Chapter 22
Scott
Daily Horoscope, October 30th
Scorpio - A good captain understands the truth: they are only in control of themselves. The ship is at the mercy of the wind and waves.
I know I should be analyzing the results from the European division because the new tax laws coming out of Brussels are driving a lot of people nuts. Danger Enterprises and me included.
But I can’t.
Ever since the gala, I’ve been on a roller coaster of emotions. True to her word, Olivia seems to have kept quiet about the fight because Dad hasn’t said a thing. So at least that’s a relief. Chase is basically ignoring my existence, which would usually be welcome, but Maddie’s words keep ringing in my head, and I wonder if there’s any way to repair so many years of damage between us. And the board hasn’t voted yet, which makes me antsy, ready to begin the real work of partnering with AlphaSystems.
All that work turmoil is settled when I’m with Maddie, though. She’s been spending more and more time at my place, and she even made a passing comment that made me think she’s considering moving in with me. Halle-fucking--lujah! Because the nights when I come home to an empty place are hell, a reminder of how much she means to me and that I need her with me, by my side, as much as possible.
I’m staring at the same line of text I’ve been reading for the last ten minutes when there’s a knock on my door, and I look up to see Robbie giving me a thumbs-up. “Good news, Boss Man.”
“What’s that?” I ask, pushing my keyboard aside and waving Robbie in. Fuck it, this is why we have accountants. They’re paid to know this tax law shit better than me, anyway.
Robbie helps himself to a seat. “AlphaSystems is upping the ante.”
I lift an eyebrow, saying nothing. I’ve already heard. Much to my surprise, Dad’s idea for the gala may have actually started an odd type of ‘bidding war’. It seems the proposed companies are starting to offer incentives in an attempt to secure their partnership with Danger Enterprises. They don’t have money—that’s why they want ours—but they have ownership percentages, profit sharing, and whatever other methods they think will sway the money their way.
“In addition to doubling our stock options, they agreed to name the scholarship fund at the university after your dad . . . the Robert Danger Advanced Technology Fund.”
I whistle, smirking a bit. “Like he’d know advanced technology if it bit him in the ass, but talk about playing to Dad’s ego. He’ll love the immortality of having his name attached to something like that.”
“That’s what I’m thinking too,” Robbie says. “I don’t care what money Chase’s boys might be offering because we know the money is there in every option in different amounts. But Robert Danger’s name in the paper every year as he hand-selects a recipient and personally delivers the scholarship? That sort of shit sticks.”
“You heard any gossip about what’s going on upstairs?” I ask.
“Decision is going to be soon,” Robbie says. “The whole board is involved now, and you know they’re playing it close to the vest. Closed-door chats and all.”
“The more they think about it, talk to each other, the better our odds. Shows that they have doubts about blindly following Dad’s order. I’ve had a couple of them call my home line to ask questions, and hell, Charlie caught me in the parking garage last week. I think that’s a good sign. I’m hopeful, at least.”
Robbie nods. “Makes sense. By the way, heard something else,” Robbie mentions. “You and Chase still aren’t talking to each other?”
“Yeah, we haven’t dealt with the shit show after the gala. Maddie said some things that have really made me think about my relationship with Chase and Liv, but I just don’t know how to go about changing a lifetime of rivalry, especially with this axe hanging over our heads,” I tell him dejectedly.
Before he can comment on my confession, my intercom buzzes. “Sir? Your father wants to see you.”
“Of course. Tell him I’ll be up right away,” I reply, looking at Robbie.
“First thing to do with your brother and sister . . . apologize. All three of you have been absolute shits to each other forever. Start with ‘I’m sorry’ and go from there,” he says like it’s that easy.
Easier said than done, but I know he’s right. “Thanks, man,” I say, getting up to head upstairs. In the minute it takes me to get to the board room, I see that Chase and Liv have already beaten me there. No surprise. Dad probably called me last, I think bitterly.
Still, I have room for hope. Chase doesn’t have his normal arrogant smirk on his face, and Liv has her usual detached façade. They’re not confident either. So whatever’s going on . . . I’ve still got a shot.
Dad’s back is to me as I enter the room, looking out over the skyline, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his suit and his shoulders squared.
He turns as I take my seat, and I see that his eyes are fiery as he stares daggers at all three of us. “You think I didn’t hear about the little incident at the gala? Scott, starting a fight with your brother like a child? Grow up, son. This is business, not playground roughhousing. Just another example of your inadequacy and infantilism.”
“I’m sure you know that’s not what happened,” I growl, glancing at Chase, who for once looks as surprised as I feel. He didn’t know this was coming either. “I—”
“If it were up to me, you’d be out on your ass! Your actions could’ve cost us dearly. God, imagine if one of the board members or one of the CEOs of the guest companies had walked in on that display of juvenile delinquency. Although I guess I shouldn’t expect better from you. By now, I know you’re always such a disappointment,” Dad yells. “Unfortunately, the verdict’s coming down, and it’s not solely my decision on which route we go. I can’t fire you because it’ll lead to too many questions, and I guess there’s the off chance they’ll pick your deal.” He says the last part with a snide grin, like it’s a complete impossibility.
“Hasn’t stopped you from doing what you’ve wanted before,” I growl, glancing at Liv and Chase. Both of them look a bit shell-shocked at Dad’s display, and I realize he usually saves his harshest criticisms of my character flaws for when it’s just the two of us. They’ve never heard him talk to me like this. I do what I always do . . . take the pain, transform it, and turn it into something useful.
Dad huffs at my outburst, turning to face the window again, rudely dismissing me the same way he always does.
Usually this is the point where I walk away, but today, I can’t. “You’re wrong,” I say flatly.
Dad turns around from his window view, eyeing me incredulously. “Excuse me?”
“I said you’re wrong. The board is considering my plan. Hell, they’re considering them all, but we all know my plan is the one that’s intriguing them. That’s why they’re having closed-door discussions without you. You can’t control this and it’s driving you crazy. You’re such a narcissist that you don’t realize you’ve already lost,” I say, stepping forward. “The fact is, the whole gala was just an excuse to stroke your own ego. You’re behind the times and out of touch.”
My father is fuming, literal beads of sweat popping on his forehead as the heat of his anger enflames him from the inside. “No matter which way the board goes on this, it’s still not a clear-cut decision on who will take the reins when I retire. That’s a separate vote and one I will be heard on again before ballots are cast. So watch yourself, Son. This old dog still has bark, but more importantly, he still has bite.”
He gets up, passing me as he walks to the door, and I hold my breath, literally unsure what he’s going to do. But he simply bypasses me without incident before stopping in the doorway. He looks back, making eye contact with each of us before settling his eyes on mine. “Scott, of all my children, you are the most like me. A chip off the old block.” He says it with a smile, like it’s a compliment. It’s the worst thing he’s ever said to me and my stomach rolls as he strides off dow
n the hall.
I collapse into the white leather chair nearest me, stunned and questioning whether I’m really like him. He’s been the villain in my story all along . . . the absentee father, the harshest critic, the self-important narcissist. Could he be right about me?
Liv comes over, sitting daintily in the chair nearest me like the lady she mostly is. “Scott, he’s wrong.” My eyes click to hers, and I know I’m silently begging her for more. “Dad is an asshole, always has been and always will be, with issues we can’t begin to decipher or cure. You’re ambitious and driven, with a hard outer shell. But you’re not him. None of us are. We’re affected by him, but we’re not broken like he is.”
I lay my hand over hers and realize it’s the first time in years that I’ve touched my own sister other than handshakes and poses for pictures at events. “Thanks, Liv.”
There’s a beat of silence, then Chase speaks but never looks away from the view out the windows. “Is he always that cruelly critical with you?”
I huff a humorless laugh. “That? Other than telling me I’m like him, that was a fucking rah-rah pep talk compared to our usual rehash of my faults.”
Chase’s eyes cut to mine, and I can see the disgust. “I had no idea. His talks with me are usually about how I’m destined for greatness but have to fight and earn every accolade lest you steal them from me.”
Ours eyes lock on each other, flashes of our past playing out between us in the tense air. The competitions, the fights, the hatred, but also the hard work, the accomplishments, and the empire we’ve helped sustain. It hasn’t been pretty, but it’s gotten us pretty damn far. Although I’m not sure the benefit has been worth the cost.
Chase’s eyes drop first and he takes a breath, but I don’t let him say anything else, don’t want to dwell on what has been. Maddie is in my ear, telling me that there’s another way, or there could be. “Chase, I’m sorry. About the fight, about the . . . well, about a lot of things. I’m sorry.” Maddie was right. Saying it does feel good, releases a knot in my core I didn’t know was there.
I turn to Liv, apologizing to her as well. “Liv, I’m sorry for so much too.”
She smiles, a genuine full smile that is so rare I can’t remember the last time I saw it. “Apology accepted, brother.” She leans back in her chair, pointing first at Chase and then at me. “And not that either of you fuckers asked, but my conversations with Dad? Nonexistent. Never happen. I get the pleasure of dealing with his weaselly PA, which is hell all its own. Guess I used to think I was missing out on some father-son bonding thing, but now I’m thinking I’m the lucky one who missed out on all that damage.”
It’s inappropriate, irreverent, and downright cheeky, all things Olivia Danger is not. But it’s exactly the right thing to say, and we all suddenly burst into laughter. I don’t think we’ve ever laughed together. Ever.
Chapter 23
Madison
Daily Horoscope, October 30th
Libra - Beware outside evils, as well as internal demons.
Tiff groans as she reads my horoscope. “I think the outside evils are the ones we have to worry about most tonight! I hate working holidays like this. Everyone’s sloppy drunk and forgets to tip. And Mama needs the moolah so I can buy my own candy. Trick or treat myself!” She snaps like that’s already a done deal. It probably is, considering I’ve seen no fewer than three empty bags of candy already littered around the apartment like dead soldiers, PMS-edition.
“I’m not sure Devil’s Night qualifies as an actual holiday. The holiday is Halloween.” Sure, Devil’s Night is total fiction, but some folks do use it as an excuse to get rowdy.
“Pshaw . . . is Christmas Eve a holiday? Yes. It’s the pre-party for Christmas. Devil’s Night is the Halloween pre-party. Ergo, a de facto holiday.” She laughs, a smug look on her face like she actually won that argument.
“Whatever, bitch. You tell yourself what you need to so that you make peace with eating another Snickers bar. Better yet, get a king-size and we’ll split it. We’re gonna need the chocolate to get through the night without getting hangry.”
“Oh, speaking of . . . did I tell you about the video I saw?” Tiff starts, but I put up a staying hand.
“Please, don’t. No overeating videos. No pimple popping, shopping haul, or prank videos either,” I say solemnly before grinning at Tiff’s pout. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
Tiff sets her curling iron down on the counter and turns. “All right, shoot. Or do I need to sit down?” Without waiting for an answer, she sits down on the closed toilet in the tiny bathroom we share to get ready.
I give her a nervous smile. “Well. It’s just . . . I’ve been thinking.”
“About what?” Tiff asks.
My stomach tightens. I’m sure she’ll be happy for me, but still . . . “I’ve been giving some serious thought into moving in with Scott.”
Tiffany doesn’t look upset, but instead screams and kicks her feet in the air as she pumps her fists. “I knew it! You two-timing whore you!”
I laugh. Tiff’s never short on a loving insult. “He’s mentioned it to me a few times. I know he’s serious, and at first, I just didn’t think I was ready. But I’m starting to feel more comfortable. I didn’t give him an answer yet, but I brought it up this morning and he was buzzing. Like literally, a peacock walking around like my moving in was a win for him!” I say, looking around at our apartment through the open door and mentally comparing it to Scott’s place. It’s not so much the penthouse itself, although it’s nice, obviously. It’s that he’s there.
Tiff purses her lips, crossing her arms. “Moving in together. That’s heavy shit, girl,” she says as a smile breaks out.
“I mean . . . I know you’d be on your own but—”
Tiffany laughs, hugging me. “I knew this would happen!” Tiff raises her head to the sky, as if speaking to the heavens. “Why did I let this girl out? The first taste of dick and she’s ready to abandon me.” She brings her head back down, looking at me. “No way, girl. I’m just kidding. I’m so happy for you. If that’s what makes you happy—if he makes you happy—go for it!”
“Are you sure?” I ask, and Tiffany laughs again.
“Hell yes! Don’t you dare worry about me. You go get you some of that fine ass man of yours—morning, noon, and night, in every room of that penthouse. And tell me all about it and let me live vicariously through you a bit, ‘kay?”
I slap her shoulder. “Well, maybe not all the dirty details, but I’ll say that he’s fucking amazing. His tongue . . . his cock . . .” I trail off, already mentally rehashing half a dozen different encounters. Scott has turned me into a totally horny dirty girl, always ready for him to take me again.
“Ugh, you lucky bitch. I’m so jelly! He got any brothers?” she asks laughingly.
“Yeah, but let’s not go there. For damn sure. You driving tonight? Scott’s picking me up later. I’m sleeping over because tomorrow is his birthday.”
Tiff gawks at me. “Of course his birthday is fucking Halloween. That man is a devil in a suit, and I bet even better in his birthday suit.”
I blush but don’t tell Tiff my birthday breakfast in bed plans . . . especially not the part where Scott is my breakfast.
The drive to Stella’s is filled with giggles and jokes and just an abundance of what makes Tiff and me besties. I’m gonna miss not seeing her every day, but I think I’m ready for this. No, not think. I am ready for this with Scott.
We get to Stella’s and see a full parking lot, the pre-party, as Tiff called it, already in full effect. We sneak in the back to hit the break room for our two-minute last-prep rituals, trying to gear up for a wild, busy night. Stella pokes her head in, already flushed with exertion and hormones. “Hey, girls, hit the floor asap. It’s a madhouse. Oh, and eighty-six onion rings tonight. Daryl hasn’t made the delivery yet, for some reason, so Devin’s doing double-time on fries because they’re the new evening special.”
Stella’s greeting is one long drawl of flustered speech, and then she scoots off, back to the grind. “Well, guess we’d better hit it!” Tiff says with a steadying breath, bracing for the night. We walk out to the floor and she heads straight to a few tables to check in. I head to the bar to take over.
Carl is leaning against the bar, not bothering to move as I take over the station. I can see he hasn’t done jack shit to set up for the busy night. Almost every fruit container is empty and there’s a bar sink full of dirty glasses. I peek over at him, huffing my displeasure. The lazy fucker doesn’t look drunk, but he definitely doesn’t look sober. Surely, he’s not drinking on the job? Stella would have his hide.
“What’s up, Sweet Tits?” he asks, and I turn to face him fully, gawking. Sweet Tits? He’s been an ass before, but never has he called me something like that. Maybe he has been hitting the bottle during his shift.
“I’m gonna pretend that didn’t happen, and you’re never going to say anything like that to me again,” I growl, heading over to clock in. Carl doesn’t seem to catch the message, just rolls his eyes and tosses his apron on the bar for me to clean up, just like everything else.
He grabs a bottle and a glass on his way out, sitting down at his preferred spot at the end of the bar. I shake my head, needing to let whatever shit Carl’s up to tonight go because I’ve got a bar full of customers and Tiff’s already waiting for an order.
Power Play: A Romance Collection Page 62
