Sugar Rush

by Sawyer Bennett

  "Enjoying the party?" I hear from my left and recognize the voice instantly. Because I don't need to act the part, and because it comes very naturally to me, I turn with cold eyes toward JT as he stands next to me. He's got a glass of a dark-colored liquor in one hand and his other hand tucked causally in his pocket.

  He's stares down at me with superiority and amusement, no doubt enjoying his memory of the conversation he had with Beck a few days ago whereby he encouraged Beck to put the brakes on with me. Knowing this man doesn't think very much of me based on the circumstances of my birth, that he's pushing his friend away from a chance at real happiness, and let's not forget that he drugged and raped me, leads me to shut down this nasty conversation before it begins.

  "Can't say this is really my speed," I tell him with a slight shrug of my shoulders. My eyes glance around the room before coming back to him. "You know...not for a girl from Belle Haven."

  "Exactly," he says in what sounds like a polite voice but that's really just to hide his rude declaration that I'm not good enough for this crowd.

  This actually amuses me, that he feels the need to tear me down. It also gives me an important piece of information. He's still very worried about my connection with Beck and feels threatened by it.

  "But as long as you remember the true role of a Sugar Baby," JT says casually as his gaze flicks from mine to the action on the pool table. He stares at it pensively before continuing, "you should be fine."

  "And what role would that be?" I ask sweetly.

  "That the arrangement with Beck is temporary and it's a services-only arrangement. You fuck him, he gives you money. It's quite simple, really."

  I blink at him, unsure of what to say. Every fiber of my being wants to tell him off and make him understand how close Beck and I truly are, but the part of me that wants him to suffer eventually wins out, so I play it cool. "Thank you for the reminder, Mr. Townsend."

  "If you think there's something deeper with Beck, you'd be wrong about that," he insists as he turns back to me. "He doesn't see you as anything more than a great fuck."

  If I really wanted to preserve status quo with JT and not alert him to anything, I would meekly agree with his statement. But the fighter in me...the woman who hates this man and wants to defend herself to make up for the fact that once I was absolutely defenseless against him, narrows her eyes and sneers, "I am a great fuck, JT. A really superb, fantastic fuck. But you and I both know there's more to me than that. Otherwise you wouldn't be trying so hard to tear me down."

  JT actually rears backward a bit with eyebrows raised. I can tell he never expected me to fight back.

  Before he can even think of a comeback, and before I can ruin anymore of Beck's plan to solidify his friendship with JT so he'll seek him out for money, I step into JT and murmur softly, "But don't worry...I would never attempt to come in between your friendship with him. I'm very aware of Beck's feelings for you and I'm going to try to make a very concerted effort to get along with his oldest friend and business partner."

  I step back and beam up at him with a warm, brilliant smile. Giving him a nod, I set my half-empty glass down on a small table beside me and say with cheery politeness, "Merry Christmas, Mr. Townsend. It was nice seeing you again."

  Stepping past him, I make my way across the billiard room and toward the staircase that leads up. I don't look back at JT, but I can actually feel his confused look pressing in upon me.

  I follow my dad out of the music room, across the main hall and to the main staircase. We go up one flight to the next floor that houses his office, the library, media room, and master suite complete with a separate dressing room and his-and-hers master baths. The floor above has four guest rooms plus a home gym and sauna.

  My dad's office is as intimidating as it is sumptuous: custom wood paneling with coffered ceilings, a massive crystal chandelier, rare artwork, and a built-in saltwater reef aquarium that takes up one wall. Given that my dad spends most of his time in here, either working his financial advisor magic or probably still fucking JT's mom, I get why he wanted it built to his specific tastes. My gaze slides to the Parnian custom desk made of Carpathian elm and ebony--yeah, the one I hid under while my dad boned Mrs. Townsend all those years ago--that I happen to know was purchased for a cool two hundred thousand dollars because my mom also likes to brag about that as well.

  Because we're talking business and my father would never think to sit beside me in one of the two guest chairs made of Macassar ebony and Italian leather, which are as uncomfortable as they look, he takes a seat behind his desk that is so expensive I'm afraid to breathe on it.

  When I'm seated opposite him, I don't waste any time getting to the subject. The sooner I get this done, the sooner I can grab Sela and we can start to celebrate Christmas Eve away from this place.

  "You loaned JT the start-up capital for The Sugar Bowl," I say simply.

  My dad's expression remains neutral, flawlessly composed. "It's no secret. It was a good investment that paid off quickly and lucratively."

  "I'm curious if you loaned him the money because it was a good deal or because he's your son."

  His reaction is subtle but telltale. A tiny tick in his jaw muscle, and I know I've just made things uncomfortable because we've never discussed this in detail.

  My dad, however, recovers quickly and says in an unapologetic voice, "First, because it was a good investment, but also because he's my son."

  "Does he know?" I ask quietly.

  "That I'm his father?" my dad asks, but doesn't wait for me to reply, merely says, "No. Candace and I felt it was best he not know."

  I can actually envision how that conversation went between my dad and JT's mom. Probably something like this.

  Candace: "I'm pregnant, Beckett. And it's yours."

  Beckett: "How do you know?"

  Candace: "Because you're the only one who's fucking me."

  Beckett: "What do you want to do?"

  Candace: "Keep it, of course. But Colin can't know. He'd divorce me."

  Beckett: "I understand. That means you'll have to fuck your husband, and soon, so he thinks it's his."

  Candace: "That sounds like a good plan. We can keep fucking though too, right?"

  Yeah, that's exactly how I bet that conversation went, because I knew all too well that my dad was not going to divorce my mom. He may be a whiz with finances and made his own way in the world of power and money, but my mom comes from old money. The kind that never dies, never goes away. Is infinite and then some.

  I also know Candace knows this, and she doesn't come from money. She married Colin after he plucked her out of a Vegas burlesque show. He's fifteen years her senior, obscenely rich, ugly as sin, and dotes on his wife. She's not about to lose that gravy train.

  "You and Candace...you never thought it was a good idea to let JT know the truth?" I ask, not because I really care for JT's benefit, but because I want to get a read on my dad's feelings, as limited as they may be for his illegitimate son.

  "Where are you going with this?" my father counters, evading my direct inquiry. This doesn't surprise me. My dad was never one to talk about feelings and emotion.

  I don't answer him directly either, because I can play this game as well. I learned from the best about how to remain detached so I can focus on what's really important. So instead, I say, "I don't begrudge you helping JT with the start-up capital. Hell, that was of benefit to me too."

  My dad nods with a smile on his face, utterly relieved I'm not here to give him shit for helping his secret bastard son. But it's time to knock that smile off his face.

  "I don't want you to loan him any more money," I say firmly, making sure I hold his gaze, which instantly turns suspicious of me.

  "Why?" is all he asks.

  "I can't tell you the details. I'm asking you to trust me on this."

  Leaning forward to rest his elbows on his desk, he steeples his hands in front of his face and stares at me pensively. Finally, he lowers his han
ds and asks, "Should I weigh your request to trust you on this with as much consideration as I'd give JT if he came to me and said he really needed the money? Should I trust his need as much as I trust your request? How do I distinguish when you're not giving me any information?"

  It's a fair question, to be honest, yet I'm the one who doesn't trust my dad with the details. "Look...I don't expect you to distinguish between us as sons. You and I aren't close; I expect no more than you and JT are close. You have a blood tie to us both, and I get that gives you some measure of need to help us out as best you can as a father. But I'm telling you, it would be in your best interest not to give him any more money."

  Dad's eyebrows raise in surprise. "You want JT to fail at something, don't you? I'd like to know why."

  "I want him to fail at getting a loan from you," I say with a nod. "I'm hoping he'll come to me for the money. I want to be his only resource."

  My dad is whip smart, keen, and shrewd. He understands immediately. "You're going to use leverage to buy him out of the company."

  "Yes."

  "Why?"

  My dad doesn't want to know my reasons so he can offer me fatherly advice. He wants to know so he can figure out exactly which son he should align with if it comes down to a choice.

  "I can't tell you the details," I maintain. "But I'll just say this...JT is not a good man. He's rotten to the core, and trust me when I tell you, there's going to come a time when you're going to regret having him as a son. You'd best start distancing yourself now before you find out exactly how wretched a human being he is."

  My father's stoic facade starts to crumble a bit. His brow wrinkles with worry. "If he's in some type of trouble that will bring shame on my name, I need to know--"

  I hold up a hand and cut him off. "How can he bring shame on your name? You've never publicly acknowledged him as your son. I suggest you keep it that way."

  For this first time since this conversation started, my father looks unbearably uncomfortable. He actually drops his eyes down to his desk, pressing a finger to his temple, which he taps in consternation. I can see he's troubled, and this makes me think that perhaps it's not a well-guarded secret that JT is his son. I can tell by the worry in his eyes that someone else knows, and this worries him.

  "Dad," I press him. "Will you do as I ask?"

  Sitting back in his chair, my father sighs deeply as he raises his gaze back to me. He seems to be searching for something to say, but I can tell indecision is warring within him.

  "I'm telling you, Dad...if you believe anything I say, don't give him the money. Things will get very ugly if you do."

  "Is that a threat to me?" my dad asks, not in an affronted manner, but with a tired edge to his voice.

  "Not at all," I assure him quickly, and then decide to give him just a tiny bit more information to help sway his decision because I need him on board. "I'm telling you JT is bad news. I'm not going to give you details, but I will tell you he's committed a crime that could see him doing serious time in prison. You need to distance yourself from him so you don't get dragged down into the mud. Trust me that I'm trying to do what's best not only for me, but for everyone close to him. But my main interest right now is to get him out of the company before the shit hits the fan, so The Sugar Bowl doesn't suffer because of his mistakes. I'm trying to sever ties from him before this goes down, and I want to make sure you don't have any existing ties as well."

  These words hit my father hard. His face sort of sags, turns slightly gray. For the first time in my life, I think he looks old. A tiny stab of pity hits me as I realize that I'm laying some troublesome shit on his doorstep. Then I immediately banish it when I envision the way he and my mother treated Caroline when she was raped.

  "I know I haven't been the best father," my dad says as he looks at me with haggard eyes. "But I tried to support you both the only way I knew how, which was financially. I know money better than I know parenting. Maybe if I would have taken more of an interest in JT..."

  His voice trails off and I can see he's going into pity mode. He's not worried about JT and his demons. He's worried about his own personal failings and how this may reflect upon him. While I don't really care about bolstering his pride, I do need to keep him focused on doing what I need.

  "No, Dad," I say firmly. "What's wrong with JT can't be fixed with fatherly love. He's broken, probably on a cellular level. He's broken, no matter what good influences have been around him."

  My father's eyes water a tiny bit and he looks at me with unmitigated hope that perhaps this isn't his fault. That maybe even his defective genes come from Candace, and JT was going to be a screwed-up individual no matter the circumstances.

  I can see he needs some type of absolution for being a shitty father to me and an absent father to JT, so I tell him what he needs to hear, regardless of whether it's true or not. "He's broken, Dad. Nothing and no one could have prevented his actions or fix them now. Trust me on that."

  Our gazes lock and I give him an encouraging smile.

  Finally, he lets out a deep breath of regret and says, "All right. I won't loan him any money if he asks."

  I let out my own breath of relief as my hands grip the armrests of the chair. I start to pull myself up, eager to leave now that I have my dad's cooperation. "Thank you."

  "Are you in any danger or trouble?" he asks, and that catches me off guard. I don't think I've ever heard him ask me such a question...with such genuine concern for my welfare.

  "No," I assure him with a smile. "I'm fine. Will be better after I can get JT out of The Sugar Bowl, but I'm good right now. Don't worry."

  "Okay," he says quietly, and I start to turn away from him. But then he says, "Does this have anything to do with the young lady you brought with you tonight?"

  This also catches me by surprise and I turn back to him. "Why do you ask?"

  My father cocks an eyebrow at me. "Beck...not once in your ten years of adulthood have you ever brought a girlfriend here. Not only that, I can tell how protective you are of her. And whatever this quest is you are on to sever JT from your life, I think the motivation must be powerful. I'm guessing it's the girl."

  My dad will figure out the details soon enough once JT is arrested for Sela's rape, but I'm not about to share that with him. Instead, I merely say, "Everything I do is with the idea in mind of solidifying my future with her."

  And for the third time this evening, my father stuns me. He looks at me with admiration and says, "That's a good reason to make a bold move. For love."

  I blink at my dad, confused over his words. I didn't think he knew what love was. Hell, I'm not even sure I quite understand it; only that my feelings for Sela are overwhelming to me at the worst of times, and infinitely comforting at the best of times.

  Nodding in affirmation to my dad, I merely say, "Merry Christmas. And thank you."

  "Merry Christmas, Beck," he says as I turn from him and walk out of his office.

  I make my way down the staircase, wondering if Sela stayed in the music room and how horribly my mother may have been treating her. I could see the moment Sela said she was from Belle Haven that my mother's lukewarm curiosity morphed into acute distaste. While I'm sure she doesn't care about my personal happiness, she's very much interested in making sure that I marry the right person and produce socially acceptable grandbabies for her. After all, Caroline did the unthinkable and had a child from the product of rape, and that just wouldn't do for the North family's prestige.

  Halfway down the stairs, I see Sela, standing at the bottom, looking up at me with a warm smile. It's like she appeared almost magically, because she was the person I wanted to see the most right then. I level a bright grin at her and trot the rest of the way down.

  My arms go around her waist, hers go around my neck, and I plant a deep kiss on her right there, knowing it will set San Francisco gossips on their ears. I vaguely hope my mother is around watching and that she's immensely embarrassed by my behavior.

  When
my lips pull back from Sela's, she whispers, "I take it the meeting went well?"

  "Better than well," I say with a brush of my lips against her temple. Taking her by her hand, I start to pull her to the foyer so we can leave. "I'll tell you all about it, but we have more important things to do right now."

  I see Percy at the entrance, grabbing our coats from the massive closet just off the front door. Sela's hand squeezes mine and she asks coyly, "Oh yeah, what's so important that we have to do right now?"

  "Don't you remember?" I ask mischievously as we reach Percy. I take Sela's coat from him first and help her into it. "Whipped cream and sex toys."

  I say this, of course, loud enough for Percy to hear and his ears turn bright red as Sela looks at me with wide eyes.

  "What?" I ask in mock surprise as I grin at her. "You agreed earlier. Whipped cream and sex toys in front of the Christmas tree when we got home."

  Sela drops her face and snickers. I turn to Percy and take my coat from him with a jaunty smile. I expect to see condescension in his expression that I would embarrass him and Sela like that, but instead his lips are quirked up in amusement even if his ears are still red.

  He turns to Sela and bows slightly. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Sela. I hope you have a Merry Christmas."

  "I hope you do too," Sela tells him warmly as I slip my coat on.

  Impulsively, I reach out and give Percy a hug. A bro-type hug with a gentle clap on his back. "Merry Christmas, Percy."

  "Be well, Beck," he says with misty eyes as he opens the door for us. "And Merry Christmas."

  I wake up slowly, feeling sated, warm, and secure. The sun hasn't quite cracked the horizon, so our room is bathed in a bluish-gray light. I'm lying on my side, my head resting on Beck's bicep as he's spooned around me. His other arm is curled around my waist, large palm fanned out across my stomach. I can tell immediately that he's already awake but just content to quietly hold me.

  "Merry Christmas," I say with a rough voice.

  His palm presses into my belly and his face nuzzles into the back of my neck. "Merry Christmas. Sleep well?"