Wallstreet God (The House Of Creed Book 1)

by D. M. Burns

  “Damn. That tastes like pineapple.” He licks his lips and I swear to Christ I want to volunteer to do that for him. Ughhh. “Let’s go eat before I cancel our reservations and dine in with you instead.” He latches onto my hand pulling me out the door. Those are my sentiments exactly Mr. Wallstreet God.

  When he chuckles, I tilt my head at his back wondering what I said.

  My southern accent is on blast tonight and I smile through my undeniable birthright. I’m not ashamed of my southern roots and I’ll proudly bless the heart of anyone that believes I should be. My southern girl twang is heavier when my nerves are soaring all over the place much like right now. I go with it though.

  Brogan’s driver, Lincoln, is a huge burly man that doesn’t speak much. I thought it was ironic that his driver’s name was actually, Lincoln, like the car. It’s as if his parents knew what his profession would be and worked around that. I caught Lincoln peeking at me several times in the rearview with an amused smirk on his face. He’s a quiet man, but a very observant one.

  Smiling through my sugary sweet existence while rambling on about growing up in Georgia was my pawn until I flowed out of the open door. Before the car rolled to a stop in front of the lush building that Brogan and I are seated in now, I had both men laughing more than once. Pouring the southern charm on thick like pancake syrup was a small victory for me.

  “Brogan, this place is magnificent,” I whisper across the table at him. He quirks his eyebrows at me and leans forward.

  “Brea, it’s okay to speak freely.” He chuckles.

  My face blushes slightly and I slip my hands into my lap rubbing nervously at my dress. When he notices, his face relaxes by a fraction, and he winks at me. Super sexy. The man seems to always have his boardroom boss suit of armor on even when it’s not needed, like now.

  There are sporadic festive tire size garland wreaths lined in a pattern on the walls adding a hint of Christmas in the air. The white high cathedral ceilings are eye-catching with crystal chandeliers interictally spaced throughout. They tinkle out their rainbow hello. Our table is outfitted with a crisp white tablecloth that match perfectly with the cold impersonal walls.

  This type of life must mirror that of the tablecloth, full of ironing board boring entertainment and starched stiff insomnia. The words Brogan described his home ring out in my mind, cold and lifeless. I find myself wanting to add multiple bright and bold colors to his world. Become a beautiful twinkling rainbow chandelier just for him.

  The wine glasses must cost more than six months of my monthly rent combined and the expensive silverware is mocking me through the intricate design scrawled out on the silver. The overall picture makes me reluctant in the idea of soiling its dazzling shine and appearance. When did I start feeling inferior to table settings? Jesus.

  The atmosphere is suffocating with New York’s upper elite socialites gathered in one building. These are the type of people that get their rocks off by looking down on those less fortunate. Their eyes inconspicuously cast glances in our direction, and I feel uncomfortable, underdressed, and outclassed. I’m accustomed to entertaining by the masses for work-related functions but not in my downtime. I like to be one hundred percent me and free from judgment.

  “I’ve never been here before. It’s sorta intimidating. Do you come here a lot?” I ask.

  “Only for business meetings.” His brow creases. “They’re not staring at you.” I tilt my head at him. How the heck does he know what I’m thinking? “More than seventy-five percent of the people here have felt my financial wrath in one form or another. I’m not well-liked but completely okay with their position and opinion of me.” I giggle because I can tell he totally is.

  “You’re brutal behind the boardroom doors, huh?” I already know the answer. The wicked grin he gives me is so sexy.

  “That’s where I do some of my best work, but I can promise you that it doesn’t compare to what takes place behind my bedroom doors.” Clenching my legs together to dull the ache there, I shake my head at him with humor even though my body is screaming out for a sample.

  “I don’t doubt that for one second, Mr. Creed.”

  “So, you grew up with Carson and then meet Lance, Brock, and Damien in college.” He nods his head. “And you made a fortune in college through stocks and bonds then built an empire.” It’s not a question. I’m letting all the information he’s told me over dinner sink in. Some of this knowledge was already known from articles and stories I’d heard before now but I like hearing him tell it. “Wow. Remarkable.”

  “Why New York?” He watches his cognac in the bottom of his glass as he circles it around then those ice white slightly blue eyes find me. The blue in them seems more noticeable tonight. It must be the lighting in this place. “Atlanta is a thriving city. You could’ve been successful there as well.”

  “I wanted to see the Big Apple. I kinda felt the need to prove to myself that I could make it on my own too.” He squints his eyes at me like this concept is some kind of an enigma to figure out. “It’s really easy to take risks with your parents down the street. Or in my case, my grandparents, but I wanted to take myself out of that comfort zone and remove the safety net. That way I had no other choice but to succeed.” I shrug my shoulders. Brogan leans back in his chair and places his index finger against his temple, studying me. “Sometimes I feel like you’re crawling inside my head, Brogan.”

  “Your grandparents are good people, yeah?” He ignores me with another question.

  “The best. I’m lucky.” I finish off my glass of wine. “A few years ago, I worked for a couple here that reminded me of my grandparents a lot. Really good people. I loved that job but what I loved more was the family that owned it. They cared for their workers in a way that made me feel like God put them in my path so I could feel closer to home, just away from home. Does that make sense?” I shrug. “Sounds stupid.”

  “Makes perfect sense.” His jaw tightens as if I’ve said something that upsets him. “Why don’t you still work with them?”

  “Corporate buyout. Shortly after that Mr. Sims died, that was the owner’s name.” I gulp back the emotion I still feel for that situation as well as Mr. Sims. “Then my apartment was broken into for the second time in one month. Where the career criminal stole my savings I had hid, my Christmas tree, and wardrobe too… Everything. Oh, except for my good bra.” I giggle.

  “Please don’t say it, I know my money should’ve been in the bank. Lesson learned. My main goal was to find a safe neighborhood. But I’ve almost replaced everything with the exception of my once fabulous wardrobe and I’m working on that. My situation is far better than most. I’m blessed.” Those ice blues always seem to be seeking secrets, but his body's reaction is defiant to the knowledge it receives. It’s baffling to me.

  “The day you walked into my boardroom, Brealyn, you were a shock.” He scrubs his five o’clock shadow. “A damn beautiful one.” He clears his throat. “But you’re so much more than that.” I can only assume that that’s as close as he gets to giving an apology. “What do you miss the most about Georgia?” He asks.

  “There are so many things I miss about my southern roots but if I had to choose one it’d be the way all the butterflies would gather around my grandmother's butterfly bushes. It was like a swarm of beauty and renewed life.” He tilts his head at me like he doesn’t understand so I explain, “You know… It sorta always mystified me how something like a confined grounded caterpillar could suddenly be rebirthed out of a cocoon into a lovely flying little entity free to roam anywhere with such beauty. To me, that’s the definition of magical.” I shrug my shoulders feeling embarrassed at how that must sound to him. For God sakes Brea, he’s a Wallstreet Warrior.

  “What are your dreams like?” I’m stunned for a moment at that last part. I’ve never had anyone ask me that. No one ever cared other than my grandparents.

  “Well, I guess the most prevalent one I have is to simply find my place in this world. To slip in where I be
long and to whom I belong with then wrap myself in that comfort. Create our own place of peace together. Having a place and person all my own, I guess.” I shrug. “That’s the best way I know how to describe it. You now, like what work is to you.”

  “Recent events are teaching me that the great aspect about life is things tend to change when we least expect it, yeah?” He says and I shyly nod.

  “Uhmmm, if you don’t mind, I’m going to the ladies’ room.” I stand and he mimics my movements.

  “We’ll go out a different way. Our attendance has attracted a little bit of attention in the form of thirsty cameras.” He looks sympathetic.

  “Are you embarrassed by me, Mr. Creed.” I find it hard to believe that Brogan Creed gets embarrassed by anything. Teasing him is fun though. He smirks and I make a move to go past him for the restrooms.

  He reaches out and grabs my upper arm leaning into whisper, “I do what I want, who I want, and when I want boldly.” I quirk my eyebrow at him. “Most of the time anyway. Point is, there’s nothing more I want than to swipe this fine china out of my way and fuck you right here on top of this table in the middle of this condescending crowd. It would no doubt give them something to be inspired about. The only reason why I don’t is because that body will not be seen by any other than myself, period. So, if you think I’m led around by the opinions of others than you don’t know me very well, Southern Comfort. Hurry back now.”

  His lips softly graze over the tender side of my neck causing a blanket of goosebumps to coat my body. Dear God. If I had on underwear they’d be unless now. He releases my arm while chuckling and running his palm over his face. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me, boardroom butthole.

  chapter 14

  brogan

  The woman’s trying to kill me. She doesn’t have on god damn underwear, fuck. Silencing her tonight is out of the question. My body needs sleep and there’s no denying it. I’ve thought of nothing but her from the time I walked out of her loft last night to the moment she opened her damn door sporting that little Red Riding hood coat over a sexy black slip of a dress. And those red fuck-me pumps, damn… Just damn.

  Restraint is not a new concept for me, but my control is being tested on levels that should earn me a fucking medal tonight. I’m not accustomed to uncertainty. But it’s obvious that I’m uncertain if I’m getting laid tonight, tomorrow, or for that matter next fucking month.

  What I am sure of is that when it comes to Brealyn, I’m down for whatever she’s willing to do. Even if that entails a damn popcorn party starring Chevy Chase and his fucknut family Christmas bullshit playing out on the big screen. Sign me the fuck up, I’m in.

  The crowd in this restaurant has done nothing more than stare at us since we took our seats. This is something I’m used to but not her. They’re all looking at Brea like she’s the innocent princess bride of the business kingpin and in need of saving. Plus, their thoughts are less appealing. It’s pissing me the fuck off. Normally, I wouldn’t give a shit but with her I do. I want to deserve her even though I know I don’t and never will.

  Funny how just last night I slow-kicked this dating idea around. Let it marinate inside my mind. Now, I’m simply pissed that I procrastinated and the fact that it’s quickly coming to an end. If I hadn’t been a dumb motherfucker dragging my feet around, this could’ve been one of many where I got the pleasure of enjoying her company.

  As she told me about her past employer and run of bad luck, I felt that shit. When it comes to business, I have no moral code or consciences but that Crossover deal was wrong. Add her to the mix and I find myself questioning every past decision made, my shotty principles, along with everything I’ve ever stood for to date. Which wasn’t much more than a bankable profit.

  Pushing my chair under, I make my way through the establishment in search of my very first planned dinner date, ever. That’s probably another reason why everyone is tuning in. This is a rare occurrence but damn sure won’t be my last where Brea is concerned. Time to pony the fuck up and get out of here.

  As I turn the corner, I see Brealyn covering her mouth in an attempt to quite her fit of laughter. And the asshole responsible for her entertainment is standing in front of her. It’s none other than Nate Nixon himself. Son-of-a-bitch…

  Strolling forward, I tuck my hands into my pant pockets to hide my balled-up fist and I grit my teeth. Brealyn picks up on my vibe and her Goldie locks sway across her back as she turns her head in search of me right before those ocean blues find mine.

  When her color pales slightly and her body locks up ramrod straight, I wink at her hoping to ease her anxiety and mind. I’m not upset with you, Southern Comfort. Nate Nixon needs to understand he won’t be dicking this one. She’s with me motherfucker.

  “Look who’s here,” Brea says to me as I join this little cowinky-dink. I don’t fucking think so. He has motives etched out in his body language.

  This asshole is one lucky prick. Nate is a good guy, but they all finish last for a damn reason. It’s because boss leaders like myself take what we want, fuck him.

  I smirk while offering my hand in the manly wit of strength and Nate reluctantly meets the masculine gesture. My assertive beast like grip has ole Nate trying to withdraw early. That’s probably how his dick game plays out, poor guy. It also explains the runaway fiancé. What’s her name?... Cynthia, or was it, Chelsey? Zero fucks.

  “Are you guys dating now?” Nate asks. This douche bag is an observant one.

  “Uhmmm, well…” Brea mumbles. She doesn’t know how to answer that. Let me help her out and Nate too before I put him through the other side of the restaurant wall.

  “Yes. Exclusively. Have a wonderful evening, Nate.” Don’t ask me where the fuck that came from. Maybe my eager ball sack. Your guess is as good as mine. I place my hand at Brea’s lower back and steer us toward the side exit where Lincoln’s waiting for us.

  Damn that slick ass motherfucker. She’s too good for him. He’ll fuck it up though. Nate’s thoughts are on loudspeaker. I choose not to ignore him this time by flipping him off behind Brea’s back. I hear his bitch-ass laughter follow.

  “Talk with ya later, Nate.” Brea smiles and waves over her shoulder. My growl is a low fevered one. “Exclusive, huh? That’s going to really tick Cassia off.” Brea looks up at me and giggles. I smirk at her while holding the door open.

  “Not half as bad as that coffee stained dress did, Southern Comfort,” I say. She laughs out loud and I find myself joining in. This girl’s easy happy vibe is contagious.

  Twirling a golden blonde lock of Brea’s hair around my finger, I note the texture is similar to the fine imported silk shirts that are hanging in the never going to wear sector of my walk-in closet. She knocked out an hour into her Christmas movie. Her face is nestled into the crook of my arm and her even breathing is like a hypnotic countdown luring me off to sleep.

  My eyes are heavy, and my body needs to recharge, but watching her has become a fascinating pastime for me. The only difference now is my view’s much better than it was out on that fire escape a few days ago. Digging into my pocket, I pull out my phone, and shoot off a text to Lincoln.

  There are several things that I’ve learned about Brea tonight. She’s hard-working, independent, and extremely proud. By the way she talked of her former employer and grandparents; she’s kind, loves freely, and deeply. Unlike every other woman I’ve come across, she has no ulterior motive where I’m concerned. Money is no bargaining chip for her. Her time spent with me is sincere. She merely wants to see me smile. That’s her loudest unsaid secret desire, period.

  Brea’s also unaware of how beautiful she truly is. That was evident in the ten minutes she spent trying to convince me that Nate was just her friend. Hell, I heard him loud and clear. I couldn’t tell Brea that though. I told her to trust me. It was a guy’s intuition and she let it go. She didn’t bring up my declaration to exclusivity again either. I’m still trying to wrap my brain around that shit anyway. I’ll cha
lk it up to the soft Southern Comfort at my side, plain and simple.

  Most importantly, I learned that this woman loves Christmas time. Her eyes lit up anytime we passed heavily decorated areas. Between the whoa’s and ahhh’s that filtered throughout the car during our ride, it was pretty much a direct indicator. Lincoln’s chuckles and sideways glances were that of approval. I ignored him and focused on Brea.

  I drop my head back and stare up at the ceiling wondering what the fuck is wrong with me. I’ve never in my life considered indulging date night bullshit, catnap after dinner cuddling, and damn sure never proclaimed exclusivity over any woman, ever. Needless to say, I’m leaving with an aching ball sack too. Chisel that shit out in the stone wall of first occurrences as well.

  Hell, I also never thought I would find myself sitting outside someone’s fire escape before either, but that shit happened. My meeting with CC Capitals is Monday morning and I need to prepare. Scratch that. I’m always prepared but it’s time for me to leave. That thought crawls over my skin with unease.

  Cradling the bundle of beautiful in my arms, I rise off the couch and move over to her bed. I toss back the white comforter that looks like a fluff of soft clouds and gently lay her down. I watch her sink into the memory foam of cushioned cotton, and she rolls over on her side. She’s a heavy sleeper and that is duly noted.

  Picking up my coat, I shrug it on and peer back at Brea’s sleeping form. I lock her door then step through seeing myself out. Creed it’s time to pull your shit together. That fantasy on the other side of that door needs to be placed on hold. That vow to my father requires closure and to do that the boardroom boss needs to come out and play.

  chapter 15

  Brealyn

  Rushing through the hallway to my office, I push the door open with my shoulder being careful not to spill my Starbucks indulgence I picked up for myself on the way in. The lights flick on and I stop dead in my tracks when I see a very sexy silhouette of a man lounging in my chair.