by D. M. Burns
“Please call me, Brealyn.” She tucks one side of her hair behind her ear and licks her blow pop lips. God damnit.
The two of them sit and chit-chat back and forth. How long? I’m not even sure. I’m still white knuckling the fucking chair trying to get my mind right. Carson looks over to me.
“Do you have anything else, Brogan?” He asks excitedly. You can bet your god damn ass that I do.
“Actually, I do.” Leaning up in my chair, I prop my elbows on the posh redwood and leer my ice whites at her. The tension in my shoulders is brutal. “Since you’re here to interview for our Marketing Directors position, tell me, Miss…” I snap my fingers.
I remember her damn name; I’m just fucking around with her. After all, she’s been mentally mind-bashing the hell out of me since she sat down. If you ask my opinion, she’s one judgmental little butthole. I thought the southerners were known for their charm, politeness, and sweet southern hospitality? When I see her cheeks blush that business bastard within smiles victoriously.
“Winters. It’s Miss. Winters, Brogan,” Carson snaps at me.
I smirk at him then return my icy gaze to the censored but southern potty mouth in red sitting across from me at the far end of my table. In MY boardroom of blood. Poor sweet southern Sally. I’m about to strike a match to your country crops setting that shit ablaze all around you.
“Whatever…” I toss my hand out in a gesture of who the fuck really cares. I continue like I was never interrupted, “Miss. Winters, what’s your most important, crucial, and free, might I add, marketing tool that you possess?” She looks from me to Carson and visibly swallows. Since she thinks I’m a butthole-correction-a rich egotistical small pee-pee butthole; I might as well prove her theory to be somewhat accurate.
“Uhmm, well, it’s uhhhh…” She plays with the edge of a writing pad that was placed on the table earlier when coke-head Curtis was probably scribbling out notes for his next dope run. She’s nervous, I get it. I’m intimidating. I hold my finger up over my lips shushing her like a child while slowly shaking my head. She can pause the stuttering bullshit for now. The boardroom boss is speaking.
“It’s yourself. You’re your own walking talking advertisement. I call it B.O.D. Business on display.” I toss my hand out flippantly at her in an asshole act of show then continue, “But you’ve chosen to come into The House of Creed and present yourself here today in whatever that is.” I point my trigger finger her way doing a little circle around to indicate her attire and quirk my eyebrows. “Flaunting a red power suit that clearly came off the TJ Max weekly sales rack special. Not to mention, your left heel is one thread away from becoming a flat, and your chipped fingernail polish screams two weeks overdue for a manicure. It’s not really the B.O.D. of a multi-billion-dollar real estate marketing director now is it?” I lean back in my chair triumphantly. I’m a dick, I know. “A little underdressed for slaying the fashion fab runways of business success, hum?” I smile. “That’s not how I’d market myself, but each to their own.” I shrug nonchalantly.
Her mouth gaps open in disbelief, but she manages to pull her hands into her lap in an attempt to hide her chipped nail polish. Carson looks like he’s about to throw himself across the table and choke me out. Not that I blame him. I’m not a nice guy, complete opposite. I stand from my chair and walk over to my floor to ceiling windows peering out over the city before I closeout my dickhead speech.
“Now, tell me why we should consider you again? It’s slipped mind.” I deadpan.
Turning back around to her, I tuck my hands into the pockets of my ten-thousand-dollar dress pants and step forward. Loud and clear, like a chainsaw in a tiled closed-off corner of her mind, I hear her scream in my head…
Not everyone gives a flying crap about dressing in a suit that has more class than the person it's wrapped around. You, superficial prick. Screw you Brogan Creed!
Bravo Miss. Winters… Bravo for expressing yourself outside the realms of butthole and the pee-pee G-rated country curse terminology. I’d applaud her if I didn’t think I’d have to explain myself on how I know these things. So, I simply smirk and look down at my seventeen-hundred-dollar dress shoes. I sorta like her clean wit. It’s cute in a Brady Bunch kind of way.
When I look back up those ocean-deep eyes morph into two slits shooting out a demonic death wish my way. I find it hard to believe that this girl is from the south when she’s looking at me like that; I’m just saying.
“Mr. Creed, I’m deeply sorry to have wasted your time today. Good luck to you.” She sounds like a sweet lullaby. Her eyes roll over to Carson and she says, “Mr. Brooks, it was a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for your time, professional demeanor, and approach. Have a good day gentleman.” She stands, turns on her unsteady heel, and waltz right out the door. Damn, her ass is sexy too.
“I’ll fucking kill you, Brogan.” Carson sneers his delayed death threat then he’s out the door after her.
I grab my shit off the table and get the hell out of my boardroom. Thank fuck her loud thoughts are currently barging their way out of my god damn building. If she’s smart, she’ll keep it moving until she’s out of New York altogether. This is no place for Miss. Winters. I did her a damn favor today.
As I approach Geneva’s desk I call out, “Gen, gotta go home. I need sleep. Postpone anything that’s on my schedule for tomorrow.” She looks at me with concern, but I head straight for my office door and slam it behind me.
“What the actual fuck was that?” I palm both sides of my head willing the throbbing sensation to subside. When the applied pressure doesn’t dull the pain, I grab my coat, and briefcase then slip out my private exit with sweet southern whispers echoing in my head.
Chapter 4
Brogan
When I roll over and snatch my phone from the bedside table, I see Carson’s fucking face staring back at me. I swipe the screen and speaker the call. Tossing the device out on my luxury bedsheets, I scrub my hand over my face.
“What?” I growl.
“Did you remember to visit the new site location while you were in Atlanta?” Carson already knows the answer to that.
“You know I did. Hell, I sent you updated pictures, asshole.” I grumble.
Over the last two weeks, I was occupied in Atlanta, Georgia and just returned. Going over the final construction drafts and plans with Cass Jackson of CJ Construction was vital. Closing the details required my presence. I signed off on the legal documents and visited the project in person. They’ll break ground on the development of Creed Towers at the end of this month. It’s a major deal and a fucking lucrative one at that.
“Yeah, I got them but that was two days ago. Get up, you dick. You’ve been out. Down for the count.” He says.
“Don’t fuck with me, Carson.” I’ve never slept longer than a couple of hours. This asshole comes with jokes.
“I’m not. It was a great reprieve for the staff as well as myself. You know, a temporary break from your asshole attitude was needed. It’s a morale booster, believe that. But now that I have my Marketing Director settled, I figured I’d get the pleasure of waking your grouchy ass up too.” He chuckles.
“So, you finally did your god damn job, huh? What’s their name?” I grate out while scrubbing my eyeballs with my palms.
“Hell, we interviewed her together, you dick. You just better be glad that she believed my little white lie about you.” He laughs out loud and that gets my attention.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I’m all kinds of confused at this point. Unlike most of you probably believe, I can’t sync with this fucker’s mind over the damn phone. My abilities have long-distance limitations.
“Miss. Winters accepted the job contract after I assured her you were off your prescribed and much-needed meds. Therefore, that being the only reason you were a cold motherfucker to her.”
“You hired her?” I growl. “Carson, I see that you’re letting your dick lead the way again. This will end badly.” I g
roan.
“Brealyn’s more than qualified, Brogan. Plus, the woman’s strictly business. If I wanted to fuck her then giving her a job just sealed my dick dipping fantasies with a no fuck zone clause.” He deadpans.
“Whatever. Just keep her the fuck away from me. She has a mouthy mind.”
“Stay out of her head and you won’t have that insider information.” He quips.
Carson doesn’t get it. If I could’ve turned her off, I would have. The god damn woman busted through my brain barriers when she stepped through my boardroom doors, click-clacking her cheap-ass heels all over my imported tile. Her mind was screaming out at me, country accent and all. She was like an unstoppable force. That alone fucks with me. When I make a statement like that, then you should know how real this situation truly is.
“If you like her or value her as a part of your team, then you should really consider placing her on a completely different floor, Carson. I’m fucking serious.” I sit up and run my hand through my hair.
“Don’t be a pussy, Creed.” He laughs. “It’s been two days, dickwad. You should be rested up. Get your ass in the office.” He cuts the call.
I snatch my phone up and look at the date. The motherfucker is serious. I’ve been out of pocket for two god damn days. Fuck…
Studying the numbers laid out in front of me brings on a slight smirk. My mathematical genius knows no bounds. The gift I possess for executing ballsy but beneficial business decisions is bountiful. Even though I’ve been out cold for the past forty-eight hours, I still managed to clear a little over six million on an inside investment tip that turned out golden. Not too bad, if I say so myself.
Now that Vick Malone’s body is rotting nicely in a six-foot soil surrounded square for eternity and beyond, I’ll need to keep my focus firmly on CC Capitals stock. Even though that fucker’s fondling dirt granulates and in line awaiting his chance to reign over hell, there’s still a possibility that someone like me is preparing for attack mode.
Vick was an evil bastard that accumulated enough enemies to populate a small island. He was notorious for sifting contracts and filtering through the loopholes to achieve his goals. Hell, ten years ago, good old Vick even cut his own partner's throat after thirty-five years of collaboration. That greedy need for wealth and power is a malevolent beast with an insatiable thrust that thrived in that assholes black heart. Vick’s net worth was right at $113 billion dollars. Coincidently, his partner just so happened to be my father.
Grant Creed was a solid, reputable businessman. His handshake was as good as a blood contract. My father was nonconfrontational; a peace-seeker. So, when Victor Malone pulled that corporate rug out from under my father, he simply packed his office up and wished everyone well in their future endeavors. Dad was a better man than I ever will be.
Victor sent him out of those golden revolving doors with mere crumbs from the cash cake that my father helped him bake from scratch. My dad retired and shortly thereafter died from a massive heart attack. Which I think my dad was resigned to the notion of death after what Vick force-fed him.
My father told me more often than not that he missed my mother and longed to see her again. Regrettably, she passed away giving birth to me. I never got the chance to know her, but dad said, besides me, she was the love of his life. He never bounced back from losing her. Dad was a fair and honest man and he was also to fucking good to be Victor Malone’s business partner.
They say that the fucking you give is the fucking you get. And the last six months of Victor’s shit existence I kicked my efforts into overdrive. It was nothing short of a financial ass-pounding by yours truly. I took great pleasure in shoving my twelve-foot financial dick straight up his wealthy anal avenue. It became a victory vendetta for my father. Victor wasn’t prepared for me but I was for him though. Then again, no one’s quite prepare for the boardroom brutality I bring.
After I drained Victor of nearly 100 billion dollars spanning over the last decade, he was desperate. Unlike my father, Vick was a vile, greedy sociopath. He was willing to toss his unborn grandchild into the path of my oncoming wrath to stop the money massacre taking place. No fucking way. Ted Bundy had a better chance at earning himself a set of white fluffy little wings and a halo made of gold. I was out for destruction.
Going after his last ace in the hole was my key to successful rehabilitation. The funding fountain that kept him afloat in his over pretentious lifestyle that he coveted so much, CC Capitals, was dry. The very same company that he so callously fucked my dad over for ten years ago. That was all that was left holding him up. I cut off the investors and clamp a chokehold on the outside sourcing that supplied the IV financial fluids keeping it healthy and thriving. A dead shell of sheetrock and metal is all that’s left now.
I had planned on snatching the last leg off his unstable table the day he killed over in his car coming here. Even though he’s gone, it’ll still be mine. I promised my father that I’d own everything that man had, and I will. Death’s not a concept nor a factor for me. If I promise you a financial fucking, then a financial fucking is what you’ll get without the ease of Vaseline. Vick’s untimely departure hasn’t deterred my focus or endgame. His family will suffer from the sins of the father, their leader.
Like I said before, there are no prisoners of war in my financial hunt. Admittedly, this was a personal pursuit for me. I still have some ground to cover before I’m done too. Vick’s so-called protégé is a phantom though. No one’s ever seen him outside the walls of CC Capitals. Zero shits are given for that prick too. It’s of no concern to me. I’ll see him soon enough. Accurately stating, the day he’s removed from Creed Capitals. That’ll be the new name. It has a ring to it, huh?
My financial foreplay is nothing unheard of here in New York. This place is a breeding ground for sinister suits with hellfire intent and methodical cutthroat mayhem. My Creed Deeds fit right in this fine city. Strangely enough, the city that hates everything and everyone has an unhealthy love for me. That too strokes my platinum gold ego.
You’d think the day Victor killed over in his limo on his way to beg for mercy at my feet would’ve been the end of my wrath, but you’d also be very wrong. The day Vick crossed my dad he sealed his fate and set the tone for his entire family. Looking down, I admire my Testoni dress shoes right before my office door flies open interrupting my appreciation for them.
“Brogan, explain to me why you’re not at Ni-Delenios? I wait for no one.” Cassia spews her venom as she barges into my office propping both hands on her hips. A healthy side helping of snide bitch attitude is dripping from her voice.
She welcomes herself into my office like it’s her God-given right to be here. We fucked, that’s all. Leaning back into a lax position in my chair, I prop my ankle on my knee and arch my eyebrow at the vixen bitch in her skintight black Satan sex suit. I tilt my head wondering who gave this woman an unfound sense of entitlement. I know I sure as hell didn’t.
“Mr. Creed… I tried to stop her from barging in but she…” Geneva throws her arms out in exasperation. I nod my head in Gen’s direction telling her silently that it’s okay, and she backs out the door shutting it behind her.
I forgot about Cassia Vontrane’s ludicrous demands for lunch today at her so-called favorite dining spot, not that it would matter if I had remembered. In all fairness, I warned her that I’d be a no show. I knew not to fuck this woman the first time, let alone twice. She believes sex equals relationship. Creatures like Cassia assume I owe them explanations. Like the multiple orgasms, I gave her wasn’t enough. I owe her nothing after the Creed dicking deed is over. This midnight black haired Couture whore is pissing me off.
“You wait for no one, but yet here you are in my office,” I smirk. “Cassia, I don’t do explanations. Hell, I don’t do relationships. I told you that.” I shake my head slowly from side to side.
“You apparently don’t do lunch schedules either, asshole.” She snips. That’s a fair assessment so I nod in agreement.
Pushing my chair back, I stand and button my coat while arching a lonesome eyebrow at Cassia. The cunt coat is still standing there expectantly waiting. For what? Hell, if I know. She’s peculiar by nature.
“Would you like me to stop by later?” She smiles sadistically and prowls over to me. She picks at imaginary lint on my coat right before she slides her hands over my chest. The smirk I give her is one that says no fucking thank you, you crazy she-serpent.
“Cassia, I broke a carnal rule with you.” My voice is cold, void of emotion.
“Oh yeah… What was that?” She purrs. She’s not going to like my answer. I smirk at her.
“Never fuck the same woman twice. So, you see,” I step around her pacing my way toward the door speaking over my shoulder at her, “I apologize for the misunderstanding. But your entitlement is not warranted. I’d show you out, but I wouldn’t want you believing that I’m a gentleman.” I deadpan.
“Don’t bother to call me again, you bastard.” She hisses.
I have no problem fulfilling that request. Her Jimmy Coo’s sound like little angry repetitive stab wounds to my tile floor as she fast tracks her way out of my office. Following her out isn’t necessary, but I want to make sure that the crazy bitch makes a straight shot to the elevator.
As soon as I step through the threshold Geneva gives me a pointed look that says your such a manwhore. I smirk at Gen then let my eyes wander down the hallway at Cassia’s angry departure. She jabs the call button on the wall and when the elevator door opens, she bounds forward just as Brealyn Winters tries to exit. Brealyn’s hands are carrying a loaded tray of what looks to be coffee. What the fuck? The massive breakroom made available to the employees has everything needed for coffee.
