with him.
I remain seated and repress the shudder working its way up my spine. Why does he know who I am? I laugh coolly and wonder when my voice got so deep. I glance up at him, cocking my head to the side. “I don’t know. Do you think you’d still like it with my pencil shoved up your ass?”
He smirks. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“Don’t make threats without following through. It makes you look weak.”
Ferro barely moves, but it’s enough. I see it in the way his jaw locks combined with the way his fingers twitch at his sides before he slips them in his pocket. I hit a nerve. Someone doesn’t want to be weak. “What would you know about it?”
I knock back my drink, uncross my legs, and stand. “Enough. You have the idiotic tendency to destroy everything you build. A rash moment of rage and poof.” I snap my fingers. “It’s gone.”
He watches me for a moment, his eyes fixating on the carpet. Lifting his gaze, he steps closer, positioning himself in my space, mirroring my stance and the position of my arms—folded across the chest while tapping an index finger against the elbow. “Are you threatening me? Or offering advice?”
“Neither. I’m only going to say this once. I want the deed to Nathan Smith’s house, and I want it now.” I lower my chin and peer at him through a narrowed gaze. I hope I’m coming across as crazy or dangerous. Maybe both.
