Wallstreet God (The House Of Creed Book 1)

by D. M. Burns

  Quite honestly, I don’t think my financial fuckery makes me a good person in the least. I only fish from the shit end of the financial pond. Essentially, I become a wealthier version of me from their wrong deeds by doing to them what I detest the most. I merely take from the thief that stole in the first place. Fucking over the fuckers. I’m just the better fucker, so to speak.

  Bottom line, my warlord corporate calendar is jammed packed and overflowing with my futuristic financial victims. This black-tie event is shaping up to be one of the best ever for business too. The Plaza is hosting the event and gorgeous in appearance. This place never disappoints. It costs a mint, but I can afford it. The cognac is gushing like liquid hot gold in my veins and my cheeks are flushed from the heat.

  “This is turning out to be enjoyable,” Carson says. I nod at my redheaded manbun friend.

  “Nice ponytail, fucker.” I chuckle. “It reminds me of one of those Chinese dragons with a rubber band tied around its flaming goatee.” He flips me off.

  “Don’t get me started on your lightning bolt, you bastard. Anyway, Damien is looking for you. He feels bad about the other day, man.” My jaw clenches up. I’m still feeling raw about that shit.

  “My reaction was a little brash but trust me when I say he had it coming,” I growl.

  “Brogan sometimes it’s best not to dive into the minds of kids. He’ll grow out of it.” He snickers.

  “I don’t give a damn what any of you do as long as it’s outside The House of Creed.” It’s best we get off this subject. I’m getting pissed. Anger, alcohol, plus me; won’t end well for anyone. It’s a lethal combination.

  “Fuck me… Who is that?” Carson says.

  My eyes zero in on the blood-red target as she flows into the ballroom outshining The Plaza’s beauty encasing her. The enormous teardrop chandeliers cast out a glow that lights up the long elegant, red strapless dress that hugs every curvy angle of her B.O.D. then drapes to the floor in a long gliding trail. It resembles a red cloud of fog fanning out around her ankles with each step that the sexy two-legged creature takes. Her blond hair is in a classy updo with tendrils falling loose.

  The red fuck-me pumps add seven inches of height to her stature. Her smooth silky powder-white skin is flawless, and those ribbon thick lips match the color of her dress perfectly. My dick actually twitches for the first time since earlier in the week when I was on an elevator with that same country girl that had on a coffee stained shirt. It’s his way of pushing me in the direction of her.

  “That’s Brealyn, you dick.” I rasp out.

  Tossing back the rest of my cognac, I grind my teeth together as I watch all the surrounding suits plot out their move. While the ladies with Lucifer tendencies sharpen their claws and prepare for a jealous brawl. I’ve blocked all that shit out tonight. I don’t want to hear it. Never in my life have I wanted to claim someone but Brea is different. She’s what I consider my version of Southern Comfort to be.

  “That’s far from a fucking TJ Max sales rack purchase. You should feel like an ass right about now.” Carson snickers.

  “Watch yourself, Car.” My eyes follow Brealyn, and the gravitational pull is fierce.

  “Brogan, straight up… I’m two seconds away from telling you to go fuck yourself with that newfound no touching or fucking work policy you’ve suddenly invoked. Jesus Christ. I knew she was beautiful, but I didn’t see that coming. That’s wifey material right there.” He cuts his eyes over to me. He wants a reaction. Fuck him.

  “I’m going to get another drink.” I head toward the bar without another word.

  “Right.” Carson chuckles as I walk off.

  Reading his mind to know he orchestrated this entire ploy with Brea is not necessary, I know him. He knew exactly what he was doing when he hired her, placing the peach directly in my path.

  Cupping my hands behind my back, I patiently wait for the server to pass over my beloved and much-needed drink of choice. Then I hear her unspoken thoughts spear through my mind on an open frequency. Like a god damn Wi-Fi direct connect straight to me.

  Wow… This place is absolutely stunning. Everyone is so fancy and crisp. And totally staring at me. Why are they staring at me? Oh, gosh… Beth told me this dress was perfect for this event. So why is everyone eyeballing me? Maybe I have a bugger hanging out of my nose or something? This is awkward.

  My laughter bubbles up out of my chest catching me off guard. It’s an unfamiliar feeling and never happens until she shows up. I hardly ever smile much less laugh. That woman’s hilarious and totally oblivious to her own unique beauty.

  When I have my drink in hand, I turn to find the little Georgia peach but have Damien standing before me obscuring my view of her. My chest releases a displeased groan and my brows automatically crease. I want to punch him in the throat and watch him drop to the ground in agony, asshole.

  Damien looks like he walked right off the stylish runways in Italy and straight in here with his posh tux covered ass. He embodies exactly what you’d expect a PR ass-kissing hotshot to resemble. When he nervously rubs the back of his neck, I catch a glimpse of the sparkling band of diamonds that surround the face of his Rolex.

  “This is the best turnout we’ve had in years.” He says.

  “So, are we doing the small talk bullshit now, Damien?” I ask. Wasting my time with this asshole will put me into a shit mood. My eyes cut in the direction of where I last saw Miss. Winters.

  “Not as long as we're good, man.” His tone isn’t aggressive. It’s more of an inquiry edged with regret. An attempt to smooth things over kind of vibe. “Targeting the payroll selection for snatch is out. Won’t happen again.”

  “Boundaries are key.” I nod my head then turn up my drink.

  “Honest to God though, Brea is fierce tonight, huh? You got a thing for her, Bro?” He asks.

  I hate that fucking nickname and he knows it. If I were him, I’d pick another topic entirely. I simply stare at the intrusive little asshole. I’m not into the sharing my feelings bullshit with this prick or anyone for that matter.

  “Alright then… Good talk.” He slaps my back then takes off in the direction of Brock and Lance, who incidentally are avoiding eye contact with me altogether.

  I guess I need to lighten up on these guys. I’ll get on that TLC train first thing next week. Tonight, I simply want to enjoy the party without anyone fucking up my view of Brealyn. My eyes appreciate her effortless interactions with the crowd from afar. Every man is under her southern spell. Carson is right. I didn’t see her coming either but I’m glad she’s here. Brea accepts a glass of offered champagne and leisurely moves toward the terrace while sampling the liquid. That’s my cue.

  This place is so crowded that it’d take me fifteen minutes to cut across the room and catch up to her. That timetable is being generous. The guests will expect me to carry on countless verbal and non-verbal conversations, not happening. There’s only one person I’ll entertain right now, her.

  With a spilt second decision made; I fall back behind the crowd. Becoming the invisible man and moving through solid matter is something I have to remind myself that others are not familiar with. It may be customary for me but from a spectator’s standpoint, they tend to get a little uncomfortable. Scanning my surroundings, I make sure no one is in eyeshot. Phasing over to a transparent view, I filter through obstacles undetected.

  Similar to an unseen breeze blowing through your hair. A whispered touch of wind coupled with a fizzling sense, like a carbonated drink, tickling through the cells of your blood. Expand that thrill throughout your entire being and that’s the best depiction to explain the phenomenon. Cement walls turning into an air kissing, sizzling sensation tingling across your skin.

  Stepping out into the night's air, it’s brisk and the faint smell of rain can be detected in the distance. Brea is sipping on her champagne and chatting it up with a familiar face. I recognize this woman from The House of Creed’s accounting department. It happens to be Brock’s late
st unsuspecting porn star victim that was sprawled out in my boardroom.

  Soundlessly, I slip further into the shadows and stay mute. Waiting out Bethany to find another table to showcase her extracurricular sex skills shouldn’t take to awful long. Ironic that I find myself wishing she’d fuck off since clearly any other time she has no problem in doing so.

  “You look so beautiful, Brea,” Bethany says.

  “Gee thanks but you do to Beth. Are you sure this getup isn’t too over the top though?” Brea nervously runs her hands down the waistline of the dress.

  “Are you kidding me? It’s perfect for tonight. Anyway, did you see Chandler Allridge from the IT department eye-fucking you? He’s yummy, girl.” Bethany fans herself with her hand. Brea scrunches up her nose and shakes her head.

  “No swimming in the corporate pool,” Brea says. This girl’s smart.

  “You need to live a little, Brea.”

  Rolling my eyes is an automatic response. This coming from the chick that I have on company surveillance so-called “living it up” at the workplace. What that was, was a literal pounding into my fifty-eight-thousand-dollar boardroom tabletop. Yeah, dating advice from her would be a hard pass. Living it up with her legs open and high in the sky, solid advice. Shit…

  “Oh, I date…” Brea says. She has my undivided attention now.

  “Really… Who? And for the record, Damien doesn’t count. He dates everyone. Scratch that. Let’s just keep it real, he fucks everyone.” Bethany says with a little bite in her tone. She tips her glass back draining the champagne like a funnel from her college days.

  “First off, I wouldn’t date or sleep with Damien, ever. And well, I’ve been sorta busy with my new marketing project.” Brea says.

  When the terrace door opens, I wonder if I’ll even get the opportunity to speak with Brea at this rate. Some other accounting chick pops her head out of the door.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt but Bethany, Carson is looking for you.” My man Car saves the motherfucking day. Thanks, you little leprechaun of lucky timing.

  “I’ll be right back,” Bethany says to Brea then steps into the throws of the party softly pulling the door together behind her.

  Taking the necessary steps forward, I approach cautiously and materialize back into view. Sliding myself right into place behind Brealyn is too easy. She abruptly turns and bounds right into the chest wall that is me.

  Her hands land on either side of my chest and I catch her champagne flute before it tumbles to the ground. I’m awarded an up-close view of her ruby red luscious lips. A smell of floral and fruity pleasure invades my senses and I want to bury my fucking face into the side of her neck inhaling her scent in. Jesus.

  “Good evening, Brea,” I say with a devilish smirk.

  “Oh, good God… Shieee… Shoot. Oh lord. I’m so very sorry, Brogan.” She says while taking a step back. For the briefest of moments, I thought she was going to drop a curse word. Damn. Maybe next time.

  “There’s no harm done. You’re not carrying around a tray of coffee tonight.” She laughs out loud at my attempt in comedy and smiles brightly. Those eyes are the color of a deep dark indigo blue tonight shining with true eagerness. I pass her glass back to her and she takes it.

  “Where did you come from. I didn’t hear the door open.” She looks around me to the doors then back to me again.

  “You look stunning.” I’ll say anything to draw her attention away from my sneaky ass approach but my words are true to form. Her face breaks out into a beautiful blush.

  “That’s so sweet, Brogan. Thank you. Just know that once the clock strikes twelve, my Cinderella outfit will disappear. Then my TJ Max sales rack specials will appear.” She giggles at her pun and for once in my life, I follow suit without forcing it. What can I say? She’s funny.

  Her southern drawl is thick tonight. It’s something I’ve picked up on that is more noticeable when she’s nervous.

  “Are you enjoying yourself?” I ask.

  I pull my coat off and wrap it around her bare arms. The shock factor is written out all over her face. Hell, I’m just as taken aback by my actions as she is.

  “Oh my gosh, yes. Brogan this is huge. I’ve never been to The Plaza before. So, it’s most definitely a new experience for me. How about you?” Her tranquil oceans search mine.

  “The cognac is good, but the caliber of company is much better now.” I twirl the liquid in my glass and smirk at her. “I’m sure you’ve been to lavish events such as this before, right? You’ve worked for some really prestigious companies.”

  “Of course, but nothing compared to this. The House of Creed is in a class all its own.” She ends her compliment by supplying me with a wink.

  I’ll be damn. The sassy peach is also a smooth talker with follow up game. My mouth curves up into a genuine unsolicited smile. Just as quickly, her thoughts break my barriers down. Barreling in at the speed of light and hitting me with the force of a wrecking ball.

  Oh, God… There should be a law that requires this man to smile every day. Holy crap… The boss man has an overwhelmingly sexy smile. Plus, there’s a dimple that forms when it’s a full-on display. WOW. Just WOW.

  “Brogan you really must do that more often, smile, I mean. As a matter of fact, I’ll try to make sure you do just that every time I see you. It’ll be a welcomed occurrence.” She says.

  “Would you like some more champagne?” I motion toward Brea’s empty glass but get interrupted.

  “Hello, Brogan.” I feel a hand slide over the outside of my arm and my inside army of demons instantly snarl out in protest. “Oh my God. I almost didn’t recognize you. It’s the office Starbucks girl. Well, look at you, with your Manhattan makeover. Did Brogan dress you for this occasion?”

  That shrill voice of Cassia’s rakes across my eardrums like a set of decaying hangnails. Who let this bitch in? My focus roams over to the cunt coat decked out in her black extravagant evening gown. It’s not lost on me that black is her evil villain go-to color. I mumble fuck out under my breath and Brea giggles. I like the fact that she doesn’t let the wicked bitch goad her into a confrontation. It speaks highly of Brea’s character. Cassia’s eyes turn into slits and she spears those lasers of evil in Brea’s direction.

  “Brealyn, can you please give me a moment alone with Cassia?” I grit those words out from behind clenched teeth.

  Cassia’s lips turn up into a victorious grin and her cat claws grow before my eyes. This bitch has no idea that this is no victory for her. I’m gearing up and putting on my warlord façade just for her. Brea nods while slipping my coat jacket out from around her shoulders then passes it back to me and I drape it over my arm.

  “It was a pleasure seeing you again. Excuse me.” Brea shoots me an apologetic look then heads for the doors. I watch her every step and only turn my attention back to Cassia once she disappears through the door. God damnit. I was enjoying our conversation.

  “Is that the reason why you tossed me out of your office, Brogan?” She motions her hand out toward Brea’s departure. For fuck’s sake. The crazy lady really believes we’re an item. “You’re fucking the hired help, huh? That’s not a step-down, nope.” She clucks her tongue then says, “That’s a few flights shy of a full-on stadium level stair climb.” Cassia crosses her arms over her chest and glares at me. I cock my eyebrow at her.

  Maybe Geneva’s right. It’s time to start checking for mental stability before sexual encounters of any kind. Making sure the coats don’t deserve a straitjacket before I plunge my dick into them, solid advice.

  “If I entertain this conversation then that’ll only feed into your fuckery of believing we were anything more than what we were Cassia, a fuck.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and try to gain some perspective here. “Your opinion holds no clout with me. Your attitude is like a punch delivered by a dwarf, ball sack level aim. And your face makes me agitated in a non-sexual way of course. Overall, your presence is pissing me off greatly. Last warning, leave befor
e I have you escorted out and after your gone, stay that way.”

  Cassia throws her hand over her chest in shock and she gasps as if my words have actually dethroned her evil little ass. Hell, I thought I was unapologetically blunt with her at the office. I’m not in the mood for her bullshit.

  This is my asshole attitude diluted and she truly has no idea how malicious I can be. Pacing my way to the door, I push through without so much as looking back. Hopefully, she’ll take the hint and leave willingly.

  chapter 9

  Brealyn

  After my short-lived banter with the ever so sexy boss man, I find myself spinning around on the dance floor with Nate Nixon. A very prominent businessman that’s well known for his blood relation to the famous President Nixon. The dark brown-haired man is light on his feet, well-spoken, and very charming. Plus, he’s a great distraction for the aggravating attraction that a certain Wallstreet God sparks inside of me.

  I’m not certain what has changed Brogan’s attitude toward me, but our conversations are nice. I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t looking forward to seeing him tonight. I was hoping for it.

  My wardrobe challenge was specifically hand-picked with devious reasons backing the decision. It all revolved Brogan. I try not to be a vain individual, but I desperately wanted to impress and squash the boss’s first impression of me. I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to be beautiful. Not only for him but me too, but mainly him. Breaking the bank on this purchase was so worth it though.

  Brogan stands out in any crowd. Spotting him as soon as I stepped into the grand ballroom required no effort on my behalf. His all-black suit is crafted to his well-built body and his slicked-back hair coupled with that winter stare is mind-blowingly captivating. God’s lavished creation shines through in that man. I applaud you Big G, well-done with that one.

  Tonight is huge for The House of Creed. This shindig is a yearly social highlight that very few get an RSVP to attend. I figured Brogan would have zero time for me. I’m just the new country girl with a silly southern drawl, right? So, when he appeared out of nowhere on the terrace, I was shocked but in equal measure, flattered by his company.